Thyme II Thyme Read online

  I was washed down thoroughly with a rag cloth and something that might well have passed for soap in a stable; it smelled terrible and made my eyes water. Then Erik produced a cutthroat razor, which he used to hack off my hair and shave the stubble until my skull was as smooth as my bottom. I stood helpless while he did this, a combination of shock and the realisation that nothing I could say would stop this latest desecration, keeping me dumb throughout, but I did give a little yelp when he began to lather the blonde triangle between my thighs.

  'Still you must be keeping,' he admonished me firmly.

  My eyes flickered fearfully towards the gleaming blade in his hand.

  'Cutting you will I not be if moving about you are not.' He sounded confident but it was a confidence I did not share. However, I managed to close my eyes and hold myself rigid while he worked away at removing my sparse and fair pubic growth.

  'Done we now are,' he announced shortly.

  I let out a long breath I had been holding, and staring glumly down I was just able to see the very top of my pussy lips now that they had been deprived of their little curtain. I had not seen a sight like that between my legs for a good few years now and I felt a tear well up as I thought of the warm safety of the bathroom and bedroom back home at my parents' house.

  'Miss Meg coming soon will be,' Erik said, picking up the second bucket of water. This time, he poured it over me with a little more care but the chill was no less and I found I was now shivering continuously. I tried to divorce my mind from my body again, concentrating on Meg and how I might yet be able to outwit her. It would not be easy, even if it were at all possible.

  She had called me Buttercup when I was first laced into the bodysuit, telling me that I was now no better than a calf or a deer and worthy of even less consideration, but earlier today she had apparently forgotten that and referred to me as Angelina, albeit only to say that such a name was unsuitable for a bitch and that she would have to come up with a replacement. I already had a rough idea of what she was planning as the next stage in my humiliating enslavement, but I suspected she would probably be a little more inventive than Rover.

  At last Erik released my wrists and led me back through into the main cell, where he allowed me to sink down onto the straw to rest my aching muscles and joints.

  The respite was not to last long, however.

  Within minutes, Meg arrived as expected accompanied by Polly, the maid I had encountered before, and a third maid I had not met yet and whose name, it transpired, was Betty. Both younger girls carried small sacks before them, which they placed carefully on the floor just inside the doorway. The newcomer was nothing special but she was sturdily enough built and had about her that same dullish air Polly displayed; like Polly, she would follow orders and like Polly she would do only what she was told. Unlike Meg, who did the telling and gave the orders, she would never consider thinking for herself.

  'My, but don't she look funny with all her hair gone!' the new girl exclaimed. 'Like a ghost she is!'

  I felt my cheeks burning at this and lowered my eyes even as Erik reached down to haul me to my feet.

  'Hush your mouth, you stupid girl,' Meg admonished her, 'otherwise I'll have Erik do the same to you. Understand?'

  'Yes, ma'am,' the young maid mumbled, and I heard Polly just fail to stifle a snort of laughter.

  'And you can be quiet,' Meg snapped, her hearing no less keen than my own. 'Pottinger delivered enough things today for you to end up playing the cow for a while, and see how that suits you!'

  'Sorry,' Polly said meekly. 'Didn't mean nothing, I'm sure.'

  'Right, well, cut your cackling and get her into the suit, and make sure you lace everything good and tight.'

  'What about her corset, ma'am?' Polly asked. 'She had a corset before, so shouldn't she have one this time?'

  'No need now,' Meg retorted. 'Pottinger has added stays in the right places and he assures me this is as good and tight as any corset could be, maybe even tighter.'

  I felt my stomach turn over at this announcement, for although I had become accustomed to that corset, this short spell of total naked freedom had reminded me just how terrible a garment it really was, and now I was about to be subjected to something that was regarded as even worse.

  It was Polly who produced the new suit from her sack. At first sight it did not look to be any different from the one into which I had been laced before. However, as it was brought over to me, I could see there were one or two innovations that had been added and the most noticeable, I discovered as my feet and legs were forced down into the leather tubes, was in the feet. For a start, the boot part had been adapted so my feet were arched even more cruelly than before, while on the outside some clever stitching and artful padding contrived to give the impression of two huge paws. I winced as much with shame as discomfort as the two maids pushed and pulled at me, tightening laces that ran up the outside of each of my legs until the dark-brown leather was stretched to the contours of my limbs and buttocks like a second skin. I could feel without looking that once again my bottom hole and sex were left uncovered, the tight leather compressing my nether lips into a pout that made them even more prominent than before.

  'See to her hands first,' Meg instructed.

  The maids then each produced what I took to be boxing gloves at first, but as they curled my hands into tight fists and forced the leather over them, I saw that the padding extended only to cover my fingers from the first knuckle joints to just beyond the second. Laces were drawn tight and knotted and now my hands were even more useless than they had been before, two shapeless little balls at the ends of my arms. I stared down at them and made no protest when the women began pushing them into the sleeves of the suit.

  Almost immediately I recognised the practicality of these mitts. The sleeves of the suit, I now saw, were much longer than my own arms and ended in paws identical to those on which I now stood, the extra length being made up of some solid filling within the last twelve or so inches of the tubing, atop which sat some form of hardened leather cup against which my curled fists were to rest. The padding was designed to give at least some relief from the constant weight my fists would be bearing, a concession that probably owed more to the practicality of Meg's intentions than to any sympathy for my discomfort.

  The suit was hauled up over my shoulders and the lacing at the back began. I felt my already slender waist being compressed even more cruelly, forcing the air from my lungs and evincing involuntary gasps of pain from me. Staring down at myself, I saw that I now appeared to have a much more prominent bust than before and concluded that the carefully stitched breast cups had been substantially padded to produce this effect.

  I felt myself growing giddy from lack of oxygen, but Meg had anticipated this and stepped forward to thrust a bottle of something acrid smelling beneath my nostrils. I gasped and blinked away the tears that sprang into my eyes, but the woman was unsympathetic.

  'You should know how to breathe properly by now,' she snapped. 'Get a grip on yourself or I'll take a birch to your arse.'

  I fought against the automatic feeling of panic and eventually succeeded in re-establishing a pattern of short, shallow breaths that soon enough helped me back to normal sensibility. By now the lacing had continued up to a point just below my neck, where Meg ordered a halt. I felt one of the girls tying off a knot and then Polly stepped away and crossed over to her sack.

  'No, not that, not yet,' Meg barked, seeing something dark and bulky emerging. 'Get her new tail first. I want her mouth free for this, and I want to see her face.'

  This announcement filled me with dread for I guessed immediately that if the sadistic bitch wanted to see my reactions, then the tail was not going to be something I was going to appreciate.

  Someone, this character Pottinger, presumably, had gone to some lengths in the quest for reality. The tail was maybe two feet long in total and apparently made from a tube of stitched leather into which padding had been forced to give it a proper thre
e-dimensional appearance. However, there must also have been something else hidden inside, presumably metal or whalebone, for it curled in a manner that would have been quite pretty had it been the tail of a real dog. I saw that the thicker end was mounted onto a circle of thicker leather and that from this extended two straps, the one very short and the other much longer, which then divided into two quite separate straps in the form of a letter V. But what really drew my attention was the gleaming leather phallus that sat around the longer strap where it was still single and could clearly be adjusted, attached as it was by means of a leather loop that ran along the strap.

  'The short end goes onto the buckle above her arse,' Meg instructed as Polly moved around behind me.

  I closed my eyes as I felt her fingers fumbling to make the attachment, and so I was unprepared for someone grabbing me by the nose and jerking my head downwards.

  'Bend over bitch,' Meg hissed, 'and stay like that. I'm going to do the rest of this myself.'

  And do it she did. Thankfully, the dildo on the strap was neither long nor thick for it was not intended for my sex but for my other orifice. Even so, although Meg paused for a moment to add a lubricant to it, it was a painful entry and remained painful for a minute or so, until my muscles grew accustomed to its presence and relaxed around it.

  Meg, however, was not waiting for such niceties. Instead, she passed the strap through my legs and drew the left side of the V up to a small buckle that awaited it on the front of my bodysuit. The second half of the harness was likewise buckled and, as it was tightened, I realised it had been specifically measured and tailored so that, although my backside was now plugged and obscured, my pussy remained completely unobstructed and available for any and all.

  'There!' Meg exclaimed, stepping around before me once more. 'Yes, that really is splendid. That little man really is an artist. Don't you think so, Erik?'

  Erik, who had been quietly observing events from what was the nearest thing here to a neutral corner, grunted and nodded his head but his expression betrayed nothing of what he was really thinking. Was he merely thinking of later, when I would once again be completely under his control for my hourly fucking? Or did he perhaps feel a little sympathy for me as he watched what these terrible people were doing to me?

  'Turn around, dog girl,' Meg commanded.

  Slowly, still far from steady on my new footwear, I obeyed. I could feel the weight of my new tail behind me and a slight tugging as it bobbed with my movement, a tugging that was amplified several times when it reached the shaft that was now held tightly within me. I let out a little whimper and gritted my teeth against that other sensation which this movement immediately began to awaken in my traitorous flesh. Damned stupid body! I thought fiercely. Even a fake cock up the arse had it starting up all over again!

  'Very pretty,' Meg said approvingly. 'But get onto all fours, like you've been trained to.'

  To be honest, it was something of a relief to lean forward and take some of my weight and a lot of my balance onto my newly extended arms. I stared down at the paws, fascinated by their shape and by how real they appeared. At the same time, and for the first time, I realised I could no longer bend my arms at the elbows. A combination of the tight lacing of the sleeves and stiffened leather about the joints had deprived me of even the slightest flexibility. As I experimented, as discreetly as possible, I realised the same was now also true of my legs. From now on and until I was released from this insidious invention my progress would be very stiff-gaited, something I was sure Meg had contrived to add to the comic humiliation of my overall appearance.

  'It's almost funnier to leave you like this,' she murmured, running a hand over my smooth pate. 'However, Pottinger has come up with a true masterpiece for you and it would be a terrible shame to waste it. Polly, see to her mouth first, and be quick about it.'

  Now, over a period of many years spread across many centuries, I have endured gags of all shapes, sizes and construction, from simple wads of cloth to sprung pears of polished wood that threaten to dislocate the jaw, but the method that was now employed to deprive me of articulate speech was among the most cunning and has been passed down through the decades, as I will relate to you in another story. Quite simply, this gag was a short, flat piece of polished metal, which was pressed across my tongue and attached to two small clamps that settled over my back teeth. Then, by means of tiny little screws tightened by what we would nowadays call an Allen wrench, the clamps were tightened so there was no chance of me dislodging them with pressure from my tongue. The overall effect left me with the power to make all the sounds I wanted, except that none of them would now sound human. Furthermore, the metal gag also left my mouth available for other things, always supposing that the person availing himself of it did not mind the abrasion of metal on their quite tender flesh.

  Now satisfied that I could no longer protest my humanity, Meg produced the pièce de résistance of which she had spoken. Although my eyes widened with horror as she held it up for me to see, I could not but admire the ingenuity and craftsmanship that had gone into its creation. Basically the same as the hood mask I had been wearing before, it differed in two areas only, but those differences made all the difference, as it were. The front of the mask had apertures for the eyes, but from that point downwards it had been shaped into the form of a pug-like snout complete with a black nose and an opening beneath it that led to my mouth, although the integral stuffing meant that the dog mouth was an inch or two ahead of my own. On either side of the hood had been sewn two large and floppy brown ears I could see would loll with every movement of my head. Furthermore, without the handicap of my hair, the whole mask could now be laced tightly to my features, so that it would sit snugly and immovably about my head, a head that would now not look out of place on any canine bitch.

  The hood was quickly fitted to me, the back lacing extending down the collar beyond the nape of my neck, and then the remaining lacing of the bodysuit was continued so it covered even that. Finally, a bright red leather collar, beset with gleaming metal studs, was locked about my neck to both protect the lace knots from interference and to ensure that my neck remained stiff and straight.

  'Marvellous!' Meg exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. 'I only wish we had brought a mirror so you might see yourself, but never mind, for there are mirrors enough in the house and I intend that you shall indeed see what a wonderful prize I have created for the master's pleasure!'

  3.

  'She turned you into a fucking dog?' Anne-Marie looked horrified, but again I could see the undercurrent of excitement in her eyes.

  I put down my cup and regarded my new friend and lover sombrely wondering if she was secretly wishing it had been her, my usually so dominant lesbian, in that awful animal disguise. My Anne-Marie... was she a closet submissive who could not bring herself to admit to it? Idly, I resolved to test that possibility at a more appropriate time. 'Indeed, she did,' I replied, reaching for another cigarette. 'And she added ankle cuffs and chains up to the front of my collar to make sure I couldn't stand upright if I was ever left alone.'

  'And what about your new name?' Andrea chimed in. 'Did she remember about that? Did she come up with one?'

  'Oh, yes,' I said, smiling awkwardly. 'She remembered, all right.'

  'Sheba,' Meg declared, 'although I must admit that at first I considered it rather too regal a name for a bitch slut like you. But then I remembered a bitch that the head gamekeeper here once had who was brown and skinny and very obedient. So, Sheba, will you bark for your mistress, or shall I have Erik thrash you like the bad dog you really are?'

  'Woof,' I said sullenly, but that half-hearted attempt was nowhere near good enough for Meg.

  'Bark properly,' she snapped, slapping me lightly along one side of my snout.

  'Woof! Woof!'

  'Louder!'

  'Woof!' I bellowed.

  'Again!' she shouted.

  Again I did my dog impression.

  Meg's head rocked back
and forth with laughter as the two maids joined in her merriment. I saw Erik stirring slightly and a moment later realised he was anticipating Meg's next order. 'Right, fuck the bitch, Erik,' she said. 'And you, my little bitch girl, you'll bark your head off while he does it. I want to hear you bark and whine, otherwise I'll find a real hound to put you to, and don't think I wouldn't!'

  I didn't think she wouldn't, not for one moment, and so as Eric once more slid into my unresisting tunnel, I bucked my doggie hips and rolled my doggie head and whined and snuffled and barked for all I was worth. And in the end, I must confess, I had lost all control of myself and any claim to human dignity whatsoever.

  All the while Meg looked on with eyes that shone with triumphant malice knowing she had already succeeded far beyond her wildest dreams in breaking me, and that her position with Hacklebury was becoming more secure and less threatened by my presence with every passing minute and every added ignominy to which I was now incapable of doing anything, it seemed, than submitting to like a bitch in season.

  It was to be another two or three hours before I was finally paraded before my supposed husband. He was dining with guests, Meg informed me with a smirk of satisfaction, but I would be the star of the after dinner sojourn, and no doubt about it. For my part, I believed I had now gone beyond caring about anything other than my eventual revenge upon this witch of a woman. I as yet had no further ideas as to how I was to escape her clutches, but I remained firm in the belief that my chance would eventually come. After all, I reflected grimly, every dog is supposed to have its day.

  Hacklebury sat with five other people as Meg finally led me into the long drawing room. One of the guests was a female older even than Meg, quite possibly in her fifties, although a thick layer of make-up made it difficult to gauge her age accurately. The other four guests were men all attired in the tight breeches and cut-away formal jackets visible in a thousand pictures of the age. They were all smoking small cigars and, judging from the redness of their cheeks, were all well on the way to being drunk. A near empty decanter of what I guessed was brandy sat on a low table in their midst as further evidence of their over indulgence.