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The Girlspell - Book 2 (William Avon)

The Girlspell - Book 2 by William Avon

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Amber, Melanie and Sue are still languishing in village of Shaftwell: an alternate version of England, where women who fall foul of the law can quite legally be kept as naked servants, sexual playthings and hunting trophies.

Melanie has become a member of the Markham Hall girl pack of naked women who are hunted for sport. Amber is the captive of a secret cabal of Cranborough House School sixth formers, who are enthusiastically using her for their amusement. Sue is the prisoner of cruel Arabella Westlake, who, together with her own little cadre of followers, nicknamed the “Snooties”, is contriving ever more degrading sexual torments in the hope of breaking her completely to her will.

Sly little vagabond Sally Potts is looking forward to being released from being a naked target in the police yard public pillory, while Miss Newcombe, Matron of Cranborough House, wants to save her. Meanwhile, pretty, timid, Jemima Moncrief is having doubts about being one of Arabella’s “Snooties”, while also being troubled by her own strange and disturbing emotions while she watches Sue being humiliated.

Amber is scheming to recover the unnaturally alluring ivory phalluses from oriental puzzle box she stole, in the hope that they will take her back home, while unexpectedly enjoying keeping five young men satisfied. Melanie knows she should be trying to escape her bondage, but she finds herself being attracted by the life of a pack girl and the thrill of the chase. Sue is losing her will to resist and feels herself sinking into a state of total submission. Is this where she belongs?

Perhaps the mysterious power of the Girlspell contained in the puzzle box has brought them all to a place where they are truly happy. Is there more to life than freedom? The day of the Hunt Ball is approaching, complete with its display of naked pack girls who make such lovely living decorations. There will be excitement and debts settled and a few surprises before it is over!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 3 / 2019

No. words: 73900

Style: Erotic Domination - M/F, Bondage/BDSM Fantasy, Erotic Fantasy

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Click Here For All Books In This Series


Chapter 1: Melanie

Melanie Kingston strained against the imprisoning straps of the riding machine, forcing the device to its maximum extension. As sprung rods thrust her backwards the Major's cock slid up the cleft of her coffee-brown buttocks, penetrated the rubbery oiled-ring of her anus and buried itself to the root in her rectum.
She groaned in mingled dismay and delight at the intimate intrusion, her breath rasping about the bit clenched between her teeth.
The Major's riding crop flicked across her sweat-streaked thigh and he hunched over her, clutching her swaying naked breasts. "Last furlong, girl!" he said huskily. "Give it your best!"
She thrust herself forward with all the strength of her legs, rebounding from the springs with greater power, impaling herself again and again on his hard rod of flesh.
She felt hot sperm spout within her…
Melanie woke with a start, blinking in the grey light of dawn as it filtered through the door bars of her kennel. Her fingers were thrust into the sticky cleft of her groin. It had been a dream! The Major hadn't ridden her last night. All the pack girls had been allowed to rest - because today was Hunt Day!
The realization banished the last of the sleep from Melanie's mind even as she felt warm slickness welling up afresh between her engorged public lips in anticipation. She was lubricating like a bitch on heat. But then that was exactly what she was - a bitch of the Markham Hall girl pack; a collared bondmaid or femling as they were called here, destined to be the sexual prize of whoever could catch her.
The thought should have inspired disgust and horror, but instead it only made her excitement grow more intense. She ran her finger deeper into her cleft and felt her nipples prick up and harden. Once again, she was astonished at the transformation she had undergone.
Just a few days before she had been a constable in the Hoakam district police service. Determined to prove that a black woman police officer was as good as anybody else, she had tracked down an ingenious cat-burglar named Amber Jones; catching her in the act of adding to her secret stash deep in Hoakam Woods.
But Jones had resisted arrest. In the struggle that followed a stolen oriental-styled black lacquer box Jones was carrying had burst open, revealing a curious keyboard-like panel within its lid and three ivory phalluses. Both women had immediately felt an inexplicable but overwhelming desire to use the phalluses on themselves. Jones had briefly escaped with the box, but its influence had drawn Melanie after it. When she found the box, one phallus was missing and Jones' jeans and pants were lying discarded beside it, but there was no sign of Jones herself.
Unable to resist the lure of the box, Melanie had used one of the remaining phalluses on herself, stimulating an orgasm more intense than anything she had known before. When she recovered, she found herself in woods different from those she had been in only moments earlier. There was no sign of the mystery box, only the inexplicable feeling that she had travelled a tremendous distance in some unknown direction.
She soon found out how strange this new land was when she was captured by the owner of the woodland estate, Major Havercotte-Gore, and his niece, Arabella Westlake. Recognising Melanie as an 'outsider', she had been stripped naked and whipped, then given a stark choice. She could either be prosecuted for trespass and vagrancy, the punishment for which was public auction and degradation as a bondmaid; or else she could volunteer for a year's service in the Major's girl pack. This meant, by the customs of this alternate version of England, that she would be worked hard and given to guests as a sexual plaything and hunted for sport.
Melanie chose the pack as the lesser of the two evils.
She had been put into bondage, been intimately and humiliatingly tested and examined, treated like a dog, run on a track naked, compelled to make love to another pack girl and sodomized by the Major on his riding machine. But, against all reason, she found herself enjoying her subjugation. She became the First Girl of the pack and the Major's favourite, and his honest pleasure in her exertions, both sporting and sexual, made her feel more valued and more alive than she ever had before...
A key rattled in the outer door of the kennel room, interrupting Melanie's thoughts. The door opened and the lights came on.
"Time to get up, girls," came the cheery voice of Alison Chalmers, the kennel maid. "We've lots to do before the hunt."
There were stirrings from the other cells as the rest of the pack awoke. With a clank of bolts Alison released the master lock of the tiered kennels. Melanie pushed her door open and crawled out onto the coconut matting that covered the floor. In a few moments there were twenty-two naked young women standing with her; stretching, rubbing their eyes and brushing back their hair. On the glossy black collars locked about their necks was a metal strip embossed with the words: 'PROPERTY OF THE MARKHAM HALL HUNT PACK', and a number. Melanie was number 9. The same number was imprinted in indelible ink on the coffee-brown upper curve of her right buttock, framed by a pattern of chain links and the Markham Hall crest.
Melanie felt the brush of silky naked limbs against her flanks and exchanged happy, anxious smiles with her sisters in bondage. She saw her own tremulous anticipation mirrored in their faces. Nipples of all sizes and hues were swelling and hardening at the thought of what was to come, and the air filled with scent of barely contained female excitement.
Alison's long switch flicked across rounded buttocks.
"Get along to the ablutions sharply, girls," she said. "Then straight outside for morning exercise. No dilly-dallying now."
In a chattering file the pack girls were herded towards the toilets. The prospect of the hunt was overwhelming. Thoughts of duty and speculations about the whereabouts of Amber Jones melted from Melanie's mind.

Chapter 2: Amber

Amber Jones was roused by the toe of a boot prodding her side.
"Wake up, girl. I've brought you breakfast."
Amber squinted through bleary eyes. Narrow slots of low morning sunlight slipped past the sacking hung over the windows of the old loft, illuminating the disused three-sided planking storage bin she was lying in. Standing over her was a well-scrubbed and freckle-faced young man carrying a covered bowl.
Still half asleep, she mumbled: "Go away, Nigel. I'ss too early... You know I had a busy time last night."
Nigel Gosset prodded her again, this time less gently.
"You do what we tell you, girl. That was the agreement."
Amber came to her senses with a start, remembering where and what she was. Hastily throwing back her blankets she rolled onto her hands and knees and bowed her head over the young man's feet. The heavy chain padlocked around her left ankle jingled.
"Sorry, Master," she said. "Your femling was not thinking - she really did have a busy night. Please forgive her."
She felt his eyes pass over her naked body, perhaps lingering on her buttocks which bore the crimson stripes of a recent caning. Gosset had helped put some of those stripes on her flesh. He was also responsible, together with four of his friends, for the well-used soreness of her vagina. She shivered at the memory even as a familiar tingle began to grow in her lower stomach.
"Sit up," he commanded.
Amber obeyed, sitting back on her heels and automatically clasping her hands behind her neck. The posture thrust out her neat, shapely breasts, which were also crisscrossed with cane marks. More stripes decorated her stomach and upper thighs. She felt the pulsing in her nipples, causing them to smart even more fiercely. Gosset watched her teats harden with open fascination, then reached down and squeezed a hot breast.
Amber bit her lip.
"Does that hurt?" Gosset asked.
"A bit, master - but in a nice way. Don't stop."
"You like what we're doing to you, don't you?"
"Most of it," she admitted. "More than I thought I would."
"You really wanted the cane last night."
Amber blushed but could not help replying frankly. "I know. I don't normally go out of my way looking for pain. But when it's mixed in with sex... well, it's different. It makes the pleasure more intense somehow - even if it is pretty exhausting."
Gosset put the bowl down and took off the lid to reveal a steaming helping of porridge. "You'd better keep your strength up then - because we're planning a lot more of both for you later."
With a fluttering stomach Amber ate. Gosset watched her with frank interest, as befitted the young master of an attractive sex-toy. She felt a warm slickness growing between her love lips.
How had she got herself into such an incredible situation, she wondered? But then who could have guessed what the puzzle box would contain. And it had been sheer bad luck that PC Kingston had turned up just when she'd discovered the box's concealed lock. What power within it had compelled her to use one of the phalluses contained inside when she should have been making her getaway? Of course, she had got away, but rather further than she had planned! Using the phallus had somehow shifted her into a parallel England where outsiders had no rights and were considered fair game by one and all. Soon after arriving she'd been captured and gang-banged by three of Gosset's friends. Escaping from them she'd run straight into the arms of Constable Bailey, who proved only too adept at dealing with young female lawbreakers. Convicted as a vagrant and illegal alien, she'd been sentenced to public flogging and pillory in the police yard, then sale at auction.
Amber finished her porridge. Taking a deep breath, she shuffled over to her waste bucket and squatted over it. She didn't try to hide anything and kept her splayed legs facing Gosset, who watched intently as the pee spouted from her cleft. A bulge began to grow in the front of his trousers.
Gosset, together with the others who had first waylaid her, had sneaked into the police yard one night with the lockpicks they had found in her bag. They offered to give her the tools to break out of her cell if she agreed to be their sex-toy. Amber had accepted, thinking she had more chance of escaping from them than official captivity. Besides, they had the phallus which might hold the key to returning home.
Amber finished wiping herself with the crackling, school-issue toilet paper and began to wash. She saw Gosset was getting impatient, but she knew she had to keep him waiting just a little longer. Part of their agreement was that she should be housed in reasonable conditions and be allowed to keep herself clean and tidy. This old disused stable loft was dry and reasonably warm, and she had food and basic toilet facilities. However, the rest of her scheme hadn't gone quite to plan. She'd thought she could play along with them, putting up with their demands while gradually turning their adolescent lust to her advantage. But an unexpected development had occurred - she was beginning to enjoy being their plaything!
Gosset's eyes were locked onto her every movement as she quickly soaped herself over, causing the pliant globes of her breasts to glisten, working lather into the cleft of her buttocks and the silky hair-rimmed furrow of her love mouth. A hot bath would be delicious, but all she had was a flannel soaked in a pail of cold water. She shivered as she rinsed herself down, causing her nipples to crinkle and harden once again, then began vigorously towelling off. Gosset's breath rasped in his throat. He pulled off the old jersey he was wearing and ran a finger around his collar.
Amber had dabbled in a little S&M back home, a world away. But here sexual servitude was an accepted part of everyday life. And her captors, though rank beginners, were learning fast.
The five young men had turned out to be senior pupils at Cranborough House, a local minor pubic school. At the moment the boys were alone in the school apart from Sister Newcombe, the school matron, having had their Easter holidays curtailed as part of the punishment for an offence for which they believed Arabella Westlake had framed them. Amber had already suffered an uncomfortable encounter with Arabella while she was in the police yard pillory, and the desire for revenge on that cruel and spoilt young woman was something she and the boys held in common. Amber had planned a means of achieving this and securing her own early release, but it was getting harder to keep focused on her objective. The boys were each having her individually two or three times a day, when they could slip away from the odd-jobs they were doing round the school which Sister Newcombe was overseeing. Then at night they were sneaking out for an enthusiastic gangbang, sustained by raw lust and the recuperative powers of vigorous youth. It seemed that however many times they emptied their balls into her they kept coming back with more.
Amber finished combing through her short-cropped hair and turned to Gosset. The poor boy was half bent over, shuffling his feet awkwardly and looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"There, I'm nice and clean and fresh for you," she said with a smile, knowing what was to come. "Now, how do you want me?"
With a grunt of barely contained need, Gosset took her by the shoulders and pushed her backwards onto the pile of blankets and sacking that formed her makeshift bed. He straddled her chest, making Amber gasp as his weight drove the breath from her.
The sides of the stall were studded with metal rings and hooks, from which hung lengths of rope with ready-looped ends. With their aid Gosset quickly secured Amber's wrists so that her arms were drawn out from her body. Extra tugs pulled them taut until Amber winced. Only then did Gosset loop the rope ends about their securing hooks, opening up the hollows under her arms to his gaze.
For a moment their eyes locked and Gosset bent over and kissed her fiercely, as she had encouraged all the boys to do, probing her mouth with his tongue, allowing her to savour the fresh cleanliness of his hot breath. Then he sat back and, grinning maliciously, pinched her sore nipples so that she yelped in pain.
But it was all right.
She would take almost anything from them once they had kissed her; as long as there was that moment of true intimacy that reminded them that she was a person. Now she was happy to be used casually, even selfishly.
He stood up again, the bulge in his trousers like a tent pole, and kicked her thighs.
"Spread yourself... no, wider than that."
Amber strained to obey, splaying her legs until they made a right angle. More loops of rope went about her ankles, leaving her heavy ankle chain in place. The boys were determined she would not escape from them a second time. Gosset hauled on the rope ends, pulling her tighter and wider until the big tendons on her inner thighs stood out.
Now she was ready for him, bound in the most basic and blatant position of sexual display and availability a woman could be made to assume, her crinkled pink cunt lips glistening and gaping so that the dark mouth of her vagina was exposed to his view. Amber thrilled as her instinctive feeling of helpless outrage clashed gloriously with her sexual arousal.
Gosset drank in her spread-eagled naked form for a second, then feverishly stripped off his trousers and underpants. She had a brief glimpse of purple-tipped penis standing out so hard and firm that it almost seemed to touch his stomach, then he fell upon her.
His silky-skinned iron-hard young cock penetrated her waiting hole and slid up into the slick ribbed passage beyond until his full length was lodged within her. Amber gasped as she was perfectly filled, then Gosset's pale buttocks lifted as he withdrew. He lunged into her again, rapidly building up a frantic rhythm, ramming in and out of her like a piston, his eyes screwed up, using her without any thought for her pleasure; his only concern to release the aching pressure in his balls.
As always with the boys it was over too soon.
With a shiver and shudder Gosset spermed inside her. He managed a couple more reflex thrusts, then collapsed over her bound body, head resting between her breasts, his hot breath tickling her swollen nipples, leaving her internal muscles contracting desperately around his shrinking cock as she tried to draw the last particle of pleasure from it.
After a minute Gosset recovered. He withdrew from her clinging cunt, climbed off her and reached for his discarded clothes.
"Please finish me off!" she begged him. "Just rub your fingers up and down my slit!"
Gosset shook his head. "Jackson said we should leave you wanting more. He thinks it'll make you more ready to please later."
Amber groaned and tugged futilely at her bonds. "Aren't you going to untie me?"
"But then you'd only bring yourself off. We know girls can do that just like boys. Don't worry, we won't leave you very long. Harris will be along soon. He's next on the rota."
"The rota?"
Gosset finished dressing and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it he pinned it to a post of her stall. It was a list of her five joint masters' names with periods of the day set against them. "This is to make sure we all have you the same number of times," he explained. "And we can put down marks for how well you pleased us."
I'm on a fucking list! Amber thought. With marks out of ten!
But she had to ask: "Er... how well did I do just now?"
Gosset wrote a figure in a column with the stub of a pencil then grinned at her. "I'm giving you A Minus."
"'A Minus!"
He stepped between her splayed legs and slid one foot forward. The toe of his boot nuzzled into the split pouch of flesh at the junction of her thighs from which a sticky trickle of fluid was seeping. Amber immediately dipped her hips and squirmed desperately on her bottom, kissing the tip of his boot with her cunt lips as though trying to suck the leather into her so it might bring relief to her hardened love bud.
Suddenly Gosset pulled his foot away, leaving her rubbing on empty air.
"You got a minus because you kept me waiting too long," he said.
With a whimper Amber dropped her head back onto her blankets. She heard Gosset climb down the trap door and pull it shut, then his steps faded away on the ladder below.
This is what I've been reduced to, she told herself bitterly, trying to ignore the terrible ache in her loins - being left so frustrated I'm ready to work myself off on a shoe! And she'd been worried at first that the boys' apparently insatiable intentions would wear her out! She'd happily take a caning again rather than be left feeling like this. But then that was the idea. And tonight, no doubt, caning was exactly what she would get. Did all boys in this world have such a natural talent for torture?
Miserably Amber tried to distract herself by thinking of her revenge on Arabella. Yes, that would be sweet. As long as they could find the girl from her own version of England that she had deduced Arabella was keeping captive somewhere. She must have found and used the last phallus in the puzzle box. Amber wondered dryly if she was having as much fun as she was.

Chapter 3: Sue

Sunlight glowed around the dusty, faded curtains of the tiny window as Sue Drake woke in pain. Her whole body seemed to ache. Certain places were worse than others.
She was bound face down on the underframe of a narrow bed, wrists and ankles chained to the bed posts, her body resting on a lattice of canvass webbing. The heavy pale bells of her breasts had been pushed through gaps in the fabric so that they ballooned outward again under the bed; hanging like fruit ready for picking. The scattered morning light revealed them to be scored by crisscross welts and abrasions. Even the pendant nipples were reddened beyond their normal colour.
A little way down from her sore breasts a length of broom handle emerged at an angle from the webbing. Its lower end rested on the floor beyond the foot of the bed, held fast by cords tied to the bed legs. The upper end was lodged deep inside Sue's plump-lipped cunt, its shaft darkened by the female juices its presence had stimulated. It was another degradation, another step in her training to become the perfect submissive, which seemed to be Sue's predestined role in life.
Yesterday, her Mistress had hired two men to misuse Sue for her amusement. They had handled her cruelly and used her for their pleasure in every way imaginable. Yet, after it was over, Sue had begged for more - and had been granted her wish. Despite still being sore and bruised from that encounter, twice during the seemingly interminable night Sue had succumbed to the temptation the broom handle had offered - even though she was allowed no pleasure without pain.
Rising from between the soft white hemispheres of her upward-facing buttocks was a thick sprig of holly. Its trimmed stalk, too slender for her to expel, was embedded in her anus. Every time she tried to pleasure herself on the broom handle, the movement caused the holly to do its worst. The inner cheeks of her buttocks and the soft swell of her upper thighs were ringed by scratches and pinpoints of dried gore.
Pain and pleasure. The distinctions were becoming blurred in Sue's mind, along with so much else.
She had no idea where she was or how she got there. She'd been on a cycling holiday. Passing through Hoakam Woods she had come across a strange black box with its irresistibly alluring phallus. After using it she had fallen somehow. There was a bruise on her head. She must have been unconscious. When she woke she found she was already a prisoner - a “femling” as they sometimes called women in sexual servitude here. It all seemed too incredible. Perhaps she was actually lying in some hospital bed dreaming all this? No, it was real - more real than anything else she had known.
Down below her a key turned in a lock. Sue caught her breath. Footsteps clattered on the wooden stairs. It was the sound Sue both longed for and dreaded. The door of the tiny bedroom opened and Arabella Westlake walked in.
Sue's stomach knotted as she twisted her head round to look up at her mistress. Arabella was dressed in culottes, riding jacket and boots. In her hand she carried a horse crop. A smile twitched the corners of Arabella's fine lips as she took in Sue's prostrate form. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers down the hollow of Sue's spine. Reaching her bottom she pried apart the fleshy buttock cheeks and examined the damage the holly sprig had done. Sue whimpered as the movement drove more spines into her skin. Arabella smiled and turned to the foot of the bed. Untying the cords that secured the end of the broom handle, she drew it out of Sue with soft sucking pop.
"I see you were excited last night," she said, examining the glistening darkly stained head of the broom handle.
"Yes, Mistress," Sue said in a tiny voice.
"Did it hurt when you tried to pleasure yourself?"
"Yes, Mistress."
Arabella sniffed the stained handle, then flicked out a pink tongue tip and licked it delicately, savouring Sue's intimate honeydew. "Good," she said. "Did you come?"
"Twice, Mistress."
"Indeed. Despite the pain it entailed?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Would you like me to remove the holly now?"
"Only if it pleases you, Mistress."
Arabella reached up into the humid haven between Sue's thighs and carefully plucked the holly sprig out of her femling's anus. Sue gave a shudder. "Thank you, Mistress."
Arabella took the dog leash which had been hanging over the end of the bed and clipped it to Sue's collar. Then she unlocked the padlocks that secured Sue's chains. Sue almost fell off the bed as she tried to move her numbed and stiffened limbs. Her breasts were ringed by white and purple welts where the webbing of the bed had cut into them. On her hands and knees, she crawled awkwardly after Arabella as she was led down the narrow stairs.
In the low beamed sitting room below, food and water had been set out in two tin bowls. Sue drank and ate hunched over her simple meal, picking up her food with lips and teeth and making no attempt to use her hands. Her sore nipples brushed the floor. In one corner of the room her bike and cycle packs rested against the wall; a reminder of the world she had come from. Would she ever return?
When she was finished, Arabella led her through the back door and into a small overgrown garden, surrounded by a tall thick hedge. The sun was still low and there was dew on the grass, but the day promised to be a warm one. From outside it was apparent that the house was really a slightly reduced model of a half-timbered thatched cottage. In fact, it was an elaborate children's playhouse now fallen into neglect.
As she had been taught, Sue scraped a hole in earth of one of the flower beds and squatted over it like a dog. When it was filled with her wastes, she wiped herself clean with handfuls of long grass, then carefully covered the hole in again. Shuffling back to Arabella she bent and kissed the tops of her riding boots, then looked up at her mistress with wide eyes full of fear and helpless adoration.
Arabella ruffled Sue's thick mane of shaggy blonde hair as one would pet a dog, admiring the curves of the girl's full, hourglass figure, noting how her pale skin highlighted the marks of her various punishments. But Sue's face was the greatest delight; so innocent and open, so easily made to contort in distress or pleasure. Blue eyes that ran so readily with tears. She was a creature made to be moulded and mastered.
For a moment Sue thought she saw in Arabella's gaze the unreserved approval she sought with all her heart. To know that Arabella accepted the gift of her submission and loved her for it was all Sue wanted. She would live happily under her heel if she was granted that one gift. But then the look was gone and cool composure returned to Arabella's features.
"I shall be busy for much of today and won't be able to attend to you personally," Arabella told her. "But I have ensured that your training will not be interrupted. The girls have their instructions. I have something rather special in mind for you..."
And she showed Sue the new torment she had planned for her.
Outrage and disgust flickered briefly within Sue as she learned what was to come, even as she admitted with helpless resignation that it was entirely appropriate.
Sue said meekly: "If my suffering will please you, Mistress..."

Author Information

William Avon is interested in exploring strange new worlds of sexual adventure, bondage, power play and intrigue, which may be separated from our reality only by an infinitesimal gap between dimensions or even the power of a wish. In an infinite multi-verse who can say they do not exist? But although his heroines may seem to be helpless victims submitting to their masters and mistresses, they are far from weak.
The alternate England of the "Girlspell" series is an attempt to portray a culture where it has been normal for hundreds of years to punish female criminals, debtors or even vagrants with time in a naked pillory, a public lashing or sexual slavery. And then three women from our world are transported to it. How do they adapt and survive? How long before their natural instinct to escape is overwhelmed by the strange pleasures and rewards of slavery?


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