The Secret Circus of Pain and Degradation

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

On the Farm

It must have been much later. Amy jolted awake as one wheel, then another, hit a pothole. A vague recollection of being carried and dumped in a wagon came back to her. Odd smells assailed her nostrils—damp furs, sweat, metal, a faint tang of something fishy—and for some reason there was another body entwined around hers. The blindfold had gone, removed or slipped, she wasn’t sure which, because she could see light trickling dimly through c****s around the wagon’s door. She tried to move and discovered her hands were still tied, though now behind her back, and her shoulders ached. One arm, the one she’d been lying on, had no feeling in it. She stretched a leg gingerly and gasped at the sudden pain in her buttock—of course, the welts! Her foot hit metal and frowning in the semi-darkness, Amy realized she was not merely in a wagon, but in a cage within the wagon.

“Mmm… mmm? Amy? Are you awake?”

Of course. Amy had been caged with Paula, whose warm skin was pressed hard up against Amy’s own nude body. A spasm of relief ran through her. Whatever else, she was at least in the company of her best friend. She struggled to sit up, pushing down behind her with her elbows and resolutely ignoring the sharp feeling of pins and needles as the change in position began to restore circulation to her arm. The net result was that when Paula, who’d been half-sitting anyway, leaned forward, her head fell across Amy’s breast.

“Where are we being taken? Do you know?”

If the sensations on Amy’s breast were any guide, Paula seemed to wrinkle her nose and frown.

“Well, that man brought you back in slung over his shoulder and he was talking to the ringmaster. Who said something about a winter camp and the other man said he’d take us to it. So you got carried, and I was made to walk, to his wagon.” Another pothole made Paula’s face bounce against Amy’s breast, her lips grazing the n****e. Amy was surprised at the way, despite everything, a sudden thrill resounded through her. It was, however, followed immediately by profound shock. They were in a wagon being driven by the man who’d thrashed her almost senseless and then violated her. And whatever the ‘winter camp’ was, for Paula and her it would be a prison.

“Well, Paula, I think we’ve been kidnapped, and they’ll use us, or sell us for slaves, as they please… are your hands tied, like mine?”

Paula snorted. “They put iron cuffs on me. Do you want me to try to undo your hands? I don’t think it would do much good. The cage is padlocked anyway.”

Amy groaned. “We need to think. Isn’t there any way we can escape?”

“I think the most likely way out is to do what the man made you do after he’d beaten you, and hope he has a heart attack…”

“You saw it?”

Paula chuckled. “No, but I heard about it. He gave everyone a very detailed description when he brought you back in.”

“And you… I mean you had to do the same thing. And with that slut. Poor Paula, it was my idea to go to the circus. I feel responsible.”

Paula chuckled again, a dryer sound now. “Truth be told, I didn’t mind at all. You don’t know the half of what I get up to. It’s more a case of poor Amy: I always thought you were a bit prim and proper, led a sheltered life with your books and horses, you know? I should have introduced you to a few more of my friends. Including my girlfriends.”

“You mean you…?” Amy was so taken aback she could hardly express herself.

“Well,” Paula observed, “we both know the men in the town aren’t up to much. The skin of a woman is much softer. And smells nicer.”

“And the riding crop—you know…?”

“Actually that started with my singing teacher. It was his way of stopping me from breaking posture. Then it was a game. Then it was serious, because I discovered I enjoyed it, in an odd kind of a way.” Paula shivered. “But you, the way that man beat you, the marks he left… that scares me, I don’t think I could have taken a whipping like that. Not without screaming.”

“I did scream,” Amy noted, simply. “And the welts hurt every time I move.”

“Hmm. Maybe I can make them better. Or take your mind off them…”Amy gasped as she felt Paula’s tongue curl round her n****e, then her lips teasing it gently. Then moaned, as Paula’s lips moved down her belly, then teased her thighs apart. This was wrong. Yet so sensual. It was a forbidden delight, and yet hadn’t Paula just admitted she enjoyed it? Paula’s tongue was circling her little bud of pleasure, and whatever her mind said, Amy’s body had its own response. Her thighs began to pump, as if forcing her s*x harder into that willing mouth.

Her breathing became faster, shallower. She moaned. She shook. Her moans took on a singsong quality, rising in pitch as her body’s need flooded over mental qualms and dashed them away in a tidal wave of...

When she came it was an explosion of black light, a baptism in quicksilver, an admission of her female sensuousness.

Then she subsided, let go of consciousness again, drifting, drowning in a dark secret of sisterhood.

It was the lack of movement that brought Amy awake. She became aware that the jolting and sounds of hooves had ceased, and the wagon was still. Then the door opened, flooding the interior with bright light and chill air. Seb stood in the doorway, taking in the sight. Amy was half-sitting, propped up against the side of the cage, while Paula sprawled half across her, asleep, face still buried between Amy’s thighs.

“Time to move, my beauties,” he announced, producing a key to unlock the cage.

Groaning with stiffness, moving gingerly because their hands were still bound—and, by now, numb—the two women shuffled on their knees from the cage and down the steps onto tough, springy grass. Seb stood back and watched idly. Had they fallen, Amy guessed, the most he would have done would be to pull them upright, most probably by the hair. Looking around, she saw they were in some kind of clearing surrounded by forest on all sides. There was one dirt track, which must have been the way the wagon had entered. Fifty yards away was a small cluster of stone buildings; a cottage, a couple of long, low sheds that might have been workshops or stables, and behind them a wooden barn. Seb set off towards them. “Follow,” was all he said.

Amy looked at Paula, who’d also taken in the view. They could run. But there was only one track, and they had no idea where they were. They were aching and tired from being cramped in the cage, they had no clothes, and Seb, despite his stout frame, would probably outrun them—brandishing a horsewhip. Wide-eyed, Paula shook her head. The place was too remote. There was no chance of escape. And, Amy thought, poor submissive Paula perhaps didn’t even mind too much that she was a captive. Shivering, they tramped across the grass after him.

“Anton?” Seb called as they came up to the building. “Where are you, Anton?”

A small, rumpled man with weather-lined face and spiky grey hair, wearing workingmen’s clothes and a heavy leather apron that suggested blacksmithing, emerged from the shadows.

“Mister Sebastian. Ain’t seen you here in a long time. How’s life treating you?”

“Oh, the same as ever. Yourself?”

Anton shrugged. “Working on this and that. When Jonathan gets time to send word what he wants. Is he coming soon?”

“Another nine weeks, he said, before the season’s finished. But he’ll be here next week to discuss plans.”

Anton turned his attention to the women. “These yours?”

“No,” Seb replied, “they’re Jonathan’s. I’m leaving them with you. They need breaking in, a course of basic training.”

“Hmm.” Anton strode up to Amy. To her astonishment he was shorter than her and she had to look down at him. He appraised her frankly, then spun a finger in the air. “Turn round for me, darlin’. All the way round, there’s a good girly.” Amy spun around as though asking for an opinion on a new dress.

“Fair marked up, isn’t she?”

“She has sharp teeth,” Seb commented, and both men laughed. “Well,” said Anton, “I’ll take that as a training point, then. But we’ll see if we can’t do something about those marks, otherwise the bruising’ll still be on her when Jonathan comes. Anything else?”

“Yes. I can take that little one with me. The girl I brought last time.”

Anton looked displeased. “Pity. She’s a good helper in the workshop. Never mind. But first let’s sort these two out and then we’ll have a drink inside.” He motioned at Amy and Paula, clicking his fingers and pointing to a large frame to one side of the courtyard formed by the buildings. It looked, Amy thought, suspiciously like a scaffold—one long bar resting on stout uprights. Anton himself disappeared through a door into what seemed to be a store shed, but since they were positioned under the bar and facing away from the door Amy couldn’t see what he was fetching.

She heard his footsteps return, and a sound of metal scratching on metal. Then a jingling, and a sharp breath from Paula. Amy risked a quick glance. Paula was now standing with her hands in leather cuffs and stretched above her head, attached to a chain that ran over the bar. He moved to Amy and untied her hands.

The sudden sensation of pins and needles was excruciating. She yelled out with the pain. Anton was unperturbed. “It’s only the circulation returning, the rope work was a bit rough.” She felt cuffs slapped onto her wrists, this time in front of her, and pulled upwards to a point where she could just keep her heels on the ground. Then Anton gave her a playful slap on the buttocks, just as he might to a dog or horse. “You’ll do. Come on, Seb, we’ll leave my slaves to do the necessary while we have a drink.”

They stood, helpless, for a good while. The sun came out and warmed Amy’s breasts, then retreated behind a cloud. Goose pimples puckered up around her n*****s. She groaned with the strain in her arms, though her hands, being above her head, had regained feeling in only a couple of fingers. She no longer thought her situation outrageous, or intolerable. She’d ceased to care that she was naked, in a yard, open to casual inspection by anyone who passed. Anyone who did pass would undoubtedly think it perfectly normal to find a naked tied female prisoner there anyway. She focused on the pain of her welts now that she was stretched out, and had begun to feel faint, when the cottage door opened and two women about her own age appeared.

They were barefoot and bare-breasted, wearing no more than loincloths that appeared to be of leather—the kind of thing she’d imagined would be worn only by a savage from some remote tribe, perhaps in Africa. And they had collars, wide metal bands, around their necks. Both were petite, one blonde and blue-eyed, one raven-haired and green-eyed. The blonde carried two pails of water, the raven one a tray with sponges, soap, towels, some bottles and other items. Despite the loads, their attire, and the collars, they carried themselves proudly, with lithe athletic movements.

They set their loads down between Amy and Paula and set to work.

Paula screamed, and a moment later Amy echoed her horror. The pair of collared girls had sponges and set about washing their charges, but the water was so cold it could have come from a glacial spring. The shock of it rooted Amy to the spot, and after the scream had emptied her lungs it was almost impossible to inhale again.

The washing, however, was thorough and inescapable. The raven-haired girl worked on Amy, rubbing soap all over her wet, shaking body, around her breasts, between her buttocks, and even between her legs, eliciting a yelp as fingers probed her cunt. The cold soapy water mingled with tears on Amy’s face. Her hair, too, was washed roughly before more cold water was used to sluice her down. At the end, she was a quaking, miserable mess hanging limply from her wrists, unresisting as the girl toweled her half-dry and ran a brush through her hair. Also unresisting as the girl pressed her lips to Amy’s, as though demanding a kiss as recompense for her work. Her tongue pushed unrelentingly into Amy’s mouth, teeth crushing Amy’s lips. It felt almost like a statement of ownership, possession. Yet was the raven girl not a slave?