ALICE PRYDE

BY XAINIA

[ part 3 ]

Alice Pryde had gone several times to Mrs. Kilowsky's house in the weeks that followed her obedience training. The place appeared derelict, not just vacant. There was no reply to her persistent ringing of the doorbell. When she wandered round to the back garden, where she had walked to heel behind Tweedledum and Tweedledee, she could scarcely recognize it; the tortuously winding paths were all but gone; grass had grown up through the spaces between the crazy paving slabs and thick, green slimy moss and lichen covered their surface. She found the exact spot where the boys had shown her where and how to pee in her restraining collar and chains. There were dense bushes of stinging nettles there now and a brier as thick as her forearm. As she looked around, a deep-rooted melancholy crept over her. She was devastated. Tears worked their way from her eyes down the side of her face. She looked sadly at her new basket, filled with cookies and cakes. It was the third time she had baked without selling anything. She retraced her steps to the trailer. There was an unbearable heavy hollowness inside her. Her brother Jake made sarcastic remarks about her losing her sales appeal. The pseudo-stepfather was still out, presumably working at whatever it was he did. Alice went to her cabin, threw herself down on the tight little bed and wept. Jake followed her 'to comfort her'. She threw him off, and savaged him with her nails, and snarled, "If you ever touch me like that again, I'll kill you!" The boy gawked in terror at the ferocity of the attack.

Several days later, as she sat with several girls at a center table in the school refectory, the geek approached. He pointed a fat finger at her and announced, "Mr. Warton wants you!" And he turned and lolled away to the serving counter. The girls giggled. Alice stood up uncertainly. "Warton?" She looked puzzled and sought help from her friends. "Mr. Warton?" She frowned. "Who the hell is Mr. Warton?"

The giggling intensified. "Why don't you ask the geek?" suggested one of the girls, and the giggling reached boiling point.

"Yeughhh!" Alice made a face and held her stomach in a make-believe fit of vomiting. But it was a show for the girls. It was a strange fact that she had lost all the contempt she had felt previously for the geek. She now felt sorry for him in his loneliness. She thought about her own immediate problem. "Seriously though! Who is Mr. Warton?"

"Who cares?" sniggered one of her friends. "He wants you!" And the girls burst into hysterical laughter.

Alice reported to the school office when the lunch hour was almost over. "I have to see Mr. Warton?" she explained to the hard-faced secretary.

The woman frowned. "Mr. Who?" And when Alice repeated the name, the woman scowled. She shook her head. "There is no Mr. Warton on the staff." She clicked her lips in annoyance. "Perhaps someone is playing a trick on you!" And when the girl shifted uncertainly and seemed reluctant to leave the office, the school secretary snapped, "There is no Mr. Warton here! Go away!" She turned her head to address the younger woman assistant who was struggling with an old-fashioned electric typewriter. "Why is it always Friday afternoons they play these f***ing silly games?"

Alice found it difficult to sleep that night. Finally, after an fruitless shuffling and tossing one way and another, she rose at six thirty to shower. Cleanliness had become important to her. She was not clear in her mind why she did it, but she put on the shortest dress she had - it was even shorter than the one she had worn for the stranger at Mrs. Kilowsky's house. She pulled on a pair of extremely brief lambada panties she had won in a dare from one of her out-of-school friends. She had not done any baking since her last unsuccessful visit to the house, but nevertheless, without having any breakfast she set out on one last attempt.

The trailer park was situated nearly a kilometer outside the little town. It held about twenty vans of various sizes, some semi-permanent wooden structured cabins and a stone-built house. There was no-one around at that time on a Saturday morning. Few automobiles passed her on the road. There was a small electric milk cart, but no milkman, and a sleepy eyed deputy sheriff in his patrol vehicle in the town. The policemen eyed her legs lasciviously as she passed, but was too tired to make any other effort. Mrs. Kilowsky's house was about the same distance, and the only house, on the other side of the township. By the time she reached it Alice felt strangely weary; it was an energy-seeping, bone- and muscle-aching tiredness. If she were back home, if the trailer could be called a home, she mused, she would climb into her tight little cot, pull the duvet up over her and fall instantly asleep. She also felt extremely sexy. It was a potent combination; her legs seemed to have lost their will to carry her body and threatened to fold up under her, her heart was hammering against her rib cage, her stomach was churning and there was a distinct warmth and wetness between her legs. She laid a hand on the gate. And suddenly she had second thoughts. She decided that her position, without cookies to sell as an excuse for being there, was untenable and, to any inertial observer, inexplicable. She was about to retrace her steps to the town, when the gate, with a mind of its own, and with her hand stuck to it, opened. It creaked loudly.

The German shepherd barked, but the sound came from indoors. Alice glanced around her and decided that the house appeared as lived-in as it had done on her first visit, and not as it had done on her last visit. There was no longer a derelict atmosphere about it. The front lawn looked as if it had been recently trimmed and a football lay on the path. She rang the doorbell. "Ah! So you did get my message!" The tall, handsome stranger stood at the open door and admired the girl. "And looking pretty enough to eat!" There was naked lust in his eyes. "Come in, sweet Alice!" It struck the girl like a whiplash across the face that this was Mr. Warton. And he wanted her! And the geek? He must be Tweedledum. Or Tweedledee!

The man was wearing the most peculiar garment the girl had ever seen. It was like a woman's old-fashioned dress with a lacy collar, but the material was some sort of canvas. It was like the kind of clothing worn by a working wife of the old West outside a log cabin as it would have appeared in an ancient sepia photograph. It reached his ankles. There were a couple of pockets taking up the whole of the front of the garment, and the thing was covered with spots and splashes of different coloured paints. Alice realized that it was an artist's smock. A black, paint splattered beret confirmed this, for Alice had seen a self-portrait, in her art class, of a famous artist wearing such a garment. Gauguin she thought it might have been. She loved art. She loved to look at famous pictures and to imagine that the pathetic efforts she produced in art class at school would some day become masterpieces in their own right. Art appreciation was the only thing at school that she did successfully. And apart from anything else she had a crush on the art teacher.

Warton fondled her ample breasts, then led her by the hand to the room where she had first seen him. The log fire blazed as it had then, the cat sat on the hearthrug and the saucer of milk was placed at a safe distance from her feet. Beside the fireplace was the German shepherd. Its eyes glowed wolflike as Alice entered and followed her, but it remained motionless otherwise. And the two fat boys, each reading an identical book, sat on a bench beside the table in the alcove. They did not look up. The man settled Alice on the huge couch. As he gently pressed her back, her thighs splayed slightly and the short skirt rode even further up her legs. He nodded his approval, widened the gap between her thighs to rub her crotch as he had done on her previous visit, then excused himself; he still had some work to do, he said, but he would return and attend to her as soon as possible. He laughed and patted the side of his nose with a forefinger as Alice had seen it done in old silent movies. When he retreated, Alice felt her eyelids drooping. She was exhausted. She doubted if she had ever felt sleepier. The loud purring of the cat and the heat radiating from the log fire and the hypnotic contrast of light and shade in the room was too much. She drifted into the sweetest, deepest most satisfying sleep she could ever remember..

As on her previous visit, when Alice awoke she was aware of the strangest sensations. Not her bottom, but her back was on the flat, cushioned seat of the couch; only her head and neck were against the back of it. She was bound again. It was like being spread-eagled in a half-sitting position. Silver chains on her wrists stretched her arms sideways along the couch and similar chains on her knees pulled her legs wide open. And, of course, there was a collar around her neck. And the big, fat, hairy pussy was between her thighs with its head under the skirt of her dress, and she could feel its rough tongue licking the bare lips of her opening. She looked down and lifted her legs. Her panties were around one shackled ankle. The cat's tail flicked annoyance and she lowered her legs again.

The dog appeared at her knees. It growled and snapped. And the boys laughed. It was as if they had emerged from the contrasting light and shade. They lifted the cat. Hissing and spitting its disquiet, it retreated sulkily to a position beside the roaring log fire. The boys offered encouragement to Titan. The dog thrust its aggressive face into Alice's crotch and began licking. The girl tried to close her legs. The dog growled and barked savagely at her, so she spread her thighs wide again. Tweedledum suggested that Tweedledee might like to take the dog's place, but the other boy held his fat stomach. "Yeughhh!" He made as elaborate a show of being violently sick as Alice had done in the school refectory. And for some sinister reason, this charade turned Alice on. With the dog's licking having become more demanding and insistent, she found her hips lifting and dropping and twisting and circling uncontrolably. Her head lolled about and her jaw dropped stupidly like it did when she was imitating the geek for her friends. And then she burst into tornado of coming. The chains rattled. The boys clapped their hands. Her juices poured down on the dog's tongue, which seemed to liven the beast further. The licking accelerated and became frenzied. The animal, aroused, made the effort to mount Alice. She could feel the hardness and the silkiness of its enlarged bolt stiff against her naked thigh as it climbed with splayed, scratching paws.

It was at that critical moment, as Alice had resigned herself to being raped by an animal, that Mr. Warton entered the room. He cuffed the dog behind the ear and it immediately retreated, yelping its protests. He reprimanded the two boys severely, then settled Alice in a less compromising position on the huge couch.

"This is Charlene!" he said. And Alice looked at the little girl who had come into the room behind the man. The kid was, without doubt, the most beautiful child Alice had ever seen; she was golden haired and had the face of an angel. She wore a gossamer thin, see-through sleeveless gown that hardly made it past her hips, and nothing under it. And Alice had to admit it, the child's legs were even more shapely than her own. She tried to guess the younger girl's age, but had to admit that she was no good with ages. She definitely looked younger than her brother, so she settled on ten. "I want you two to become friends," Warton said with a tone of voice that would tolerate no questions. "Charlene is my favorite model!" He patted the golden hair, and the little girl beamed with pride. "We have just completed our latest picture." The man brought her face close to his crotch. Alice was aware of the sour taste of jealousy rising from her stomach to her throat. "You must come and see it!" The man made it sound more of a command than an invitation. "It is a portrait of a little girl slave in the harem of the Great Mogul. We have been working on it now for several months." Although they must have been there all the time, it was as if they had only now come to Alice's notice: there was a metal collar around Charlene's neck, and bands around her wrists, thighs and ankles, identical to the ones Alice had on her limbs. And silver chains hung like paper streamers and lay in a nest around her feet.

The man led both girls, a child by either hand, up the great staircase, not to the bedroom with the four-poster bed, but along a narrow corridor and up another flight of steps to a glass-roofed studio. In the centre of the room, facing the light of a panoramic window, a large unframed picture was set by pegs on to an easel. The man prodded Alice towards it. "You may be the first from an admiring public, to view it." When Alice moved around the easel, Warton declared proudly, "We intend to call it 'The Slave Child'. An appropriate title, I think!"

Alice was really impressed by the painting, deeply moved by it; it was truly a masterpiece, almost like a Rembrandt or a Jan van der Meer. There was something vaguely familiar about the style and the colouring, as if she had seen another picture of the same or a similar genre. The fabric of the cushion and the drapes under the painted, life-like child in bondage was so realistic that Alice could not resist stretching out to touch it. The paints were still wet, and her finger left a tiny smudge on the texture, in the bottom right hand corner of the canvas. The man had come round to stand behind Alice. When she looked up apologetically, the man frowned and said sternly, "Now that was clumsy, Alice, and clumsiness has always to be punished, lest it become habit!"

Alice began to cry and Charlene put her chained arms around her in a show of comfort. The closeness of the petite body was a light to a powder keg for Alice. She fell in love instantly and wanted nothing more at that moment than to be alone with the child.

The man said, "Take Alice to your bedroom, Charlene, and remain there, both of you, until I come for you!"

As they moved away, the skimpy gown seemed to become even more transparent against the light from the windows. It glistened. Alice could see quite clearly the well-sculptured outline of her torso, the slender waist and the blossoming curve of her hips. Alice could even see the two dark spots on her chest and the firm little nipple in the centre of each, and the decidedly swollen cleft of her cunnus. And the stirring deep down inside her was not to be ignored.

Charlene's bedroom was similar to the one Alice had already seen. Instead of a four-poster bed there was a divan with a quilted headboard between two heavy oaken posts and a low barred panel at the foot. It was even bigger than the other bed. Alice felt that Charlene alone in it would be lost in the swathes of bed clothes. And then she thought: perhaps she doesn't sleep alone! And the sick heaviness came again in her stomach. As if to give body to Alice's imaginings. The little girl climbed on the bed and demonstrated how small she appeared in such a vast space. She lay stretched out as far as her chains would permit, then patted the thick quilt beside her and said in the sweetest voice Alice had ever heard, "Please come up beside me." It was the sound of fairy bells tinkling from a distance or raindrops bouncing from the skylight on the roof of her stepfather's trailer.

Alice kissed Charlene. The child opened her mouth and Alice offered her tongue. The pair clung together. If anything, their bonds made them feel closer.

Alice murmured, "I would like to be your special friend, Charlene." And kissed the child even more passionately.

"Of course we must be friends!" exclaimed the other girl as if there was never any question about the fact. Then she burst out in an agony of ecstasy, "I love you, Alice." And she climbed on top of Alice. Their chains grated. Charlene pulled her gown and Alice's clear of their love mounds. "And I want to be with you for ever and ever!"

Their bodies began lifting and falling in unison. It was at this point that Warton entered the room. He smiled. "Now that is what I would call a true friendship." He no longer wore the artist's gown. Instead he looked even more handsome in an old-fashioned smoking jacket and white trousers. He laughed. "And true friendship should always be sealed!" He undid all the buttons of Alice's dress. He produced a padlock and key. He brought the chains of both girls together and secured them with the lock. He returned the key to his pocket. He drew the curtains, returned to the bed and kissed both girls, then made for the door. "I'll release you, Alice, towards the evening. We shall have some repast, and then, perhaps, one of the boys will accompany you home!" He laughed. "That is, if you have no objection to being seen abroad with a geek!" He locked the door behind him. His rising laughter could be heard from outside the darkened room.