We arrived at the riding school on a bright summer's morning, Sandra, Melissa and myself, Kate. We're all instructors at the school but we had no pupil appointments that day because the local hunt was meeting, and we were riding with it. In England, horse riding and fox hunting are so intertwined that not riding to hounds would cut us off from most of our business contacts.
Sandra was driving a Landrover and I had my old Landcruiser because we needed to tow two horseboxes to take our three horses to the hunt rendezvous. Nothing had seemed unusual until we opened the stable door. Inside, hanging from the wooden beams, was a long banner with hand painted red lettering on it: "THE LEAGUE AGAINST BLOOD SPORTS".
"What the hell is that doing here?" Sandra had demanded angrily. Tall, strong, and always the dominant one, she led us inside the stables.
We all knew about the league. They're violently opposed to fox hunting and game bird shooting. We also knew they'd been active around the district for a while, mainly spreading false scents for the hounds during the hunts. That wasn't something which bothered us personally, but what had upset us was finding some tripwires tied between trees where the fake scents had been laid. It seemed strange behavior for so-called animal lovers to set traps to kill and injure our horses, let alone the people riding them.
So that was why Sandra was so concerned about finding the banner in our stables. It wasn't the league's attitudes towards fox hunting which worried us, it was the fanatical and dangerous lengths some of them were going to in promoting their cause. If the ones who had broken into our stables overnight were as plain nutty as the wire riggers there was no telling what damage they might have done. But somehow it never occurred to us that maybe they hadn't gone away after putting up their banner. I suppose we were too concerned about what might have happened to our horses.
It wasn't until we were well inside the stables that we realized our mistake. Somebody shouted out, the top and bottom doors of the nearest loose boxes were thrown open and a whole crowd of people came charging out, each of their faces hidden by a party mask shaped like a fox's head and all of them wearing identical blue overalls as if it was a kind of uniform. They looked -- and acted -- like a bunch of bank robbers working to a pre-arranged plan. As they surrounded us they grabbed our arms, dragging us towards the tack room. I could hear Sandra shouting with anger and Melissa squealing as well, but none of our assailants took any notice.
It seemed there were perhaps eight or nine of them altogether. Most of them were males, young strong ones, but at least two of the blue overalls were also covering what were obviously girls' bodies, though they seemed to be holding onto us just as tightly as the boys were. At any event the three of us were completely surprised and overwhelmed by the totally unexpected assault. It just seemed so organized that it was unbelievable -- right down to the odd fact that each of the overalls had a number painted on the front and back, numbers which seemed to have been put on with the same paint and brush used to write the banner.
We were pushed and shoved towards a big table which had been moved to the middle of the room and now had some horse blankets spread out on top of it. The gang clearly intended we should bend over the table, but we finally started resisting as much as we could. Sandra was making the most determined efforts to get loose, aided by her height and strength. She's almost six foot tall, a horsewoman so good and so athletic she has a genuine chance of riding in the next Olympics.
One of the men, taller even than Sandra, appeared beside her and did something which made her yelp.
"Bend over you stubborn bitch" he snarled. Sandra whimpered and then leaned forward over the table without the slightest sign of any further struggle.
It seemed incredible to me to that she could have been dominated so easily. Then I saw the shiny pair of pliers in the hand of the man standing next to her. The kind of pliers with long thin pincers that electricians use. The man was gripping Sandra's left earlobe with them and that was why she'd had no choice but to obey him. I soon found that out for myself, because one of the anti-hunting people next to me held up another pair of pliers and pinched my own earlobe with them.
"Bend over the table, you fucking apology for a human being." The sheer venom in the voice was almost as shocking as the steel biting into my flesh. Perhaps even more unsettling was that the voice was feminine.
Having no choice I did as Sandra had done, lowering myself beside her with my forearms resting on the coarse blankets. The table creaked under our weight, then again as Melissa leaned over it as well. Another pair of blue overalls came close to me at the side of the table as the female behind me let go of my ear. It made no difference to the situation though, as yet another pair of the pliers was immediately applied to my left earlobe by the other thug.
Although I wasn't in much pain right then any real pressure on the pliers handles would certainly cause me instant agony. And I'd seen three pairs of pliers already, each apparently brand new, as if bought especially to use on us. Was everybody involved in this lunacy carrying them? What the hell did they think they were going to do, and how many real crazies were standing around us right now?
I was frightened, badly frightened, and I wanted to look around yet I couldn't move my head because of the grip of steel on my ear. From the corners of my eyes I could get a glimpse of Melissa's face. She'd lost her riding hat in the struggle and some of her dark curls were sticking to her sweat streaked forehead. She also looked as totally shocked as I felt, and no wonder. We couldn't have been more knocked out if the roof had suddenly fallen in on us.
"Good morning, girls," a jeering male voice said. It was coming from behind us, close behind. A sound of a sharp slap came next, with Sandra gasping and cursing.
"Tut, tut, well bred young ladies like you shouldn't know words like that", the man answered. Presumably he was the one who'd just slapped Sandra's bottom and I'd have bet he'd never have dared to do it under any other circumstances, for all his contemptuous attitude.
I tried to see Sandra's face by squinting sideways in the other direction but my view was blocked by the body of the man - woman? - holding the pliers on me and standing close to the table.
"Before we go any further, perhaps I'd better tell you that I phoned the Hunt Master's house this morning and apologized on your behalf for not being able to attend the hunt today. Apparently some of your horses aren't feeling quite the thing, so you've got to baby sit them until the vet arrives. I think I sounded convincing enough to be sure that nobody is going to come looking for you when you fail to arrive at the meet. Oh, and we've padlocked the road gates to the stables as well."
Like everybody else in England, I can usually tell pretty closely from the way another English person speaks what class they belong to, what education they've had, even what income they earn. If some working class yobbo with a back streets accent had phoned a message like that through to Sir Roderick's house it might not have been believed. But this guy talked as if he was out of the top drawer. With a sinking heart I had to accept that such a message would almost certainly been taken at face value.
Even as I was trying to think this through I felt a hand stroking the bottom of my tightly stretched jodphurs, and the same voice said: "What extremely big arses you riding ladies do develop. Most enticing. You're Kate, aren't you? Kate Mowberly?"
With those pliers still nipping my earlobe the only response I could possibly make was to admit to my name.
"How nice to meet you, Kate. And this must be Melissa Winton." I felt the table move under my arms as somebody resting on it stirred and I was certain that the guy was rubbing Melissa's bottom as well. "And of course, the other one is Sandra Keating, the local Olympic hopeful."
The drawling insolence in the way he said it produced some chuckles amongst the rest of the gang standing around the table.
"Sandra, whatever your hopes for an Olympic medal, you're certainly our best hope for a very nice little publicity stunt we've got in mind. It may offend you quite a lot I'm afraid, though I don't know how much it takes to upset somebody whose idea of recreation is watching a live animal being ripped to pieces by a pack of hounds."
"You've got it all wrong," I answered loudly. "We're only members of the hunt because we run a riding school and we get most of our pupils from the families of those people. It's a business thing for us, not a sport we enjoy!"
"Well, that's alright then, Kate, isn't it? I'm sure the innocent animals you torture to death would feel a lot better about things if only we could explain that so many of you hunt supporters don't really enjoy it at all. But we're going to do something about the whole horrible business today and I think we might certainly enjoy what we're going to do."
I could hear several chuckles and a bark of laughter. The anti-hunters seemed to think that he was making a great joke.
"It's what we call the Lady Godiva project. As you know, that good lady wanted her cruel husband to abate his taxes on the townspeople of Coventry and to prove her sincerity offered to ride naked on horseback through the streets of the town. In turn, to show their respect, the townspeople shuttered all their windows and refused to look at her. Except, according to legend, one evil little blighter called Tom who took a peek and was promptly struck blind by heaven in retribution. Hence the term, 'Peeping Tom'."
A pair of legs had moved round in front of the table, walking up and down, or rather strutting up and down as the smug voice continued lecturing us.
"Despite that awful warning there's never been any shortage of dirty minded peeping toms. They can provide a very useful source of cash and publicity, and what better way to sell into that market than to offer some nice shiny pictures of another totally stripped down Lady Godiva? Especially if she's quite a famous horsewoman in her own right."
Sandra screeched with anger, then abruptly stopped with a gasp. It seemed that she was still being held the same way that I was. Again I tried to look sideways at her and again all I saw was blue cloth but this time it wasn't quite as loose fitting as it had been before. There were two things I now knew for certain. One was that my own particular captor at that moment was definitely a male, and I also knew he was getting excited by what was happening.
"You know, it's a shocking thing, the number of publications there are nowadays which would be only too happy to publish those sort of filthy snapshots, especially with a well known face in them. They'd pay the league excellent money for them, nor would they mind if our publicity banners were in every photo, giving us lots of free exposure - though obviously not as much exposure as you'd be showing."
More chuckles; oh, he was a real comedian, this one. Absolutely and totally self assured though, I had to give him that. He was laying his spiel on us like a professional actor.
"It would ruin my career, my business," Sandra protested, much nearer to begging than I ever imagined I could ever hear from her.
"Ah well, in the pictures the pliers won't be visible. They'll still be there of course, either holding a sensitive part of your anatomy or very close at hand ready to be used if you decide on some foolish resistance. But to all outward appearances you won't seem to be being forced to do anything. So I think your best way out of it would be to say you volunteered to take part in our little photo session as a way of registering your personal protest against hunting. At least that would give you a little undeserved moral stature. As for your business, I'm sure that the publicity will bring you plenty of eager new clients -- all men, of course."
"The Olympics!" Sandra wailed desperately.
"Oh, I daresay the national selection committee will be broadminded about it all. There's hardly a good looking woman of any sporting ability anywhere who wouldn't happily strip down to the buff for a centerfold shot. At the right price, of course. The only drawback for you, Sandra, is that you're not going to get paid for your raunchy pictures. Still, it's all in a good cause, so there's your consolation. Now, look over against the wall."
"Lift your head up," the guy next to me said, relaxing his hold a little. His voice sounded husky.
I raised my head and looked towards the wall. The row of pegs where the saddles hung were empty. Except for three left there, side by side.
"That's where we're going to perch you, ladies. Sandra in the center, and Kate and Melissa on either side to add a touch more excitement. You'll be put on wearing your boots, your caps, and carrying your riding crops. And for your first shots you'll also be wearing your underwear. By the time we lift you off you'll have nothing on but your boots and hats. That's when we take the riding crops off you, bend you back over this table and give each of you enough of a spanking to make sure you won't want to sit on another saddle for a day or two."
There were mocking cheers in the background for that announcement and it was clear that the guy next to me was getting even more excited about the situation.
"And afterwards we'll all have a nice cup of tea."
An outburst of ironic catcalls and mock protests came from the mob: "What, you guys want more? Oh well, I suppose we might get around to taking some even more interesting pictures later on. The ones we really can make a few quid with. I believe there's a thriving market for that sort of thing in places like Soho."
I couldn't believe I was hearing this.
"On the other hand, if you ladies don't make any stupid attempts to bring the police into this, we'll probably keep those particular snap-shots as souvenirs for our own stud books."
The voice continued rolling on, unstoppable in its self satisfied gloating: "Let me explain the ground rules for what happens next. Each of you is going to be taken away by a group of escorts who will get you ready for the first photos on the saddles. They'll tell you what to do, and any of you hunting girls wants to put up a fight you're welcome to try, even though you'll have about as much chance as a fox cornered by a pack of hounds. Incidentally, we've got some of our own girls here to help take the photos we want. They may introduce themselves later on, while the gentlemen will eventually make themselves known to you in the usual way."
More good humored shouts and cheers. The last time I'd heard anything like it had been at a hunt ball where four young members of the peerage had decided to pull the panties off an elegant mid-forties divorcee. The only one who hadn't realized what was being planned was her, not until she'd been lured into the billiards room and snookered behind the eight balls. The shouts of triumph which had come out of that room were just like the noises we were hearing now.
"OK, gentlemen, please come and collect your baggages from the table and start unpacking them."
God, he was loving this, the sarcastic bastard. Now I was being held by the right ear again, and given a tug to make me get up. The pliers on the other side of my head were slow to release me and I yelped in protest as my ears were stretched between them. Then that pair were removed and I able to push myself back to my feet.
"This way, Kate."
Somebody was standing close to me, the one holding the pliers. There were two other people nearby, and a tall figure beckoning me towards him. The plastic mask on his head was perched up at an angle because of the beard jutting out underneath it and the overalls were stretched tightly across his arms and shoulders. The impression I got was of being confronted by a Viking in fancy dress. He signaled in my direction again and walked towards a corner of the room. An old kitchen chair was set in it, close against the two walls.
"Sit on that."
Continually in the grip of the pliers, there was again no choice, with my keeper gyrating around me like an fixed attachment as I turned around before sitting down. For some crazy reason I remembered a job deion I'd seen on countless movie credits and never understood the meaning of: 'Key Grip'. There seemed to be a lot of key grips in this production and by now I understood exactly what their function was.
The big man was standing in front of me now, watching through extra large holes cut in the mask, probably because of the problem with fixing the mask over his beard. The figure 1 was painted on the front of his overalls.
"OK, Kate, I'm going to tell you what to do and I also say what happens to you. Are you going to give me any problems?"
How could I argue in the position I was in? "No," I said, trembling. "No."
"Good. 2 and 3, get her boots off."
I guessed they were talking to each other as numbers so they wouldn't use any names I could remember and tell anybody about afterwards. 2 was nearly as tall as 1, slimmer, almost bobbing up and down on his feet in excitement until he swooped down onto his knees to pull one of my riding boots off. 3 was stocky, chunky, probably the one who'd been standing by the table, and he was just as quick to tug away at my other boot. On my side was the gripper, much the shortest of them all, with small breasts just visible underneath her coveralls. If she'd been the one who'd snarled at me before in such clear anger she was somebody to be careful of.
"Start undoing your shirt, Kate," 1 said. Something odd occurred to me, even in that situation.
"Weren't you the guy who was talking to us just now?"
"I thought Sandra was the one you were really interested in? Why aren't you with her?"
He laughed at my ignorance: "Why aren't I supervising Sandra? Ah, yes, it's Sandra I want pictures of. On the other hand, Kate, when I saw the three of you riding at the gymkhana the other week it was you that had far and away the best bounce on your tits every time you went over a jump. I decided there and then I was going to handle you personally as soon as the chance came."
More sycophantic laughter from 2 and 3, but no response from the girl holding me. 1 reminded me of those old war films where the Gestapo officer taunts his victims for his own gratification, continually showing off his own cleverness and their helplessness at every chance.
"Oh, God!" I said and stared down at the red brick floor as if I was frightened now to look into his eyes.
With my mind finally starting to work again I'd decided the best thing I could do was to play up to this man's self satisfied ego. As long as he was getting the responses he wanted he might be a protection against any of the anti-hunting fanatics who really wanted to hurt us. There might be somebody around in this gang like that, perhaps the girl next to me, judging by the way she'd spoken.
I was very bothered about her being a female. Whatever these men really thought about hunting, they'd probably be content to work off their bad feelings against their female prisoners in the traditional male way by thoroughly fucking us. Motivation like that I could understand, but not why the girls were here, unless they were either voyeurs or lesbians, and I hoped to God they weren't dykes.
"Kate, I'm going to ask you once more for your shirt. If you don't do as you're told then we'll start applying some pressure. Your choice."
Immediately I began trying to undo the top button but it wouldn't come free. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said desperately as the pliers started to nip harder, "My hands are shaking so much ... "
"OK, OK, don't get into a panic, Kate. I'll undo them for you."
1 came close to me, holding the pliers up. He put them against one of the buttons and snipped the bottom of the jaws together. I guess the pliers were designed to cut wires as well as hold things because the button fell off with only a few neatly severed thread ends to show where it had been.
"Good job that wasn't a piece of your ear, hey?"
I shuddered in fear at the implied threat and stood completely still as he cut off the rest of the buttons and lifted the front of the shirt away from the cups of my sports bra, the one which was supposed to minimize bounce but apparently wasn't doing much of a job. 2 pulled the shirt off my arms from behind me while 1 and 3 kept on staring at my bra. 1 took a small bottle out of his pocket.
"Would you like a stirrup cup, Kate? Some rum?"
"Yes ... yes, please." Anything to help me through this. Anything to try and keep on friendly terms with these lunatics.
He gave me the bottle, and as I took a sip from it he put his hands underneath the bra cups, hefting them slightly as if judging their weight. The taste of the rum was deep in my throat like molten lava spurting up inside a volcano. 2 and 3 moved closer, undoing the waistband of my jodphurs, then tugging them down around my knees. I felt stupid and humiliated, though knowing this was nothing to what was coming. I heard a kind of squawking sound, like a big angry bird ... which was what it was.
Over 1's shoulder I could see Sandra on her back on the table, with her bare legs held high in the air and wide apart by two of the gang. Another of them was rubbing his hand against the tiny white triangle of panties between her well muscled thighs; he was doing it as if he was rubbing two pieces of wood together as hard and fast as he could to raise a spark. Whether he was lighting a fire in Sandra or not he was certainly getting a lot of noise out of her. She was helpless to resist, of course. The fourth person around her was using yet another of the pliers to keep a grip on her ear. These people must have made some hardware shop owner very happy.
The leader glanced over at the scene and laughed, then nipped the tips of my cups with his thumb and forefinger. "OK, 5, that's enough fun for now. Just get her ready. Kate, sit down again."
I slumped back into the chair and the other two dragged my jodphurs over my feet. Sandra was sitting up at the end of the table as the league people guided her feet back into her boots. Flushed with anger at her recent treatment, her fair hair in disarray, I could see Sandra's fingernails scratching at the thick blanket beneath her in repressed rage. She kept her hands down on the table though as the guy squeezing her ear ran his other hand over her small bra cups. But Sandra has always had an intimidating kind of look about her, with her firm chinned face and piercing blue eyes. Even in that situation, wearing nothing but her bra and panties and being casually fondled she still retained some dignity.
Melissa, by far the best looking of us, was surrounded by blue overalls and groping hands, waving her own hands around in futile gestures as she was thoroughly touched up. Unlike Sandra though she didn't seem overly unhappy. True, her china doll face was flushed, her hair was in disarray and she was yelping a little, but it was hardly a sustained outburst of vocal protest. Not that I was doing any protesting at all myself, just putting my riding boots back on as I'd been told to.
1's mocking voice boomed out. "Right, will all the hunt ladies please report to the saddling area?"
2 and 3 held me by the arms as I walked towards the saddles. A pair of cameras had been set up in front of them on tripods, with a bright light also on a stand and plugged into one of the stable's power points. The gang's organization was still as impressive as it had been from the beginning of this nightmare.
Sandra was dealt with first. Because the saddle was against the wall she had to be lifted up and over the front of it, with four eager men doing the job. You could feel the excitement in the room as she was positioned for the hoist. Two of the men had their hands underneath her bottom and the backs of her calves, whilst she sat up between them steadying herself with her hands around their shoulders, her booted legs stretched out widely in front of her by two more helpers, her mouth agape as she was displayed in her near naked condition in front of everybody like a captured trophy. Once again I wondered at what it was about a pair of boots on a woman that was such a male turn on.
"Keep her like that."
Sandra was twitching around as if she was on an anthill as the hands underneath her took full advantage of their positions. 1 followed his instructions by walking behind her, reaching around her waist and making a great show of holding out the waistband of her panties, then looking over her shoulder and down into them. He held up his index finger in front of her face and told her to lick it. She hesitated, just long enough to see one of the gang coming forward with a pair of pliers poised in front of him. It was enough to start her sullenly licking the offered finger, holding her tongue out against it as if it were a lollipop.
"Good girl. Now you can have some of it for yourself."
There was a round of approving noises as he lowered his hand, then slipped it between Sandra's taut stomach muscles and the waistband of her panties. Then the talking stopped as the audience eagerly watched her being fingered, a silence broken only by a series of sniffs and gasps from Sandra as if she badly needed a handkerchief to help her through her public humiliation. Behind each camera a photographer was busily taking shots of the scene. It seemed to me that both of them were girls because I couldn't see any stiff cocks underneath their overalls. There were certainly plenty visible in the rest of the gang, all the men apparently fascinated by the movements underneath the fabric stretched tight across 1's knuckles. Sandra was lying back with her arms still around two of her captors, eyes half closed, then jerking open as one of the boys holding her boots moved it even further apart from the other one. She gave one last groan of protest before beginning to twitch her hips in open response to the stimulation she was getting.
One of the men holding my arm put his hand on mine and then rested it against the erection underneath his overalls. He smelt of tobacco and giggled as I stroked him. The guy on the other side of me had spotted what was happening and quickly took my hand to shake his cock in the same kind of meet and greet ceremony. Both of them grunted with approval, both at what I was doing and the sight of Sandra's red-faced and blatantly erotic mid-air dance to the tune of 1's fingers.
"OK, hang her up to dry now."
There were chuckles at that, and at the sight of Sandra being placed on top of the center saddle. The stirrups had been shortened to keep her feet off the floor so her knees were high up like a jockeys. Unbalanced, she had to cling to empty pegs on each side of the saddle to stay in place, arms straight down and out. 1 surveyed her, then apparently satisfied, pointed at me.
"Come on, Kate, let's see what you like when you've been mounted."
The prat had more jokes than a professional after dinner speaker and a much more appreciative audience. I was taken out in front of the saddle on Sandra's left, the guys all crowding around me, glittering eyes staring through the party masks. With nothing but my bra and panties on -- and boots -- it was like being a stripper at a stag party, and this was only the start of it, that was for sure. Kate Mowberly, horsewoman and amateur porno star. One of the gang nearby effectively distracted my thoughts with his pliers by touching one of my nipples with it.
"Hand rubs all round again, Kate. Starting with me."
It was like an old coke advertisement, be the most popular girl at the dance, only it wasn't bottles I was being given. They all crowded around for a stroke here and a touch there. It was like feeding sugar lumps to a group of young stallions, each pushing against the other as they all tried to get more than their fair share.
"Come on, people, get out of the way." A girl's voice, impatient, from behind the men as she tried to use one of the cameras.
"Hoist her up, boys." 1 was giving orders again.
A hasty re-arrangement of my captors, a body on either side of me again, others bending down to grab my boots. Hands were clutching my buttocks, taking my weight and squeezing my bottom like a piano accordion as I was lifted up and stretched wide open in the same way as Sandra had been. The fox head masks leered at my predicament and the bright light between the cameras made the morning sunlight in the windows look pale. Two separate fingers at least were burrowing up as far as they could get into the gap between my buttocks, stopped only by my panties. Others were rubbing against the gusset, apparently trying to find out exactly where I was most sensitive. No wonder Sandra had squirmed around so much: I found myself doing exactly the same thing, and gasping as well. Gasps counter pointed by sounds of amused appreciation from several watchers. As if rewarding the audience's reaction, the guys holding my legs moved them even further apart until I felt like a wishbone at a Christmas lunch.
A pair of hands passed around my waist and underneath my bra cups. The cups began to bounce up and down in slow motion as the man directly behind me juggled them, first the left and then the right, as if he was trying to weigh one against the other. Another round of deep voiced approval came from the watchers. Squinting down, I could see that the gaps of paler flesh visible above the cups were gently quivering in turn as 1 played with me. That it was him, I was sure. What I could also see were the defining bumps where my nipples had begun to harden, visible even through the thickness of the heavy duty sports bra. There were more chuckles as the fingers reached up and stroked them.
"What's this, Kate? Not getting excited at the thought of entertaining all these lads are you?"
It seemed too late for false modesty with so many hands already on me but at least I tried: "No", I whimpered.
"In that case I'd better have a feel of your cunt to make sure nothing's happening down there. Because, and this is our little secret, your friend Sandra was beginning to oil herself up nicely with my encouragement. Here, have a lick and find out for yourself."
He held up the index finger on his right hand before my face, then placed it on my lips. Immediately I began licking it and he responded by putting it in my mouth. As I sucked on it, 1 called out to the watchers.
"OK, who'd like to see Kate's tits bare and bouncing?"
The response was immediate and with no dissenting voices. Everybody seemed to want to see my breasts. 1's hands went around my back and unhooked me, then pushed the shoulder straps down around my elbows.
"Shake her up, boys."
It was like being tossed in a blanket, with all the hands holding me moving together in unison to lift me up and down. I gasped and clung tightly to the shoulders of two of the men as my mounds began to take on a life of their own, the gang cheering them on as each one fell out of the slipping cups. But it was no joke for me. I'm big enough to really need a well engineered bra -- and without it there was nothing to keep control of the hanging weights.
"Ah ... ooh! No!"
Both breasts were keeping perfect formation as they flopped through figure of eight patterns. At the top of the loops they were almost weightless, then slam dunked down against the top of my stomach like surfing waves hitting a beach. It was definitely a feedback situation, because the higher and lower my boobs bounced, the more inspired the guys holding me seemed to become to make them bounce even higher and lower. What you might call a booby trap situation.
"Stop it! Please, stop it," I begged, literally with tears in my eyes. If this went on I was sure my chest muscles would soon start tearing apart.
"No more shaking." 1's command was a blessed relief. "Now let's stir her up."
I was aware of him standing beside me, felt his fingers stroking the bottom of my belly, then sliding down into my panties. My boots were now as wide apart as they could go, the masks were watching me intently, and one uncovered, shocked face -- Melissa's. 1 touched my cunt lips, running his finger tips up between them. I cried out in not very faked excitement, jerking myself at his touch and showing how eager I was for him to continue. Which I certainly was, at least as an alternative to having my tits tossed around again. Anyway, there was no doubt about the attention my panties were getting as 1 explored them the same way he'd explored Sandra's. 'Going to ground' it might have been called, with his probing fingers getting ever deeper, but 1 probably wouldn't have wanted to use a fox hunting term. Still, he sure seemed to be getting a hell of a lot of fun out of getting revenge for the local predators: as far as I was concerned he was the biggest one I'd ever met. Eventually he seemed to accept the whimpering approvals slipping out of my throat as proof enough to the audience that he'd broken my spirit and withdrew his fingers
"Put her up on the saddle now."
As they lifted me and onto the saddle my bra began to slip further down my arms to the elbows. Like Sandra, I found the stirrups too short to stay in the saddle comfortably and had to grip the empty pegs on either side of me, the straps cutting into my upper arms and the cups tangled around underneath my breasts. It was far more humiliating than simply being stripped. Which was probably why 1 seemed to like the sight.
"Get Sandra's tit holders down as well."
Sandra could do nothing to stop them, even if the sight of two pairs of pliers hadn't been enough to show the stupidity of any such action. She just stared over the tops of the masks as she had her pert little tits put on display. But even she looked down as Melissa had to take her turn in front of the gang. 1 varied the routine this time by having her stand up and facing the onlookers as her bra was undone and lowered.
"Cop those!" Somebody said. I knew what the comment was about. Melissa has unusually large nipples, large and dark, and I'd sometimes wondered in the shower room what they looked like when she was turned on. It seemed as if the anti-hunt protestors were more than willing to take time out to answer the same question.
1 took a kitchen chair and sat down in it with his back to the cameras. Melissa was made to stand astride his legs and face the gang with a guard on either side -- both male. 1 had each of them take hold of one of Melissa's handfuls and knead away at them as 1 moved his mouth from one to the other, happily suckling each nipple in turn as he rubbed his palm up between the fork of her jodphurs.
Neither Sandra nor I could see from behind what effect all this had on Melissa, but we didn't need to. The comments from the gang and the way the camera girls were zooming in their lenses made it clear the rough handed breaking in process was succeeding. And very soon afterwards Melissa's head tilted back as she yowled like a tom cat seeking a mate.
I wondered how she'd deal with the experience, and the others about to come her way. In the months I'd known her she'd only had the one boyfriend, but since he was good looking and from a rich family he was probably all she'd needed. She came from a wealthy background herself and it was almost certainly she'd ever been forced to do anything in her life she hadn't wanted to. But saying 'no' wasn't an option for any of us anymore -- the pliers were going to see to that. The message that was coming with them was that a lot of hot spunk was boiling up inside the stables and the three of us had better show willing to help drain ever last drop of it.
Sandra had always had a taste for casual sex, I knew. It was about the only kind of relationships she had time for in her busy life. But she'd never really confided much to me about that side of her character. As for me -- well, if you're a half way decent looking girl who gets to meet some of the aristocracy, and they find out you don't mind some serious fun, then you get some interesting experiences. Remember the lady in the billiards room? I'd earned a very nice tip in hard cash for luring her in there in the first place. And later on I'd shared a bed with her, an antique four poster -- not to mention the four blue blooded cocks we also shared. Still, as one of the guys had said, in Nelson's time seamen weren't allowed on shore and hundreds of men and women had cheerfully fucked away below decks with only a row of guns on each side for privacy. Six on a bed was nothing by comparison.
Maybe 1 and his friends had read the same history books. They certainly didn't seem shy about their satisfying their lusts at any event. But they kept to their plans though, finally hoisting a gasping and well handled Melissa up into the last empty saddle. Then they put our riding helmets on and brought the banner over, holding it up in front of us against our breasts. Melissa and myself both had to let go one of the pegs and use our free arms to hold it in place while photos were taken of the three of us. Sandra's face looked as if she was sucking up sour lemon juice through a mustard coated straw: I'm sure she was worried sick about the chances of any of the shots appearing in the press. 'HORSE & HOUND' certainly wouldn't print them but there were several gutter press papers which would, and delight in it. 1 was certainly right about that.
"Smile, Sandra," he ordered her. "A great big smile - or else." On the guys held up the pliers he was holding and snapped the jaws like a piranha's bite.
So Sandra smiled: all three of us did. Anything to keep those pliers at a distance. Personally I didn't think that 1 was bluffing at all about using them and even if he was, I was bloody sure there were others in the league gang who'd be happy to hear us begging for mercy.
"OK," 1 said. "Let's play the variations a bit now. Kate, hang one of those big bristols of yours over the top of the banner -- no, don't bother about doing it yourself, I'll be happy to give you a hand."
A strong hand it was, a hand which made me gasp as it seized my right boob and hauled it out from the cloth, then mauled it for good measure.
"And I'll have one of yours on show as well, Melissa."
He took his time with her, more so than me. Perched on the saddle, her tits were at the same height as his mouth, a fact he took advantage of to bring the exposed one up to a sharp point again before stepping back to give the cameras a clear shot. Something else that was clear was that if the photographers had enough to do, the rest of the gang were eager to move on to more interactive activities.
1 was also aware of their feelings and when the next series of shots were taken he left the banner lying on our laps at first as all the guys were offered a chance to come up to the saddles and suck on any vacant nipple they could find. The camera girls were shooting that as well, all the time it was happening. I don't know how many snaps they took of us, no more than I can remember exactly how many mouths I had chewing and licking and biting me as I hung on desperately to the saddle pegs. I do know that by the time it was over I was cracking a huge wet and as ready for a fuck as any of the guys. Sore in the teats and hot in the saddle was my situation. Distracting as the attention was, I'd glanced over to the other two girls several times to see how they were coping.
Sandra's reaction was a surprise. After she'd been double sucked a few times she was giggling like a drunken tart. As for Melissa, she sounded like a cow that badly needed milking as she bounced up and down on her saddle and the hand squeezed in between it and her. She looked over at me and gave a kind of 'what-the-hell-else-can-we-do' look. I'd never seen her eyes so bright -- or her face so flushed either.
But still it was a methodical business, holding up the banner again with our tits on show like store window dummies, and then staying in that position as 1 came along the line with a pocket knife and slashed at the sides of our panties. Then the rest of the guys crowded around again, squeezing and sucking every tit on offer and pulling the scraps of material out from underneath us so we were effectively as naked as 1 had promised we'd be: two of the tallest guys amused themselves by gagging us with our own panties.
Well, almost. They switched them around first. It was Sandra's knickers I got fastened between my teeth, she got Melissa's and Melissa found her mouth full of mine. But at least nobody asked me to smile about it. This was the last pose with the banner, the gang eager to start getting some real mileage out of us now. There was one last warm up lap to go through now, and it was one I dreaded, when they used the riding crops on us. What made it so bad was that the cameras and light were turned around to face the table and then one of the girls left her camera and took one of our crops -- mine. In fact it was 1 who took it off my wrist and the way the girl took it from his hand was as if she was accepting a school prize. And then 1 pointed at me.
The guys surged around the saddle, lifting me off the and holding me up on my unsteady feet. At last the bra was finally pulled over my arms and thrown aside, busy fingers tweaking me all over and chuckles all around as I was pushed towards the table. Nobody had touched the panties tied between my teeth and I had to keep snorting through my nose as everybody played with me. Every bout of sex I'd had before had been as mild as milk compared to this experience. Stark naked, I had to walk towards the table and the girl waiting with my crop in her hand. At least I tried to walk as proudly as I could, showing off everything I had to offer and hoping the guys would push the girl aside in their eagerness to have me. It seemed that might happen because already the overalls were being stripped off -- but it made no immediate difference to my fate. I was made to bend over the table again, facing a camera and the girl using it. The other one laid the riding crop across my bum again and again as hard as she could.
It hurt -- it hurt about as much as anything I could remember. She had a hellish strong arm and before it tired out every stroke had me yelping and drooling around the gag. Apart from the noise I was making everything else seemed to be quiet, so quiet I could hear one of our horses kicking impatiently against the loose box walls, protesting at being kept inside on such a fine day. I knew it was a fine day outside because I could see dust motes floating in the sunlight coming through a overhead skylight. But it was a bad day inside and getting worse. Then, thank God, I felt a strong male hand stroking my cunt. Instantly I pushed myself back against it and wriggled my bottom around to show them all how eager I was to be fucked instead of flogged.
"Take the gag off her," I heard 1's voice say, and gasped with relief as it was undone. At that moment I felt incredibly grateful for his mercy, as though he'd rescued me, instead of being the one responsible for all the pain and humiliation in the first place.
"OK, Kate, now it's your turn to do the work," he said. The riding crop was put in my hand and a big guy, a big naked guy with a three-quarter- way-there erection stood behind me with another crop held ready as Melissa was bent over the table in front of me.
"Give her what you got and better, or you'll get worse," 1 threatened me.
Of course I had no choice but to put stripes across Melissa's bottom and make her jerk around like a salmon trying to swim up a waterfall. She was soon desperately snorting for breath, and, also like me, she rubbed herself desperately against 1's hand when he pushed me aside to feel her snatch. She was then allowed to stand up, her gag removed and the last riding crop put back in her hand as Sandra was thrown over the table.
"Both of you -- give her heaps or you'll be back on the table with her."
So Sandra got twice as many cuts, and the last half of them with her gag removed so everybody could listen to her yelps, moans and screams. It was strange but after I'd landed the first few strokes on her bare rump I quite began to enjoy doing it, and I think Melissa did as well. Maybe it was because we'd had to do what Sandra wanted so many times because she was a better rider than either of us. Of course I had to hit her as hard as I could or get the same treatment myself but I was surprised when I found I was deliberately aiming at the same place each time, a large mole on her left buttock, concentrating on welts which were already sore. Or perhaps it was simply self preservation on my part, knowing we had to make her ready to crawl on her belly to the league, if that was what it took to stop them hurting all three of us.
Anyway, that was what we quickly managed to do, forcing Sandra to beg for mercy.
"God, stop it, please! Please! I'll do anything you want me to! I'll suck all of you off! Please! I'll never go hunting again -- I swear it!"
Oh, it was music to the gang's ears, Sandra's pleading. They'd known she was the strongest one of the three of us and now she was completely humbled. Once again we were pushed aside, not only by 1 but some of the other guys, all naked now. They grabbed Sandra, lifted her up on 1's orders, dropped her on her back on the table, held up her legs wide apart and 1 pushed between them, holding his cock in his hand as he slid it into Sandra. I heard her give a great sigh of relief at not being hit anymore as 1 began fucking her.
Not that Melissa or I had any time to reflect on Sandra's fate because with seconds we were sharing it. On our backs and sprawled across the table ourselves, Sandra on one side of me, Melissa the other and our shoulders touching. One of the gang stepped up onto the table from a chair, dropping down lengths of rope which had already been tied to an overhead rafter and left lying on top of it. Six of them fell and dangled above us like hangman's nooses, and our boots were held up like Sandra's as the loops were pulled tight around them, leaving our legs high and wide apart. 1 stepped back from between Sandra's thighs as the banner was re-hung again, this time to our spurs, while another of the men walked behind the table and propped our heads up with rolled saddle blankets stinking of horse sweat. Which left us gaping at the cameras from underneath the banner, still wearing our boots and hats, our private parts turned into our most public parts, on full display for everyone to look at -- or do anything else with them they wanted to.
Once again 1 had proved his skills in advance planning. Now the camera girls moved to each end of the table as the leader claimed his right of first entry. Sandra again, his hands holding the ropes above her feet as he gives her a dozen hard strokes, making the banner wave as if there was a wind blowing and I heard Melissa moan in despair. Sandra is calling out at each plunging violation and the horses stir again in the loose boxes, knowing something unusual is happening and uneasy about it. Sandra's hand is holding mine tightly enough to crush it. Then 1 abandoned her in mid-fuck, walked down the table and trailed his finger nails on my swelling snatch lips as two more masks loom over me and my tits are grabbed again. I heard Melissa gasp as the same thing happened to her.
I looked sideways at her face, jaw agape as 1 stands between her thighs showing off his hard, red cock, shiny with Sandra's juices. The hands squelching up her tits were large and strong and Melissa's fingers stroked the forearms of the man playing with her big nipples. She cried out: "Yes, yes!" as 1 had her, right up to his balls. And as he bends forward between her quivering legs his fingers are prizing open my cunt and rubbing my clitoris. Another guy leant over me, tugging on the nipples that protrude above the clenched fists of the first claimant. Movement and voices are around the table.
"It's time to fuck, girls!" somebody jeers.
"You bastards!" Melissa sobs and pinches her tight nipples with her fingertips, making some of the men laugh. One of them is busy between Sandra's thighs, exploring and delving with his fingers but still waiting permission from 1 to impale her again.
Even above the rest of the noise I hear a sound like a gum boot being lifted out of mud patch as 1 withdraws from Melissa. She is whining with impatience as he leaves but he knows she'll always remember he was the first one to fuck her on this day, this unforgettable day. He leaves the bottom of the wet shaft resting on my pubic patch as his hands played with the other two captured cunts. Then his hand left Sandra for the moment to complete his triumph. The tip of his cock is between my inner lips and driving further yet. As he mounts me I know that his hands were making Sandra and Melissa yelp again. We are all part of his big triumph, all three of us his prisoners and unable to stop him doing whatever he wants with us.
In the back of my mind I had to recognize the truth of 1's comparison with the killing process at the end of a successful hunt. The gang are crowded around the table like hounds around a fox, and the noises we're making are the ones that captured animals make.
"All aboard, guys," 1 shouted, letting his hunting pack off the leash.
The table began shaking as other men appear between the slung up legs on my left and right. Now it's a free-for-all mass rape and I'm in the middle, reaching up to stroke 1's beard and neck as we slam together like colliding trains. I'm coming with the speed of an express as well, and I know he is. What really excites me is knowing that the cock inside me is still hot and slippery from being inside my friends. As I explode I wonder what 1's name is and whether I'll ever discover it.
Melissa seems to have an unexpected taste for rough love too because she is crying out her satisfaction only moments after I do. A short guy with a fat belly and ginger hairs on his chest is thrashing against her fiercely. Two or three guys seem to be changing places with Sandra too quickly to keep track of. One of the gang who has been massaging my tits almost runs around the table to take 1's place after he's finished with me but he's too late. One of Sandra's queue of ravishers decides to give me the benefit of his prick instead -- he has dark skin, lots of black body hair and his cock is one of the biggest I've ever seen. When he rams it home I feel like a ship torpedoed below decks.
Sandra begins bawling out: I'm not sure if she's genuinely having an orgasm or faking it to please everybody. There's no need to pretend about the frenzy I'm getting into: the dark guy's tool is squelching right into the g spot I was never really sure before that I had. On an impulse I put my hand down on Sandra's belly and press her clit against the cock working into her. She screams out again, much higher and then her fingers are doing the same for me. The league guys laugh and get me to play with Melissa as well, and her with me. We're past caring about anything now but our own self satisfaction and as cock after cock gets inside us we wank ourselves into a three hole fucking machine that takes on the gang's lust wholesale. Several of the guys are wandering around in delight, moving from one to another of our cunts and trying a few strokes in each before deciding which one to finally service. Three or four men have de-spunked themselves into me, I've lost count of the cocks which have actually been in and out, or how many times I've come myself. What I am sure of is that I've been hearing plenty of other orgasms from left and right. I wonder how the camera chicks are feeling about it all.
After the first feverish round of fucking the gang lets us off the table. The blankets are thrown on the floor, in front of a full length mirror on the wall which we use to check our riding dress before giving exhibitions. Now we have to give some more exhibitions. A chair is put in front of the mirror, and Melissa has to sit in it, legs wide apart. Sandra crawls over the blankets on her hands and knees, then has to lick Melissa's cunt clean. I have to stand ready with a riding crop in case Sandra doesn't do her job properly. I see Melissa's face staring at her reflection and at the cameras behind us, also aimed at the mirror to record what is happening. At 1's insistence Melissa catches hold of Sandra's earrings and holds them tightly until Sandra makes her come. The gang love it, watching Melissa slumped back in the chair and bucking at the blonde hair held tight between her quivering thighs. As soon as she has finished calling out I have to take Melissa's place.
It's not something I want to do, not at first, but again there is a perverse pleasure in being forced to hurt Sandra and make her my slave. I hang onto her earrings as if they were reins on a dressage horse and pull her mouth against me my swollen flesh. In the mirror I see her tight little arse cocked up and her own white smeared cunt on show as she desperately licks my clit. The face in the mirror doesn't look like me at all, the eyes wide and mouth hanging open as I grunt like a pig. Melissa leans forward and brings her riding crop down in a straight line between Sandra's sore buttocks. She squeals in between my legs then tongues me in absolute fear until I feel the delicious loss of control again -- and as my juices flow I look in the mirror and see a row of cocks stiffening and swelling like desert flowers on a rainy day.
Luckily, the rising level of male lust means that Melissa and myself are spared having to lick Sandra. The guys are too interested in having us all perform on them. 1 starts the game again by replacing the chair with the table and three guys sit on the edge of it, facing the mirror. The order is to suck their cocks. We have to lean forward for each man, resting our elbows on their thighs as we take them in our mouths, our bare arses and dangling tits making a pretty picture in the mirror for their further delectation. Somebody passes a bottle of cider around and the guys drink from it but 1 says we're only allowed to drink from it to wash down a mouthful of come.
I have a raging thirst by now, and it seems the other two girls have as well, judging by the way all our heads are jerking up and down. We're doing our best but every time 1 raps his pliers on the table we have to stop and take our mouths away from the prick we're dealing with and remain bent over. Then he walks behind us with a riding crop and each of the guys decides on how many cuts across the bottom we get: one, two, or three. It depends on how good a blow job each one thinks he's getting. I'm sucking off the ginger chest haired guy who was the first to screw Melissa -- he's a pig, three strokes he wants for me every time, no matter how much I try to please him. Only after the fourth caning do I finally get him to erupt into my mouth, and only then do I get to swallow a precious mouthful of cider mixed with come. 1 nearly chokes with laughter in telling me I've just drunk my first genuine cocktail.
For some reason we all finish our men off at about the same time: Sandra stands up with spunk dribbling out of her mouth and is allowed just one swallow from the bottle before passing it to Melissa. Her guy has wiped his cock off in her hair and across her nose. I hear myself laugh at the sight and wonder if I could have somehow gotten drunk on one small drink of cider.
1 changes things around again. A man lies on top of the table, his erection bent over his belly like a wind blown tree. Sandra kneels down astride him, sixty nine style, and takes his cock in her mouth. Melissa and I stand on each side of the table, each holding one of the man's hands tightly against our cunts as he plays with us. Vibrators appear: one is pushed up Sandra's arse, another in her cunt. Melissa gets one up her arse, then me. And still they keep coming: I have two more applied, one at each nipple. Each vibrator is being held by one of the gang and they work away with them, trying to see how far over the edge we can be pushed. I go off like a string of firecrackers and Melissa faints.
The guys throw her over the table and revive her with some grease and a cock up her bottom. Sandra not only swallows her guy's prick, she almost sucks up his balls as well. The gang put her on top of the table on her back and bend her legs right back until her toes are almost touching her face. Then 1 dribbles cider into her cunt lips and I eagerly lap it up, taking turns with Melissa. Then it's my turn to be used as a drinking fountain. Sandra eagerly lick up every drop from my snatch as I give two men hand jobs and I get another vibrator slid between my buttocks. I'm sure I'll never be normal again, never be able to recover from the fuck-mad frenzy I'm in.
We do get a chance for a few breaths after Melissa's outraged squeals have finally stopped -- a very brief chance. 1 lies on the table on his back. He orders Melissa to lie on her stomach between his legs and lick his balls. Sandra and I have to lean far over him to take turns at giving him a two-mouth blow job. Before we even begin two more of the male fox heads appear behind Melissa, each with a vibrator in his hand, each merrily buzzing. Perhaps they have been changing the batteries. The humming noise rises and then falls as both of streamlined tips are buried inside Melissa, then rises again as another pair of men work the vibrators in their hands inside Sandra's cunt and anus. The female yelps sound like a pair of questing hounds finding a fresh scent. I look behind me and see two more of the shiny metal cigars homing in towards my own snatch and arse. The men carrying them grin at me without mercy from underneath their masks.
"Yoiks and tally-ho, Kate, old girl," 1 says in his plummiest accent. "That's the really exciting thing about hunting -- just when you think it's all over, it's only just beginning."