The Devil's Surrogate (15 page)

At last she
heard him returning. He was whistling quietly to himself, a melody
she vaguely recalled but could not name, and when he strode into
the room and around in front of her, she saw that he looked quite
pleased with himself. To judge by the flush in his cheeks, he had
taken more than just a couple of glasses of wine while he was
away.

'Ah, my sweet
little slave pet,' he crooned, pursing his lips in a mocking kiss.
'So glad to see you're still here and that no harm's come to you. I
hope you have not been too bored in my absence, but I do find that
giving a girl time to reflect every now and then is so very
beneficial to her future conduct.' He began pacing slowly around
her in a circle, studying her carefully from every angle and
occasionally reaching out to stroke her shoulder, her thigh, her
stomach, her breast, the nape of her neck. His gentle caresses were
at odds with his earlier treatment of her, but they steadily began
to arouse the same sort of sensations.

Sarah
whimpered quietly and arched her back as she fought to resist what
she was feeling.

'Yes, such excellent raw material,' he smirked, running the
backs of two fingers over her left breast, pausing only to squeeze
the very tip of her nipple gently between them. 'You see what the
right training can achieve, my pet? A day or two more and you'll be
just perfect, worthy of double the price you might have fetched
when you first arrived. A week from now, and it will seem unnatural
for you not to be filled with one cock or another, be it made of
flesh-and-blood, wood or leather. The lust lies within every
female, it just needs the right person to find it and allow it to
bloom. It is like exorcising a devil, or maybe that should
be
exercising
a
devil, freeing the bonds of the spirit.'

Sarah eyed him
sullenly, hating him for the fact that his words, although slurred
and obviously the product of a demented mind, nevertheless rang all
too true in some ways. Was it really so easy for one human being to
manipulate, and eventually rule, another by these means? Could she
really be reduced to how she felt now, let alone become the sort of
creature he was describing and predicting he would make her?

'Time for a
little dancing class, I think.'

Sarah grunted
and tried to ease the pressure in her crotch, once more taking as
much weight as she could onto her toes.

Ross patted
her across the buttocks, chuckling. 'Such a fine body,' he said. 'A
little fleshy in places, but then so many young women do not
exercise properly. A week or so here usually takes care of such
things. Yes, indeed,' he continued, moving towards the bench, 'the
right food, the proper exercise and training, and you won't
recognise your old self by the time you're ready to leave
here.'

The sound of
jingling bells warned Matilda of approaching danger just in time.
She had just ducked into the bushes when the bird-girl burst out of
the woods on the far side of the little clearing, her breasts
bouncing, her winged arms flapping wildly at her sides. Her pursuer
must have been close, for as she ran the poor creature kept trying
to look back over her shoulder, and this inevitably hastened her
downfall.

Halfway across
the grassy area she stumbled, and before she could even attempt to
steady herself she was flying headlong. She landed with a sickening
thump that must have driven the air from her lungs, for aside from
a muffled groan, she gave no cry of pain.

A moment later
her nemesis appeared. Like the other hunters he was masked and
dressed in black, so who he was Matilda could not tell, although
his slight paunch suggested he was neither Roderick Grayling nor
Guy Bressingham. She also surmised that the fallen bird-girl could
not be the stupid creature who had actually volunteered herself for
this insane hunt. No, it wasn't that silly Isobel creature, for
this girl had no ribbon between her breast rings.

The
black-garbed hunter, seeing his quarry fallen and motionless,
slowed to a walk, and with an effort not to appear as out of breath
as he plainly was, he sauntered easily over to where she lay. He
stood over her, a smirk spreading across the lower half of his
face. He looked down at his prey, and then turned her over onto her
back with the tip of his boot.

The girl's
eyes were open; she was conscious, if all but paralysed from the
sickening fall, and Matilda could almost taste the fear she must
now be experiencing.

The hunter
bent slightly at the waist and said, 'A brave effort, my little
peacock. That was a fine chase back there. Now then, shall we have
you up?' He reached down and grasped her by the shoulders, pulling
her limp form into a sitting position. Breathing heavily from the
added exertion, he crouched down beside her. He was obviously not
accustomed to so much physical exercise, Matilda realised, but she
also knew this would not stop him from enjoying his prize once he
got his breath back.

Sure enough,
after about a minute or so, he stood up again and commanded the
girl to do the same. Her lungs now working normally once more, she
did as he instructed and stood with her head lowered, her arms limp
at her sides, in an attitude of defeat and surrender. The man then
reached out and flicked each of her nipple bells before walking
around and dropping to one knee behind her, where he began fumbling
with the buckle of the strap holding the leather phalluses in
place.

'We'll just
test the meat for tenderness, I think,' he said. 'No point in
bringing a tough bird to the table, so a little preliminary
tenderising seems to be just the thing.'

The
multi-thonged whip Ross selected from amongst the implements on the
bench was much larger, heavier, and altogether more ominous than
the miniature implement he used on Sarah earlier, and a cold knot
began to form in the pit of her stomach as she eyed it.

'My
dancing tutor
, my pet,' he informed her, 'or should I say
your
dancing tutor.'
Without further warning, he flicked out the tails so they snaked
through the air to wrap themselves across the top of her
buttocks.

As the first
searing pain shot through her she found herself leaping into the
air, although not so far as to be able to detach herself from the
shaft impaling her. And before she had time to consider and react,
she slammed down again, driving the polished wooden shaft deep into
her cleft. Her scream of pain contorted itself into another cry
that was at once terror, agony, and something purely
animalistic.

Again the whip
cracked, and although she tried to anticipate the blow, all she
succeeded in doing this time was moderating her overall reaction.
The wooden strut into which her wrists had been locked rasped up
and down the pole as her feet shot into the air, splaying open on
either side of the post as she kicked out wildly, fighting to
overcome the myriad sensations battling inside her.

The third time
the whip coiled about her shoulders, its effect was to send her
legs back downwards, the balls of her feet and her toes scrabbling
for purchase as her upper body jerked forward until brought up
short by the main timber. Tears streaming from her eyes and fires
welling up inside, she bit hard into the gag and tensed for the
next onslaught, but Ross had further refinements he was about to
subject her to.

Tucking the
handle of the whip into his belt, he strode back to the bench yet
again, and this time he returned with a device that left Sarah
completely cold and uncomprehending. It comprised a short, stubby
phallus made of some kind of dark wood attached to a broad leather
strap, and she did not see any way in which it could be employed,
for it was surely too fat in its girth to fit into her one
remaining lower orifice. However, as Ross began to fasten the strap
about the pole before her face, she saw two thinner straps dangling
from it and finally understood its purpose. Up close, she saw that
the dildo was covered with a highly polished leather skin, the
surface of which was scarred with teeth marks.

'We must learn
poise as well as the correct dance steps,' Ross chided her
mockingly, 'and poise requires that the head remain steady at all
times.' Having satisfied himself that the gag was well anchored, he
quickly removed the one already in her mouth and tossed it over
onto the bench. 'Now then,' he said quietly, 'let me see you take
to this cock as you did to mine earlier.'

'Oh please,
no...' Sarah began, but the look in his eyes, and the complete lack
of emotion on his face, told she was wasting her time begging.

He nodded
curtly. 'Take it in,' he said, 'and let's see your pretty mouth
stretch for it.'

And stretch
Sarah's mouth did, for the girth of the hideous gag was far greater
than any human counterpart could ever be. Thankfully, however, it
was also much shorter than the usual flesh-and- blood equivalent,
or else as Ross tightened the straps about her neck to prevent her
expelling the foul monster she would surely have choked on it. As
it was, her jaw felt it must surely come unhinged, and her cheeks
bulged as the saliva began to trickle out onto her chin.

'Now,' Ross
said, taking out the whip again, 'let's see you dance and hear you
hum the tune, shall we?'

Jane had to
work hard to keep Oona in check, for the dog-girl was eager to get
properly into the hunt and did not seem to understand why this
woman who held her leash kept hauling her back on it every time she
tried to surge forward. Jane, however, knew exactly what she was
doing, and exactly where she wanted to be. When the pair finally
came out onto what the Grayling people always called the top path,
which ran parallel to the northern boundary fence, she was certain
they had arrived well ahead of their quarry.

'Settle now,
Oona,' she hissed, and tugged sharply on the leash.

Oona looked
back at her, and at the cane she brandished, and gave a low
growling moan.

Jane tugged
again and indicated for the dog-girl to return to her side by
slapping the cane against her boot. 'You'll get your fill of warm
pussy soon enough, you horny little wretch. So why waste your
strength chasing the game when the game will come to us? Now, let's
see where the best place is to wait up, shall we?' She had already
worked out that there were two options when it came to laying an
ambush for the hapless fugitive, and as she studied the remains of
two old fallen oaks, Jane decided the second choice would be the
best. She chose a thick clump of evergreen bushes that had pushed
out until they narrowed the path to almost a quarter of its width.
There was no need even to make an effort to hide, all they had to
do was step back behind the screen of foliage and wait until they
heard the girl approaching. All Jane had to decide now was whether
to shoot the girl in the thigh at point-blank range, or whether to
let Oona loose and let her bring the bird down in full flight.

She opted for
the latter. The running girl would be exhausted by the time she
reached this point, and Oona would be even more frustrated if she
was not permitted to do what she had been trained for. Besides,
Jane thought with a grin, Oona at the run was an impressive
spectacle, and the creature would enjoy her rewards the better for
having been the one to make the catch.

'Quiet now,
you silly bitch!' Jane hissed. 'The pretty birdie will be along
very shortly and we don't want to scare her away into the
bushes.'

Men, Harriet
knew, both from stories her father had told her and from accounts
she read in books in the library room at Barten Meade, were capable
of stooping to unimaginable depths of wickedness. But she had also
been brought up to believe that no matter how dreadful and hopeless
a situation might seem that good always triumphed over evil in the
end.

Huddled naked
and alone in the corner of the crypt chamber, she realised how
naive such a belief was. Until now, she had done nothing that would
be deemed so terribly wrong in the eyes of her Maker. True, she had
from time to time looked upon her reflection in the mirror and
taken pride in her fine features, her soft eyes and beautiful hair,
but then what girl wouldn't, she thought fiercely. Was that a
justification for the fact that she now had no hair, that her
beautiful face had been hidden inside this tight and dank-smelling
mask and that her body was now covered in welts? Her virginity, the
purity she had cherished for so long, had been stripped from her as
brutally as had been her clothes. She had been whipped and called
names no Christian maiden should ever hear, and why?

Jane
Handiwell, and her father's affection for Harriet. It was an
affection Harriet had never encouraged or cultivated even though he
was as straightforward, steadfast and uncorrupted as it was
possible for any man to be. Yet he had unknowingly nurtured an evil
viper in the bosom of his home, a daughter who repaid his love and
affection with spite and treachery.

Such a good
man was Thomas, Harriet knew, that he would not for one instant
believe his beloved daughter could even think of harming anyone he
cherished. So honest was he that he would be staggered beyond
belief to learn that his little Jane could even think he would
allow his love for another to come between them. He would not be
able to believe his daughter capable of such wicked jealousy, nor
of turning from the honest path he himself had trod all his
life.

Even now he would be out there somewhere searching for
Harriet, but he would be searching in completely the wrong place,
suspecting all the wrong people. Whatever was happening at Grayling
Hall, and Jane was doubtless involved in that, Thomas would not
find her there, and neither would he think of looking closer to
home. Even Crawley had no idea she was not Matilda, and the foul
beasts now in his pay were just as ignorant; to them she was simply
a welcome distraction, a
something
rather than a someone. They could use her to slake
their lust before the hangman's rope put an end to her
suffering.