Thyme II Thyme Read online

  After a while, we came to a high wooden paling fence set atop a brick wall which I presumed marked the boundary of the Hacklebury grounds at this point. It stood more than ten feet high and my heart sank as I gazed up at it. Even with the use of my hands and with no other sort of bondage restrictions I would have found such an obstacle nearly impossible to breach, for although Teena in the seventies would have little enough trouble reaching up and grasping the timber section to pull herself up, Angelina would struggle and her fingers, even without gloves and strapped to stiff timbers, had not been designed with fence scaling activities in mind.

  We turned right and followed a cleared pathway along the boundary wall for a good ways. I estimated we must have covered nearly a mile and still there was no sign of a break in the wall or even a gateway. It looked as if the perimeter was well protected around most, if not all, of its length, yet there had to be at least one entrance somewhere.

  At last, after what was beginning to feel like half a lifetime, Erik halted and turned to jab a finger at me. 'Sit!' he ordered.

  For a moment I was at a loss what to do, but then I realised what was expected of me. I sank down and back onto my haunches, my arms extended in front of me, the picture of obedience, not to mention stupidity. I looked up at him and saw the pleasure on his face. At any moment I expected him to produce a biscuit and have me beg for it. But no, he had a better doggie treat in mind.

  Slowly, he unlaced the front of his breeches and took out his flaccid but still impressive organ, stepping towards me and planting his feet between my wooden paws. 'Good girl,' he said, pointing it towards my lips, and yes, like a good girl I parted them and accepted the offering, flicking away at it with my tongue so that it quickly began to rise and thicken. 'Good girl,' he repeated several times as I closed my eyes to try to shut out the reality of what I was doing.

  But then what else could I have done? Erik carried a short crop at his belt and I knew he would not hesitate to use it if he thought I was trying to be rebellious. And even without the whip, those big hands across my bottom would have been painful enough. Besides, there was also Meg waiting back there for me somewhere, her devious mind no doubt full of all manner of spiteful tortures to inflict upon her rival, as I now knew she saw me.

  It certainly took less time to bring Erik to full preparedness than on the previous occasion in my little straw-filled cell, but this time I was not permitted the luxury of taking the initiative. Instead, he tugged on my lead and ordered me up, not onto my two legs but back up onto the four. I groaned slightly, yet there was an uncontrollable tremor running along my spine and through each of my limbs as I realised he was going to take me from behind, doggie style. I just prayed he would use the right orifice and not get carried away, for his girth would be more than I could hope to deal with in my back passage.

  Fortunately, my Viking knew what he liked and wanted and was not one to try new paths, at least for the moment. Grasping my hips, he allowed his shaft freedom to find its own way unguided, and that it did as he stooped to place it beneath my lower belly and then drew it slowly back until its engorged tip found my already wet little slot. Damn this body, I thought as he began to enter me. The brain was thinking one thing but the fanny was thinking something else entirely.

  But then again, was the brain really thinking so differently? I had to ask myself that for despite the ignominy of my position was not the feel of a thick cock probing into me, and me not in any position to resist, proving to be something of a turn-on? I pushed that thought aside before it should make me disgusted with myself and gave myself over instead to the inevitable surrender of my flesh, yet again, to my giant master. And he did not disappoint me.

  'He fucked you like a dog?' Anne-Marie exclaimed, her eyes wide, though not entirely, I suspected, from horror. She shook her head in a dramatic gesture that was supposed to signify revulsion but which failed to do so. 'Oh, how awful!'

  'Actually, it was pretty good,' I confessed. 'After all, we've all done it that way even if it's been on our hands and knees, and once I was able to forget that I'd been made to walk there all the way in that position, well, it was as good as the time before that. And doing it that way adds so much extra penetration! I felt as if he was going to come up my throat!'

  'Yuk, Teenie, you're disgusting!' Anne-Marie cried, but then she began to laugh and Andrea joined in.

  'Well, if you don't laugh, you cry, or so my dad likes to keep telling me,' I retorted. 'I must have looked quite a sight, I suppose, but I was soon past caring about how I looked.'

  'You reckon Meg was watching?' Andrea asked.

  I shrugged. 'Maybe. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had suddenly come out of the woods, but then she probably had other things to do. Greg had this guy who made all manner of things, from leather corsets to that awful bodysuit, and it was him Meg was getting to sort out my new outfit to her specifications.'

  'A dog suit?' Andrea asked almost eagerly.

  'Don't get ahead,' I said, 'all in good time. I could do with a cup of tea first, if nobody minds.'

  'There's still plenty of brandy left.' She nodded towards the bottle.

  I shook my head. 'There may be, but unless you want me crashing out before I've finished, I'll give it a miss for now. I feel exhausted and we've had several already.'

  'True,' my friend agreed, turning to Andrea. 'Go put the kettle on, sweetie,' she said, 'and bring in that big box of chocolate biscuits I've been saving since Christmas. I brought them with me in my pink-and-white carrier bag but I think it's still in the car.'

  Actually, even if mad Meg had suddenly stepped out from between the trees, I doubt I could have cared less for I was resolved I would bear whatever indignities she cooked up for me and allow her to think she could beat my spirit down without recourse to any real physical punishment. Besides, all the while Erik was giving me a good old servicing trying to focus my brain on anything else was well beyond my capabilities.

  Little exploding lights again... and then big exploding lights... I should probably have fallen despite the supposed advantage of having four legs for balancing instead of just two had he not kept such a tight hold on me throughout. And then I was pushing backwards to meet his thrusts with as much vigour as he was displaying, if not as much strength. I could hear the wet slushy sounds we were making, seemingly amplified through the son-et-lumiere that had invaded my head, but far from making me feel ashamed the sound excited me even more and I heard a weird howling sound I knew could only be coming from my own throat.

  I heard Erik, too, though what he was saying I had no idea for most of it was in his native tongue and only the odd 'bitch' and 'dog' made any sense to me at all. Again, I should have been mortified to be called such names, but I wasn't, not at that moment, at any rate. He could call me whatever he wanted to all the time he was doing what he was doing to me, and as you and I both know, all the time in Erik's case was quite a long time...

  I was allowed to lie on the grass for a while when he had finally finished with me while he sat nearby, leaning against a tree and regarding me with what I realised was fondness. I crawled nearer to him and would have repeated my ministrations of earlier in the day, except that now my arm ended in a piece of wood and not even a mitten of leather.

  He understood and patted my head. 'Sleeping now a short time should you be,' he murmured. 'Wanting you walked the afternoon altogether she was, but good girl you are for Erik, so resting you shall be, but for long not, for searching for us she will otherwise be.'

  'Woof,' I mumbled, and laying my head on his thigh, closed my eyes. I drifted into a shallow sleep, a sleep filled with dream images of me and Erik, Meg and Greg and Anne-Marie and Andrea, all of us romping through woods and all of us naked with our unnaturally white flesh covered in big black spots. All of us, that is, except Meg, who wore a full-length coat with a high fur collar and smoked a cigarette through a long holder as she sneered at us through darkly made-up eyes.

  All too soon it was time to be
on the move again. This time Erik made me walk ahead of him and I shivered at the thought of the picture he was now getting, my bare arse and my still wet quim jutting out behind me framed by the dark leather. When he reached forward and patted my damp pussy, I knew he was not entirely unappreciative of the spectacle.

  By now I was beginning to get some idea of the size of the Hacklebury estate. Even allowing for my slow progress in the all-fours mode, we had been walking, following the perimeter fence, for maybe four or five miles in all, and the curve of the boundary was so slight that I calculated it would take us several more hours at the very least before we had covered even one quadrant. History was my strong subject, much more so than maths, but even I was able to work out that, unless there were some sharper corners in the fence, the woods within the wall had to cover a good few square miles.

  As I plodded on, I was thinking.

  If Gregory Hacklebury had owned such a large-sized plot of England as recently as the eighteen thirties, he and his family must have been pretty powerful, or at least well known, and yet I had been unable to unearth any record of the bastard in my research. How, or why, should that be? Had something happened that prompted local historians to expunge all trace of him from their histories?

  It seemed unlikely, not so far forward in time, relatively speaking. By the nineteenth century, records were being kept in something approaching a modern form and often with a zeal that would otherwise only be found in train spotters, and it would have required more than just a local conspiracy to bury all traces of a man and a family who must have ranked pretty high in the league of landowners.

  I felt another pat on my bottom, but it barely interrupted my latest train of thought. I considered other possibilities, some of them promising, others falling more under the category of idle speculation.

  Perhaps Hacklebury himself did not actually own the land. Perhaps he was some sort of minor relative, a nephew or a second cousin, something like that, and the real owner was away helping to conquer the growing empire. Maybe he was nothing more than an employee, a steward keeping the place going for a travelling master. Maybe Hacklebury wasn't his real name at all... but no, that would never do, and besides, most of these possibilities made his determination to marry Angelina somewhat strange and improbable. An heiress would not be permitted to marry a mere steward, and neither was it so likely that her guardian would permit a wedding with a minor relative. And besides, I knew he was a Sir, or at least all the staff I had met so far seemed to believe he was.

  It was all very curious, I thought as the hard-baked ground with its smattering of browning grass continued to pass beneath me. Could he have won this estate in some game of chance? That may have sounded ludicrous at first, but I knew that sort of thing went on between young men in this century. The modern day equivalent of millions of pounds changed hands on the turn of a single card. If Hacklebury had won the estate by gambling, and then perhaps was to lose it again within the next few years, perhaps that might explain why his name did not appear in connection with any large acreage by the time I was searching for information on him in the nineteen seventies. It would take time for deeds of ownership to be registered with the appropriate authorities and, whilst these early Victorians were noted bookkeepers, things moved very slowly by comparison with my own era.

  A jerk of the lead to one side indicated we were to turn off the perimeter pathway now and head straight down another path we had come to that headed back, I presumed, in the general direction of my little compound. A mile or so on, we reached an area where the trees thinned to either side for a hundred yards or so and the cleared ground was covered with a far thicker carpet of grass that was actually green rather than the fading colour it was elsewhere.

  Erik tugged backwards on my leash and issued a single command for me to halt. My continued display of swaying feminine bits must have had its inevitable effect on him; without further ceremony or warning, he grasped me by the hips and entered me again. Immediately I felt myself responding to his thrusts from deep within the uncontrollable centre of my flesh, which had been my nemesis from the first moment I was transported back in time into this body. But even as the tide began to rise, I could not help wondering if this was now to be my lot for whatever was left of my life here - to be treated as something less than human and to be used at the whim of whoever happened to be on the other end of the chain clipped to my collar.

  This time, my body's strength was found wanting and despite Erik's solid support my knees soon buckled. Sensing I could no longer hold myself up, he allowed me to sink slowly to my knees, following me down without ever slipping out of my cloying pussy. Then, as I knelt with my head touching the ground, he continued to pump in and out of me until I was once again moaning and writhing in the throes of an overpowering climax.

  To my surprise, Erik's latest assault did not last anywhere near as long as the earlier ones. After what could have been no more than five minutes at most, he withdrew from me without coming himself. He allowed me a few moments to recover something resembling composure, and then lifted me back into my earlier proscribed position.

  'Every hour or so, say she,' he informed me with yet another pat of my bottom followed by a sly stroke across my slippery nether lips. 'Wet she says to be kept you must and wet are you for sure.' He chuckled. 'Wet think I you always are anyways,' he added, 'but hurt it does not sure to be.'

  I knew that if I ever had the chance I could easily throttle Meg even given the diminished strength of this body of Angelina's, for real hatred can generate miraculous feats and now I knew I truly did hate that mad woman. I felt utterly helpless and totally abased by the simple way in which she could order me to be screwed at regular intervals simply to make sure I stayed wet and presumably ready for whatever it was she was planning for my next ordeal. To be shagged without having any say in the matter was one thing, but to be so merely as a form of self-lubrication...

  Images of black-clad maids swinging from nooses with their tongues lolling from bloated purple lips swam before my eyes. It was an automatic response that made me move forward again at Erik's command, for my thoughts were no longer on the path we were following. Meg would pay for this one day, of that I was now determined. Whatever she tried to inflict upon Angelina, I would keep the poor girl's body alive until we were both avenged. Justice, I swore, would come to both Meg and the man behind her madness, even if it were to be a justice never recorded for posterity, as neither of them had apparently passed into the annals of history. I grimaced as I considered a picture of Erik ramming into Meg as she lay across a rock with her legs clad in black stockings kicking in the air, her cruel lips gaping open around cries of agonised protest...

  No, I told myself firmly as I let the tableau fade, that punishment was far too good for her. When the time came I would find both the strength and ingenuity of purpose to repay mine, and Angelina's, debts to her in a full and appropriate fashion.

  By the time we finally came back within sight of my little prison complex, I realised the afternoon was growing quite late for the shadows from the trees were stretching across the little clearing and the sun was low enough that I could no longer see it above the trees. I calculated that our walk must have occupied a total of six or seven hours, if Erik's timekeeping accuracy was to be relied upon; he had stopped to have his way with me no less than three more times and it had been the better part of another hour since the last session.

  By now my earlier mood of grim determination had by and large given way to a mood that was approaching a black depression brought on partly by sheer fatigue and by the aching in my back and shoulders, and partly by the growing realisation that whatever contest might transpire between Meg and myself, I was playing under the severe handicap that was the warm and seemingly ever hungry little slot between my legs. It was like being fitted with a button that anyone could press to instantly deprive me of my normal logical senses. And the more times it was pressed, the more radical were the changes it wrought in me.

>   I knew I should not dismiss the thought that Meg had already become aware of this fact. Despite her supposedly low station in life, the woman was as cunning as she was inhuman and probably a whole lot cleverer than her supposed betters, to boot. Hacklebury might consider himself master, but it was Meg who was truly mistress here, even if only she and I were as yet aware of this.

  I expected Erik to continue his regular cycle as soon as we were once again under the roof of my prison, but instead he simply hitched my leash to a wall ring and moved outside to open the door of another small cell which I had not yet seen the inside of. I heard a rattling of metal and a sloshing of water followed by the scraping sound of something being dragged across the ground. Then he returned and, to my surprise, began unlacing the back of my bodysuit and peeling the damp leather off me. My corset was next, followed by my gloves, and then, for the first time in what seemed like days, I stood naked. Despite the fact that my giant keeper had seen just about everything there was to see, my hands went protectively to my crotch.

  Erik smiled and reached out to grasp me by the top of my left arm. 'Come,' he said. 'Smell it is you do and bathing time is now.'

  For one foolish moment I conjured up thoughts of a nice warm bath all soapy suds and sweet- smelling oils. It was a ridiculous hope that was dashed the moment I was thrust forward into the last stall. Smaller than the other two, the centre of the space was dominated by a small platform of wooden slats nailed across two cross-timbers with narrow gaps between them. From the ceiling above them dangled two lengths of chain, each terminating in a broad leather manacle into which Erik quickly buckled my wrists so that I was forced to stand with my arms held high and wide.

  As he secured me, my eyes fell upon the row of four metal buckets that lined one wall and were each filled almost to the brim with what was obviously water. Then, without further ceremony, the first bucket was used to douse me completely, drenching me from head to toe in an icy shower that had me dancing on the spot wailing and shivering in protest.