“It ain’t beastly.” Dilly sounded genuinely shocked. “Lots o’ people calls it a blow job. I know lots of fellers who like a girl to do that for ’em. I been sucking cocks since I was a kid.” Her disapproval was almost pious. “You just ain’t been brought up proper. I hope you got a real sore arse.” She beamed portentously. “You know what the rest of the troop fixing to have you do?”
“I don’t want to hear.”
“We all stand in a line in the dorm with our legs wide apart and you work yourself down the row eating our clits.”
“I won’t do it! You can’t make me—”
Dilly’s voice was triumphant. “Sergeant says it’s good idea. She says if you don’t do good job you come back and sit on the post some more. ” She giggled. “The sergeant, she’s going to stand right there with the rest of us.”
“You’ll have to do it, dear.” It was Maisie’s hurt voice from the grass. “It’s not as bad as you think it is. Daphne and I do it all the time. Some girls taste gorgeous. Dilly does, I’ve tried her.”
Dilly was flattered. “We’ll give her little rests along the line. A girl’s tongue gets awful tired if she hasn’t used it.” She looked down at the hogtied nakedness. “Maybe you’d like to eat me right now? I wouldn’t mind.”
Maisie giggled. “Sure! My tongue’s about the only thing I can use. You’ll have to do the rest.”
Trudy wanted to look the other way. But she could not move, so became a privileged spectator. She wasn’t all that prudish—she recalled with longing those nights with Caroline in the cage. But this was so blatant, so very unprivate. She envied the two girls their unconcern. She watched a third uniform join the others on the grass, then Dilly’s wiggling nudity as it knowingly postured its pudendum to the greatest convenience possible for the captive tongue.
“Don’t let me smother in your bush, darling.”
Dilly giggled happily. “You want air, you snort.”
With a practised eagerness, Maisie began to lap.
Her tongue was long. With the sounds of suction. Dilly’s eyes became faraway.
“It was the girls’ idea, love.” Galla looked up placatingly. “But I’m not going to say I don’t agree. I think it will do you good. You’ll be more at home together after.”
“Lesbians—!”
“I suppose so. But don’t say it like that when they can hear. There, the clamps are off your ankles.”
Trudy spared a glance at the distant figures of Daphne and Maisie carrying their uniforms and the ropes with which they had been bound. Galla had been merciful. It was not yet fully dark.
“You all right, love?”
Trudy supposed she was. It was a glorious feeling to have her hands and feet back. She was massaging her wrists gratefully. Her legs hung free. But her bottom and the sandpaper were still close joined by her weight. “I’m scared,” she confessed. “I burn so bad I’m sure my skin will peel off or something.”
“It will be bad for a moment. Look, lean on my shoulders and sort of hoist yourself.”
The captive of the post moaned and caught her breath as her skin and the sandpaper made a reluctant farewell. She slid to the ground and was glad of Galla’s supporting arm. “I’ll never sit down again,” she mourned.
“Yes you will—in a couple of days.” The sergeant chuckled. “Just as well there’s no mirror. You’d feel worse than you are.”
“Oh, Galla, that bad!”
“You needn’t put on your uniform. You’ll be easier without clothes. Here, give me your hands.”
“Handcuffs! But why—?”
“Just in front, love. They may save arguments later.” Trudy did not care. After the post anything was paradise. She watched the familiar locking of her wealed wrists. “I don’t mind, Galla, really I don’t. I know you’ve been kind. You could have left us out here for hours yet.”
“Well, you do have things to do, love. But don’t be anxious. I’m going to give you a rest and a shower and food first. How about a cup of coffee?”
The first steps were painful. Her knees had been clamped bent all day. Her punished bottom protested motion. But by the time they were halfway to the barracks she was walking naturally. The coffee was ambrosia, so was the shower, and then the food . . .
“I’d advise you to do what you’re going to with a smile,” Galla said as she watched her captive’s appetite. “They won’t take kindly to resentment. Make like you’re grateful for what they’re letting you do.”
“I have to be completely debased?”
“I won’t argue about terms, love. You’re a guard. Be one.”
“And Daphne and Maisie?”
“They’ll be there with their legs apart. They’ll be handcuffed, same as you: just a demerit for being bad.”
“Or to stop them trying to escape?”
“Maybe to show the rest that talking about escape isn’t a good idea.”
If she had not been so tired from her punishment and so ashamed of what she was about to do, Trudy would have giggled at the row of bare thighs and expectant pubic triangles. Dilly was standing to one side holding a whip. “That’s just in case, dear,” the sergeant informed darkly. “But I’m sure you won’t be silly?”
Trudy was sure too! Fatigue might defeat her but naught else. She had suffered a surfeit of penitence, she wanted no more. Halfway down the waiting line her white comrades wore their handcuffs with nonchalance. They bestowed a wink of encouragement. “Do Tessie first, dear. She always explodes with the first bite,” suggested Galla kindly. “It will get you started.”
Tessie ran true to form. After one cry of fulfillment she subsided, writhing. Trudy wiped her lips and moved on to number two. It was going to be hard on her knees as well as her tongue.
“Give her all the help you can, girls,” the sergeant ordered. “The poor dears never done it like this before. Just imagine!”
It was true! Girls were not all the same. The size of the pouting vulvas, the location of the elusive clitoris, the flow of lubricant, their scent! Each was different. Trudy’s tongue and lips groped questingly and humbly within warm wet sheaths of female flesh. Her handcuffed hands reached constantly for loose wiry pubic hairs truant on her tongue. But it was in their taste she found her deepest discovery. Some were sour, some were sweet. One or two left her wondering if such an individually intimate flavour might not spark a need, perhaps a union. Maisie and Daphne simulated rapid orgasms to give her a break. At the end Dilly set aside her whip with obvious regret but separated her thighs with gusto. At the finish there was Galla. A sweetly scented, sweetly tasting Galla who gently stroked her captive’s hair as the obedient tongue lapped its very best to give her joy.
The afterwards was like, the aftermath of any party. Camaraderie and a buzz of talk. No one noticed handcuffs, but everyone examined the scarlet and purple bottom that was Trudy’s penitence for an imprudent bite. It was much admired. She could almost believe it was envied. But that may have been due to the two bottles the sergeant contributed to the jollity. The owner of the scarlet seat became proud of what she would not sit on. She was still extracting hairs from her mouth at bedtime. She giggled with the rest when Daphne and Maisie sheepishly proffered a bare ankle to be shackled to their cot.
“You brought it on yourselves, dears.” Sergeant Galla was firm.
Trudy even giggled when Galla stood beside the cot and ordered: “Out with it, love.”
She stuck her foot from beneath the covers, and rested on her forearms and tummy to watch it chained. “Why me, Galla?” she asked innocently.
“Do I have to tell you, love?”
“No, I suppose not.”
They laughed.
Trudy slept face down.
6
Discipline
The Troop was grateful for its shoes. The issue had not been popular. But Warrant Officer Ringbolt’s insistence had been firm. The girls had put on the utility footgear with mutinous mutterings which had got several bottoms severely caned. But now they were thankful for an old campaigner’s wisdom. The President’s Guard could march with the best the regular Army could muster.