"Stop!"
Had the idol feet of clay? Dorinda was disappointed.
"Damn," Terry straightened up chagrined.
"Damn and double damn!" she repeated. Turning, she donned her briefs. "I’m not chicken, y’know!" she affirmed savagely. "I just thought of something."
Dorinda waited and wondered.
Terry pushed the fabric off her hips and offered her bottom again for view. "I say, darling. I’ll bet it’s a real corker of a mark?"
Dorinda affirmed it was.
"I’ll have to keep these damn things on." Terry pulled the scanty protection about her loins. She looked at her companion in sudden appeal. "I should have thought. Mark will probably give me hell. He’ll say I’ve broken his pattern with you. I’m supposed to whip you, not you me."
Dorinda was intrigued by the maiden dolor. "Why so concerned?" she langhed. "The worst he’ll do to you is whip you some more. You adore it. So why worry?"
"I don’t adore it the way he does it when he wants to teach me a lesson." Terry grinned ruefully. "I’m not made of leather. Besides, it might not be the whip. Mark thinks of the damndest things."
The puzzled slave girl was prevented from asking hwat ‘the damndest things’ were by her mistress’s evanescent mood reverting to her normal sunshine exuberance. "Darling! I’ve just thought… The absolutely most gorgeous thing to do to you. Come on. I’ll race you."
How good it was to run. As she spen in persuit, Dorinda could not forbear the speculation that it should be possible for her to overpower the younger girl and make her captive with the handcuffs in her belt. The thought was plausable. But to what end? The island would defeat her. Retribution would probably be too awful to contemplate. Besides, she liked the youngster. Terry would be easy to love…
It was a small secluded spot among sparse trees, one of which had remained standing in the little clearing as though forgotten when its fellows had gone. Within minutes Dorinda found herself divested of her swim suit and tightly tied to the trunk. Terry kissed her excitedly and dashed off in the direction of the house.
The puzzled girl tested her bonds. Good use had been made of the scraps she had been made to carry. Her waist was cinched tight by a single strand of cord. It hurt. Her legs were seperated, one on each side of the bole. They, too, were immobilized by single circlets which were very tight indeed and hurt as much as the waistband. Her wirsts were handcuffed at the rear. She could wriggle her shoulders and toss her head. That was all. A familiar sense of vulnerability enveloped her. Ruefully she glanced down at what she could see of herself. Sure enough: breasts and pubic hair! She supposed she had better get used to it. She was only mildly concerned about her immediate situation.
When a flushed and obviously highly amused girl returned with a parcel, her captive watched perplexed as busy fingers hastely strewed a white powder on the bare rock. Sugar… salt? It could be anything. But ths ebeacme instantly and intimately concerned when the giggling girl opened the lips of the captive sex and pushed within the secret orrifice several gobs of honey and then annointed the hairy triangle with the sticky stuff so that the whole area bore a half inch of the sweet. "Don’t worry darling. Lots of room in there… at least if it’s anything like mine." Chuckling, as at some funny joke, she retired with her her paper back and seated herself on a smooth rock, about forty feet away.
"What’s this for?" the prisoner felt entitled to ask.
"No questions, darling," Terry admonished. "If you insist on asking, I’ll whip you."
Dorinda did not insist. But her mind was active. She could not fail to note that the white stuff on the ground led, like a trail of gunpowder, to where she was bound. It was probably sugar. Sugar and honey spelt ants! How long would it take for them to find her? And when they did, what then?
It was not ants! The first goat wandered into the clearing with the air of a first arrival ta a meeting place. He was a hoary male, well endowed with beard, horns and other accountrements. Examining him with wide eyed dismay the helpless girl found it easy to give credence to the satyr legend. She guessed her fate.
"Please Terry. Please… don’t let him."
"I’ll whip you for that too," Terry said equable. "And if you shout at him to try and scare him away I’ll really let you have it." She chuckled happily. "Best thing you can do is to keep quiet altogether. It’s quite an experience for a girl. Mark did it to me once. I’m going to love watching."
Several she-goats joined their lords. But it was he who claimed the price. Having sampled the salt that led to the mother load he raised his nozzle to sample the nectar provided by a thoughful Providence. The bound Dorinda carled up inwardly in a spasm of shrinking withdrawel that availed her nothing. The venerable goat lapped happily.
A goat’s snout is peculiarly mobile facility designed for the inaccessable. Terry’s ingenious provision of a hidden store presented no problem. The old billy parted Dorinda’s nether lips as easily as he did his own. A nibbling probosciis and an eager sandpaper tongue havested the treasure from its warm sheath so that the helpless maiden, tied to her tree, was driven into paroxyam after paroxyam of vivid and unbearable sensation. No matter how she fought the cords or tugged at her handcuffed wrists, she could move no portion of herself that would discommode her unwanted guest. She turned frantic eyes to an imperturbable Terry.
"Oh please! Don’t let him. Shoo him away. I can’t stand it!"
"You’ve had only two orgasms, I can tell."
"But I don’t want any!" The captive wailed in between gasps and spams.
"This is ‘Be kind to animals week’," Terry announced complacently. Her eyes bright with enjoyment.
The tortured victim groaned and writhed again.
"That makes three," her mistress stated approvingly. "You’re a lucky girl."
"Get rid of him!!" It was a cry of anguish.
"You know you’re loving it."
"I’m not! I’m not!! Oh, how can you sit there. Please…" The naked girl fought her bonds uselessly.
"You are up for four now."
Dorinda had never known such an intensity of sensation. It engulfed her loins in wave after wave that gave her no time to renegate. No sooner had the rasping tongue provoked her palpitating flesh than the cycle of agonized ecstacy began all over again. In panic she could see little chance of the ordeal ending before she was reduced to some sort of disaster.
"Five… and now six!" Terry sounded jubilant as though vicariously sharing joy. "Can’t possibly stop the old dear now, darling. I’m sure you don’t want any honey left up there. Let him get it all."
The sweating, panting captive’s moans were ounctuated by sharper cries and fresh struggles. Terry watched her slave with growing eyes and counted happily as the tally rose. The hairy recipient of unexpected largesse nibbled and licked assiduously until, having garnered every trace of his favorite desert from the hostess’s quivering sex and pubic hair, he reluctantly turned and led his harem from the scene of his triumph.
"You’ve never been so clean, darling," Terry assured her prisoner helpfully. "Frightfully hygienic and all that."
Dorinda relaxed against her tree and panted her way back into the world.
After the swim they lay upon the beach and dried.
"What happened to my swim suit?" Dorinda accused.
Her companion giggled guiltily. "One of the she-goats ate both pieces while I wasn’t watching. Sorry, love. I’Ve got the rest of the stuff in the paper bag." Like a tail wagging puppy she leant over and frankly sbiffed the sun drenched sex of the naked girl beside her. "Good, we’ve washed him away. He did smell a bit. So did you." She trilled laughter. "Sort of an appropriate smell for that particluar place, daling. But I’m sure we’re both fastidious. Go arrange yourself on that rock over there and spread your legs."