Authors: Jennifer Jane Pope
At the same time its presence, so close to and just a thin membrane wall away from my vagina had the effect of stimulating me beyond all belief, so that my clitoris, despite being directly ignored, began swelling and pulsing as if it were being stimulated directly and, as Anne-Marie's count moved to seven, I could already feel the trickles of moisture running down the insides of both my thighs.
'Oh, you brazen little slave slut!' Anne-Marie cried out, but there was joyous acclaim in her voice and I realised that she was totally enamoured both of me and the picture I was presenting for her.
Crack!
The noise was far louder than the actual effect of the multi-tongues, but still I jumped, squealing into my gag, hips grinding, arse and pussy throbbing in unison.
Crack!
Again I howled, but now it was with lust pure, not pain at all, and I willingly thrust my bare behind even higher, eager to receive the next stroke and move further along my road to abandonment and ultimate fulfilment.
I had by now lost count and so, it seemed, had Anne-Marie, for a heavy silence fell over the room, a silence punctuated by the pistol-shot sounds of rubber on bare flesh and by my high-pitched reactions to the whip's kisses. Blood pounded in my head and air whistled in and out of my nostrils, and my tiny bells jingled as I bounced and tugged against my bonds; I thought she meant to whip me into orgasm, which there was no doubt she could have done, but that, it seemed, was not on the agenda.
Instead, as I teetered on the very brink, I heard the whip fall to the floor and felt hands pulling at the leash where it was fastened to my collar. The chain came away and Anne-Marie turned me bodily to face her as I straightened up and I was startled to find that now our eyes were on the same level. Dimly, I registered that she had somehow contrived to change her footwear and was now wearing knee length boots, very much seventies vogue at the time, with high, solid heels and, even more importantly, thick platform soles, which negated the usual difference in our heights.
Between us, the lifelike rubber cock swayed and bounced with a sinister realism and, had my hands been available to me, I knew I should have grasped it and pulled it into me, so great was my eagerness to plug my one remaining orifice. However, I was not kept waiting for long.
Sensing, as she must already have done, that I was on the very precipice, Anne-Marie used one of her knees to push mine apart and then, propping me against the back of the chair, she bent at her knees, moved forward and then rose smoothly, guiding her artificial phallus unerringly into my soaking and all-too-willing pussy, filling me deeper than any man had ever done, save perhaps for Erik, who was at that moment as unreal as everything else that was happening to me.
I felt her hands on my hips, her grip surprisingly strong, fingers reaching around to grasp the softer flesh of my buttocks and she began slowly to hump me, rising and falling, thrusting the monster cock in and out in a rhythm that was as determined as it seemed languid, the rippled ridges on the rubber beginning their devilish work from the first stroke.
It was a ravishing that was both welcome and needed, a ravishing that my entire soul was crying out for, my whole body afire with flames that would be quenched only one way and, as I sailed free along that first tidal wave, I heard my little bells tinkling so merrily and I grimaced with pleasured lust about the gag that prevented me uttering a word that I knew I would probably never utter in my life again...
22
.
'Tell me again,' Anne-Marie urged, and I did. Once again she sat quietly, listening to my every word, interrupting only to ask the odd question of things that I had not before sought to question.
We were sitting on the bed, my hands now free, my gag removed and left on the seat of the chair over which I had been punished and then taken so summarily. What caused me to even mention the subject I shall never know and I certainly had no idea then, but suddenly I was spilling everything, gabbling out the story of how I had found myself, or so I thought, back a hundred and thirty years in time and everything else that ensued during my captivity there.
'Fascinating,' Anne-Marie said quietly, when I finished my second relating. For a minute or so we sat there in silence, neither of us looking at the other and I really expected her to suddenly begin laughing, to dismiss my tale as the ramblings of a mad woman, or at least the product of a feverish imagination that had been cast loose without restraint in an aerobically challenged nightmare.
'Fascinating,' she said again at last, and I sensed that she was not about to start mocking me, but that she was considering my story and giving it more weight and perhaps credence than I had any right to expect. 'And this Hacklebury guy is probably one of my ancestors, you reckon?' she said.
'Probably one of mine, too,' I pointed out. 'Though I can't be sure and I have no way of knowing he actually existed for sure. Your cousin was a dead ringer for Angelina though, and there was something about the other one's eyes that reminded me of Gregory Hacklebury all right.'
'Janice must be your Angelina look-alike,' Anne-Marie said, slowly. 'You turned a really funny colour when she appeared, you know. I didn't say anything at the time, but I guessed there had to be a resemblance to somebody you knew, or maybe a photograph. Mind you, seeing as I thought you were tracing backwards, I never thought it would be someone from that far back.
'And I take it the eyes one was George, right?' I nodded. 'Yes, he's always had a reputation as a would-be ladies man,' she said. 'Probably why he's never married. Any girl with half a brain could tell he's only after one thing and thinks with his balls most of the time.'
'You don't think I'm crazy then?' I ventured. Anne-Marie hesitated, looked me up and down and then did the same to herself.
'Crazy?' she said. 'Teenie, we're all bloody crazy. I mean, look at the pair of us, eh? But then who cares and who's to say what's crazy and what's sane?'
'Getting off on being whipped can't be sane, can it?'
'And you've been worried all this time that you were some sort of lunatic or weirdo because you got off on something like that back in eighteen whatever it was?'
'Thirty-nine,' I said, dully. It was true; those thoughts had been sneaking around in the recesses of my mind. 'Yes, I was beginning to wonder if there wasn't something seriously wrong with me.'
'Then it's wrong with you and a few hundred thousand others, at the very least,' Anne-Marie said brightly. 'I'm beginning to think the whole world and his dog is into sadomasochistic sex games. And don't think I just get my kicks from playing mistress, either. Next weekend I'll be your slave, if you want.'
'You will?' I eyed her dubiously. 'I'm not sure I could,' I said hesitantly. 'I mean—'
'You mean it's fine when someone else takes control and removes the power and the freedom of choice from you, eh?'
'Yes,' I admitted. 'Yes, that's it exactly.' She sighed and shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.
'Well then, Teenie slave,' she announced, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, 'I think the sooner we get your chains back on you, the better. However, I think we could go down and have a drink first and I
know
I need a pee very urgently.'
'What about everything I just told you?' I asked. Anne-Marie pursed her lips and then shrugged.
'Well,' she said, 'let's put it this way. It may have been nothing but a dream, but then they do say a lot of dreams are sort of tribal memories, don't they? On the other hand, who's to say you didn't really go back into this little Angelina's body?
'It wasn't so long ago that all the great minds were pooh-poohing the idea of space itself, let alone the concept of space travel, so until someone proves it otherwise and to my complete satisfaction, I'm not going to be the one who says time travel isn't possible, albeit in a non-physical sense the way it may well have been for you.' She shrugged again.
'I don't know,' she concluded, turning towards the door. 'I think it must have happened to you in a real enough sense, whichever way it happened, because it's certainly affected you pretty deeply.' She paused yet again. 'And this Gregory Hacklebury, if he really did exist and we can prove that - well, he may have a lot more to answer for than he ever imagined.'
'He may?' I repeated, not understanding immediately.
Anne-Marie nodded. 'Yes,' she affirmed. 'After all, if he's a common ancestor, it's probably all his fault that you and I are a right perverted pair of bitches, isn't it?' She laughed again. 'Least ways, it'd be handy to have him to blame for our little foibles, wouldn't it?'
23
.
We didn't sleep finally until the early hours, but our activities now were far less frenetic and I learned, under Anne-Marie's patient guidance, a whole lot of things concerning lesbian lovemaking and what she referred to as sadie-maisie stuff. I was put back into my chains, but this time I was fettered with my wrists in front of me, which made things a good deal easier, whilst restoring for me that free feeling that comes with being 'captive'.
I doubted still whether I would be able to assume a 'mistress' role in our newly founded relationship, but I nevertheless found myself strapped into the 'dominant' half of the double dildo and lay between Anne-Marie's welcoming thighs, fucking her with deliberately languid and unhurried strokes until she came, sobbing into my shoulder, her fingers raking my back as if to remind me that our positions had not really been reversed at all.
In between times I discovered a little more about Anne-Marie the person outside the bedroom games. She was highly intelligent, that much I had already gathered, and creative in more ways than just her bizarre sexual tastes, dabbling in drawing, painting and writing, as well as making a lot of her own jewellery and even one or two of her more specialised bondage accoutrements.
The rest of her collection of clothing and devices accumulated over the years since she'd left school was quite amazing. Her father, it transpired, was pretty well off; far richer than even this house would suggest. And there was really no need for Anne-Marie to work at all and certainly, so she assured me, there would have been no repercussions from her father had she decided to give up her job.
However, she saw the library not so much as a place of work as a refuge, a daily haven and a research resource beyond price. There were, it seemed, certain 'specialised' volumes that were not available to the general public and although this private collection in no way rivalled the one she told me was held in the vaults of the British Museum, it had yielded her the odd book with more than just the odd idea, all fuel to her fertile imagination.
I awoke around dawn, which meant that the time was something just past half past seven and, when I pulled back the bedroom curtain to peer out, the cold winter early light was pale, insipid and uninviting. Everything in the garden below glistened from an overnight rain that had yet to yield its grip and I was glad the house was centrally heated. My little cottage would by now be feeling cold and very damp, for the fire I had left ramped and damped must surely by now have died in its own ashes.
Anne-Marie lay sprawled along one side of the bed, brazenly displayed and gorgeously dishevelled, her once immaculate stockings now laddered in several places, the rouge she had so carefully applied to her generous nipples smeared and faded. I stood for a minute or two gazing down at her, wondering at how I could suddenly find myself so absolutely in the power of another female and almost willing her to wake and take me under that spell again.
But her gentle snoring and the way in which her bared breasts rose and fell in such an unhurried fashion told me she was still a way from coming back to the land of the living, so I decided to leave her in peace and try to take care of my own immediate needs, the first of which was for the toilet. That attended to and my teeth brushed with one finger and some toothpaste (not an easy task when your wrists are connected by only six inches of chain) I began to consider a cup of tea, or at worst, coffee.
Very briefly I considered looking for the key to my wrist fetters again, but an earlier five minute search revealed nothing and I suspected it might be under Anne-Marie's pillow, so I resigned myself to continuing in my shackled state and began carefully to navigate the stairs down the two floors to where I assumed the kitchen must be, holding carefully to the banister rail for fear the damned shoes, which I still wore, would betray me and pitch me headlong.
I made it to the kitchen without mishap, managed to fill the kettle and plug it in and then began searching likely looking cupboards for cups or their equivalent and the means by which to fill them with a suitable beverage. It didn't require much ransacking, and within less than a minute I found mugs, teabags, sugar and, in the largest fridge freezer I had ever set eyes upon, milk.
The kettle boiled with astonishing rapidity and I just finished pouring water over a teabag when a voice at my back all but made me drop the kettle and certainly caused me to splash the scalding water dangerously.
'Two sugars for me, please.'
I managed to put the kettle down and spun round to face the speaker, my cheeks already burning with embarrassment, my hands shaking.