Thyme II Thyme (9 page)

'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.

'So, what have we here?' Hacklebury asked loudly as I straight-legged my way through the door at the end of my leash. The four men all turned to squint in my direction as the woman lifted an eyeglass on a silver stalk.

'My word!' she exclaimed, and I could see from her change of expression that she was genuinely surprised. 'My word, but what a creature!'

'This is Sheba, sirs, ma'am,' Meg announced, leashing me to a halt and dropping into a half curtsey. 'She's the thieving little wench we caught trying to climb in through the pantry window,' she lied. Obviously, my true identity was not for this public's consumption. 'She was offered either the courts or service,' Meg continued, probably making the story up as she went. 'Of course, they'd have hanged her if she'd gone the other way, this being not the first time she's been caught trying to steal from the house.'

'Indeed, they would have,' the oldest looking of the four men agreed. 'Always thought that was a bit of a waste myself, but then maybe you've started something here, eh, Hacklebury? Tell me, do you reckon she'll make anything of a guard dog? I doubt she'd move fast enough for the hunt.'

'Indeed not, my lord,' Hacklebury replied, smiling, 'but she moves fast enough for our purposes here, I'll warrant. Guard dog I don't know, but house dog most certainly.' He stepped forward and carefully walked all around me, stopping to flick at my proudly curled tail and to stroke the sleek hide of my flanks. He came around again to stand before me and then squatted down to peer into my face, particularly fascinated, it seemed, by the mouth in my mask. 'Quite remarkable,' he muttered, extending two fingers to probe the opening. If the artificial mouth had possessed teeth and been under my control, I think I should have snapped the intrusive digits off, but of course it did not and neither did I have any such control over the inanimate extension to my face. 'This is very good work, Pottinger,' he said.

Behind him, I saw a portly little fellow step forward, his face wreathed in satisfied smiles. 'As I told you, Sir Gregory,' the man who I assumed to be the architect of my latest shame said smoothly, 'my usual clientele require nothing less than perfection and this is not the first such mask I have made. In the East they even have their creatures hunt and draw carts and they are kept for years in stables and kennels just like the real thing.'

'Well, this creature has her kennel all right,' Hacklebury said, standing upright again, 'and by all accounts she is becoming very quickly accustomed to it, eh, Meg?'

'Indeed, she is, sir,' Meg confirmed. 'Unfortunately, however, the bitch seems to be permanently in season.'

'Ah, very interesting,' said another of the men. He was quite thin, with hawkish features and nothing to particularly commend or distinguish him though his accent suggested he was from the upper classes and had probably never done a day's decent work in his life. 'The bitch requires a dog? Or do you already have one for her, Hacklebury?'

'A Great Dane, you might say,' Hacklebury answered, and laughed at his own wit. 'A veritable giant of a dog quite capable of satisfying a dozen such bitches, but if you feel the urge to give it a go yourself, Mellam, then by all means, be my guest.'

The woman, who had been listening to these exchanges with an amused expression flickering across her features, now stepped forward. 'What say you, Mellam?' she demanded, prodding at his shoulder with a long finger. 'Fancy giving us all a show, do you?'

Mellam seemed somewhat flustered by this latest turn of events, but the woman did not appear to be about to let him off the hook on which he had unwittingly impaled himself.

'I mean, just look at the poor little bitch,' she said. 'Why, she seems to be panting for it. Doesn't she, Gregory?'

'She seems to be panting for something, I agree.' Hacklebury turned and grinned at Mellam. 'But I think our friend here is just a little put off by your presence, Margaret, or maybe he thinks his weapon may not be up to the job. Here, Mellam,' he continued, grasping the thin man by the arm, 'come around here and see what awaits you.' He led his guest behind me and I knew without looking that he was pointing down at my exposed and shaved quim, the lips of which were being forced into a tight
moué
by the V-strap. 'Look, they're blowing you a kiss of welcome, Mellam.'

Margaret and the other men all chuckled at this and promenaded around me so they could see this degrading sight with their own eyes.

'If I were a man and possessed of the necessary,' Margaret said evenly, 'I don't think there is any way I could ignore such an obvious invitation. Go on, Mellam, give the bitch a little of what she wants, there's a decent chap, and don't mind me. Why, I'll even help you get your pole up, if it needs help.'

Mellam was not at all keen, that much was easy to tell, but the others were now set upon having him take me. Although the chiding and protests went on for several more minutes, perseverance aided by further quantities of brandy soon had Mellam stripped below the waist. Margaret was indeed as good as her word in rendering assistance and stepped forward to grasp his drooping tool, but her ministrations weren't really that necessary for within seconds, now that the die was cast, Mellam proceeded to grow an erection that would have done almost any man proud - almost any man who wasn't Erik, that is.

For my own part, I knew I was already wet and I could feel the now familiar heat spreading out from my sex long before Mellam was ready for me. He himself sounded quite surprised when he placed the head of his weapon against me. 'Damn it, but she's certainly hot and ready enough!' he exclaimed, as much in a show of bravado as anything else, I guessed. I felt him push forward and, despite the compressive factor of the V-straps, he entered me easily enough, sliding his full length into my proffered pussy with a single thrust.

'How is she, Mellam?' Margaret enquired. 'Is she good and tight?'

It has to be a tribute to the elasticity of vaginal muscles the world over that Mellam announced to the little gathering that I was indeed tight enough for his satisfaction despite my recent experiences at Erik's hands, or rather at that other part of his anatomy.

'Take her nice and slow, Mellam,' Hacklebury advised. 'Make it last while we all have ourselves another drink.'

I heard Mellam grunt as he thrust in and out of me and I was glad once again of the anonymity afforded my own facial reactions by the mask. I was not surprised when I found my body yet again reacting of its own volition, my hips pushing backwards to meet his penetrations as little gurgling noises emanating from deep within my throat emerged from my gaping dog's mouth.

'She's an obliging bitch, I must say,' Mellam declared breathlessly. His hands grasped my hips to steady himself and I realised he was no Erik; he would probably discharge into me quite soon despite Hacklebury's warning for him to take it steadily. As I panted and groaned in rhythm with his hips, I supposed that the sight I presented would have been too much for the self-control of most men, so it was no surprise at all when I felt him erupt inside me with a choking cry.

'You need a drink, sir,' Hacklebury said, strolling back across the room with a glass held before him.

Without withdrawing from me, Mellam apparently accepted it because I heard him gulp the fiery liquid down hurriedly. Only then, with his shaft already beginning to wither inside me, did he have the courtesy to remove it, leaving me with a feeling of emptiness and, much as I hate to admit to it, disappointment. But as I ground my top teeth down onto the clamps that held the gag strap across my tongue, I doubted I would be left unsatisfied for very long...

'Eventually, after they had all had their fun with me, Pottinger included, Meg took me back outside, handed me over to Erik, and he took me back to my stall,' I concluded my story. 'I thought maybe he was going to have one last dip at me for the night, but it must have been the early hours by then and I reckon he was pretty whacked out himself. He gave me a drink of water poured down a metal funnel, of all things, and then told me to lie down, threw a blanket over me and left me to sleep. I dropped off pretty much straightaway, and then... well, then I woke up back here.'

'What an ordeal!' Anne-Marie exclaimed. 'It must have been horrible to be treated like that.'

'It was,' I admitted, 'and yet something was happening inside me that made it all seem quite surreal, and even...' I hesitated. 'Well, it was almost enjoyable, though in a quite impersonal way,' I added hurriedly. 'After all, it wasn't really my body and that funny crew mostly didn't even know who I was supposed to be, let alone who I really am.'

'I think I know what you mean,' Anne-Marie said slowly. 'That's part of the whole bondage and submission thing. Once you're tied up and you've given over all control to someone else, you can just go with the flow. Of course,' she said by way of qualification, 'in normal circumstances, that control is surrendered willingly, whereas you weren't given any choice in the matter. And what am I thinking of?' she exclaimed suddenly. 'There you are still sitting there in that tight corset. It must be killing you by now.'

I peered down at myself. I was still dressed in the elaborate Victoriana garb I had donned for our earlier games. I shrugged. 'To be honest,' I admitted, 'it doesn't really feel that tight any more, not after being laced into that damned dog suit thing. That really
was
tight, believe me.'

'I think we should get you out of it, all the same,' Anne-Marie insisted, 'and then I reckon we'd all be better off at my place. Your cottage is really quaint but there's no denying the plumbing here leaves a lot to be desired and the sleeping space is limited. Besides, so far you've been here when you've been whisked off on your travels, and while we don't know for sure that's a factor, the fewer chances we take, the better, at least for the moment.'

'I agree,' I said. 'I'm not saying I don't want to go back and sort that bitch Meg out, but not just yet. I feel as knackered now as if it was this body that was going through all that and my head's starting to throb. Plus, there's a few other things I need to get straightened out.'

'Like finding out a bit more about Gregory Hacklebury, for instance?'

'Yes, that for one, but then there's been these other things... I didn't mention them before, but I have these sort of half remembered images floating around up here.' I tapped my temple. 'Some of it is Angelina stuff, but there's other things as well, and I need to try to focus on them.'