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.'
Dorinda sat upright, startled. 'No!' Her negative was from the heart. Terry enjoyed her slave’s dismay. 'Don’t paninc. Always one more left. That’s the nice thing about being a gril.'
'I don’t do that.'
Terry surveyed her companion with interest. 'Well, I’ve never done it,' she admitted. 'Mark never gave me a chance with a girl. But I’ve got one now. You don’t think I’m going to pass it up, do you?'
'But I’m not a lesbian.'
'Who says anything about lesbians? That’s just a name. If we want to explore each others cunny woth our mouth, we don’t have to wear a label.'
'Mark would flog us both half to death.'
'Well, he might if he found out,' she admitted reflectively.
'I’ll tell him.'
'You won’t, y’know darling.'
Dorinda had to admit to herself that Terry was right. She began to glimpse that, whilst her brother would subdue her with the whip, his sister would devise more devious and colorful ways to enslave. Terry had risen to her feet and was flexing the riding crop thoughtfully, her eyes hungry for whatever excitement the situation might engender. Dutifully the slave girl did as she was told.
The female psyche is a complex thing. Its responses are triggered by subtleties not always understood. Faced with a fresh assault on resources already frayed threadbare, Dorinda was bereft. She knew she could only earn the whip by attempts to dissuade, so composed her nudity to best advantage to absorb attentions which, no matter how gentle, were basically similar to her recent ordeal against the tree. She felt sure of disgrace.
But Terry’s magic was not only in her sunny laughter and elfin spirit. She was vibrantly female, exquisitely feminine. Her hands were enchanted hands. Her lips were enchanted lips. To be touched by them anywhere was to feel the shock of electric senuousness. Dorinda, who had thought herself depleted, was washed now in a fountain of youth that endowed her with infinite renewal. Gasping to keep herself afloat in a sea of pleasure she allowed herself to be led into the scented pathways of a girl who loves.
'Wasn’t it super?' Terry cooed. 'Girls would be silly not to enjoy themselves.'
It was after. Long after! Dorinda lay gratefully in the sun, replete and at peace as she watched her mistress fumble with her bikini. 'I say, darling. How’s my bottom?' The curved facility was offered for inspection.
'It’s a very lovely bottom and it’s got the most beautiful purple stripe right accross the middle,' the slave girl assured her with satisfaction.
'Oh golly, I’m sure it has. I’ll have to mear these damn things for a week. Mark will be suspecious. Come one, darling, think of an excuse.'
'You could claim a defense against my rapacious tongue.'
'He’d whip you to pieces… If he believed it.'
'Alright then. Not me, the goat.'
'Be serious. I should whip you until you think of something plausable.'
'Time of the month?'
Terry tottered. 'He knows that.'
'Tell you what. We’ll both confess our sin like good little girls and ask to be punished. Then he won’t do it.'
The angel brightened. 'You might have something there love. But – knowing Mark – I’d suspect we get about five apiece.'
'You’d enjoy only five. And since I suppose I go back into training with him tomorrow I don’t suppose five one way or the other will make much difference. He’s a real ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ enthousiast.'
Terry looked at her slave searchingly. 'Are you sure we aren’t tarred with the same brush?'
Dorinda’s indignant negative died stillbron. 'I hate the damn whip,' she averred vehemently. 'But I like the man who uses it on me. Does that make any sense?'
'You mean you’re in love with Mark?'
'I don’t suppose I am. I was frightened of him half the time yesterday. But when he’s whipping me I have to respect his motives. I wish he’d tie me to a tree or something instead. But I can understand his fantasy thing. He explained it very well. I can understand, too, that I sort of happened along at the right time and got elected. It’s
