Painful Prize

She was suffering even before he began. The harsh wooden gate bit painfully into her naked belly and the tops of her thighs as she bent over it, her bare buttocks jutting out behind, smooth pink half globes.
Their deep divide, normally closed demurely over the secrets within, was now spread wide by the painful pose, so that she could feel the air on the tightly furled anal dimple. She could sense his eyes dwelling on the fatted vulva where it pouted its plump lips through the lozenge gap at the top of her thighs, its pert prominence only slightly softened by the delicate fringe of auburn curls that vied for space between the smooth columns of her legs. She was strangely disturbed by the knowledge.
It wasn't as if it was the first time she had been naked before him. God knows he had taken her there often enough, and she had no secrets from him, but this seemed different in some deep meaningful way; an invasion of her deeper than mere sex. Now he was to whip her and she felt both fear and excitement, apprehension and a vagina-wetting tingling in her crotch. What was happening to her? What was she doing, bent three parts naked over a five-barred gate in an open field, without even the shelter of the birch tree from which he had cut that frighteningly swishy rod he was practicing with? That was shortly going to fall on those tender bare pink buttocks she was now so conscious of, as if her whole being resided in them, and leave them as barred as the gate.
She certainly hadn't expected anything like this when they had left h

She was some years younger, perhaps twenty-five or six, tall for her sex, a mass of auburn hair tied back with a simple elastic ring, leaving her pretty face free. Its prettiness at this moment, however, had to be assumed to some extent, for she seemed to have had an accident of some sort. Her cheeks were heavily smeared with thick wet matter, greenish brown and reeking of cow. She might well have tried to clean herself up before going further, had her hands not been secured behind her back.
As it was, she disregarded the state of her features to concentrate on an apparent problem with the message on the paper, a concentration interrupted from time to time by a grimace of pain, and a certain uneasiness in her posture, since she writhed her buttocks on the seat, and shifted her weight from side to side.
Suddenly she said, "Axwell, the river there. Georgina said old Major Grange has a boathouse on the river he hardly uses. How about that?"
"Brilliant," the man replied, "that's it for sure. We used to play there as kids. Martin knows the place, he's bound to have chosen it. Now no more talking, we have to get there fast. Open wide."
For some reason he held in his other hand a small wad of pale blue nylon. A curved section of narrow lace even suggested it might be part of the girl's underwear. Though it may have started the journey embracing the girl's smooth bottom cheeks, and the moist channel between them, it was now sodden with saliva from prolonged insertion in her mouth to keep her silent. He'd slipped it out to enable her to contribute to the solving of the clue to their next destination but, now, he returned the wad of flimsy nylon to her obediently parted lips.
"Clever girl," he cried, and impulsively pulled her towards him, regardless of her filthy face, to kiss her warmly on her panty-stuffed mouth.
She winced as the fresh burning stripes on her bottom made contact with the cruel needle-sharp projections of the wicker mat she was sitting on, without benefit of underpants, nor dress come to that, since it was deliberately pulled up behind her to allow her bare bruised flesh to rest on the unfinished weave of the basket-work. Still, she did not resist him, responding avidly to his kiss, in as much as her

Part One: Hunted
The man and the girl sat in a car in a country lane, consulting a small sheet of paper he held up for them both to read. He was well-built, about mid-thirties one would suppose, successful in some way obviously, his clothes, the car, his air of assurance spelt it out clearly. Though not classically handsome, women would find him attractive, even without the trappings of success. With them he was a dangerous man to have around.