EXTRACT FOR
The Girlspell Book Two
(Author Unknown)

Excerpt from "The Girlspell - Book Two" by William Avon



Long chains had been slung from the wrought iron angle brackets that projected at regular intervals from the inner walls of the pack yard. Onto these chains all twenty-two pack girls had been fastened. Their arms were held over their heads by snaplinks clipped to the rings built into the wrists of their thumbless, thickly padded, elbow-length black rubber mittens, which were known as 'paws'. Their flat-soled knee boots were of the same material. In between was naked flesh waiting to be decorated.

    Alison Chalmers and George Platt, the head keeper, worked their way along the line of girls, each carrying a pot of body paint and a broad brush. Alison painted a red-brown oval on the girls' backs, extending from their shoulders to the upper slopes of their buttocks. Two additional brush strokes coloured the outer curves of their thighs. Platt in his turn put an oval of pure white on their stomachs, from the top of their pubic deltas to the undercurve of their breasts, then added smaller dabs on their sternums and throats. Two more strokes picked out the lines of their inner thighs. 

    Painting completed, Alison and Platt went back into the storeroom and the girls were left to dry for a few minutes.

    From beyond the walls of their yard they could hear excited barking from the kennels next to theirs. These were the hounds that would be used to hunt them down. The noise made the girls squirm, clenching their thighs in an attempt to squeeze lovelips itching with nervous anticipation.

    Melanie tried to steady her breathing. "Is it always like this before a hunt?" she whispered to Una, who was tethered beside her.

    Una had short dark hair and a wonderfully lean and strong body with neat, high-set, pointed breasts. She'd been First Girl of the pack before Melanie had beaten her in a fight. Her initial resentment had been muted by Melanie's determination not to let there be any bad feeling between them, and now she seemed to have accepted her change in status.   

    Una gave a thin smile. "Yeah," she admitted softly. "You never get used to it. Some of the girls'll be wetting themselves soon. But you've just got to remember to run as fast as you can for as long as you can. Don't be frightened of the hounds. They might give you a few scratches but nothing worse. And anytime you're out of sight of them you can..." She hesitated.

    "Yes?" Melanie said.

    "Pee up against a tree, then double back on your tracks. If you can find a fallen branch or suchlike that you can rub in your slot that's also good. Confuses the hounds and makes the riders think they've treed you."

    "Thanks for telling me," Melanie said as warmly as she could.

    "That's so clever. Can... I try that as well?" Gillian asked tentatively.

    Gillian was a slender blonde tethered on the other side of Melanie. She'd been persecuted by Una before Melanie came because of her upper-class roots and for failing to please guests, so letting the pack down. Melanie had done what she could to improve relations between them.

    Una looked at Gillian uncertainly for a moment, then smiled. "Sure. You just give them the best run you can."

    "I will. I promise I'll make the Major proud of me."

    Platt and Alison came back out into the yard with a box of masks and began putting them on the girls. These were very light shells of painted papier mache, which went on their heads like caps, merging with their own tied-back hair, and were held in place by rubber chin straps. They had fox-like pointed ears and protruding snouts, cutaway on the underside so that their breathing would not be impaired. Melanie blinked through the eyeholes at her transformed companions. The fox-masks curiously complemented their naked flesh, producing a theatrical yet at the same time surprisingly convincing effect.

    Platt emerged from the storeroom again with a smaller box containing some curiously shaped objects and stepped up to the first girl on the chain. Melanie watched him work his way along the line towards her with tremulous fascination, even though she knew what he was doing. As the Major had explained to her yesterday, the hunt would be a race against the clock, so they had to know when each girl was captured. This was the most convenient method when any part of their anatomy could be made to serve some practical purpose.

    Platt reached Una. From the box he took a small rubber ball studded with soft prongs. A six-inch length of fine chain trailed from it with a numbered metal tag on the end. Platt checked it against Una's collar number, then loaded the ball into the end of a smooth slim tube so that the chain hung within it. Una spread her legs and pushed her hips forward. Platt slid the tube up into her front passage with practised ease, then withdrew it leaving the ball inside her and the tag hanging beneath her pudenda.

    Then it was Melanie's turn.

    She gulped and spread her legs obediently. The applicator tube slid up into her moist hole easily, but she gave a little gasp as she felt the rubber prongs spring out inside her. Reflex caused her vaginal muscles to contract about the curious object. The radiating prongs did not hurt, but she was very aware of their presence, as she was of the chain and dangling metal tag shining brightly under her dark cleft of flesh.

    As Platt continued along the line, Alison carried a wooden trestle into the yard, followed by a box brimming with lengths of brown fur. Then she began releasing the girls who were already tagged. As each was freed, they quickly ran over and knelt beside the trestle.

    When half a dozen girls were waiting, Alison returned to the box by the trestle and gestured to the first girl in line. She immediately laid herself over the trestle, resting her gloved hands on the far side and spreading her legs wide, so the cleft of her buttocks and the dark crinkled pit of her anus pointed skyward.

    Alison took one of the furry objects from the box and smoothed it out. It was an artificial foxtail almost two feet long. She stood between the pack girl's spread legs and slid the plug-end of the tail into her oiled anus. When it was in place, Alison took a long key from her pocket and inserted it into the hollow metal shaft of the tail and twisted several times. She tested the tail, pulling hard to check it was secure, then patted the girl on the rump. She got off the trestle and the next girl took her place. 

    Platt finished inserting the tags and released the rest of the pack, who joined the queue by the trestle.   

    In turn, Melanie laid herself across the trestle and looked back over her shoulder as Alison picked up another foxtail. Its mount was more complex than the simple rubber plugs that held pack girls' normal smaller false tails in place. Extending from the end of the mounting pin was a short length of soft rubber tube with a nut set into its tip. Alison bent over Melanie's rear and Melanie tried to relax her sphincter as the tube slid deep inside her. 

    When it was fully inserted, Melanie felt the key slide into the hollow shaft. Alison began turning. The key fitted the head of a screw bolt enclosed by the pin and which engaged with the nut. Turning the bolt pulled the nut closer and so caused the tube to bunch outwards. Melanie felt it swell up on the inner side of her narrow anal passage, intrusive yet darkly exciting. The rest of the springy metal mount ran up the cleft of her buttocks until it reached the small of her back where the fur of the tail itself blossomed in an outward curve. Alison removed the key and gave the tail a firm tug. It did not move. For the first time Melanie was truly plugged; her rear passage closed off to all other functions except for providing a mount for her new tail until somebody removed it for her. 

    Alison slapped her rump and Melanie got off the trestle and joined the other newly-tailed girls. The soft mass of bushy fur hung down over her thighs as she crouched on all fours, teasing her bottom with its whisper-soft touch. 

    In a few minutes the whole pack had been similarly fitted out. Neatly marshalled into three ranks they all crouched on their hands and knees as Platt inspected them. 

    He nodded in quiet satisfaction. The transformation was complete. Their black boots and gloves resembled the black 'socks' of a fox, with their human fingers concealed and constrained by their paws. Their tongues were silenced by obedience and training while the nipples on their dangling breasts were swollen and hard with anticipation. Every movement reminded them of the foreign devices lodged inside their tender orifices. Half-veiled by bushy tails, swollen nether lips pouted glistening from between sturdy thighs. The air thickened with the musky scent of helpless female arousal. The Markham Hall bitches had become vixens ready for the hunt.

    "Very good," Platt said finally, standing before them. "You girls who have run before know what's expected of you. For those that haven't, just remember this. You belong to the Markham Hunt, the finest in the South. You will run fast and you will run hard. You don't stop while you can still put one foot in front of the other. Today you are wild creatures, so you don't give up even if you're cornered. Those ladies and gentlemen out there expect good sport not easy trophies, and that's what they're going to get. I'll be checking your times, and I'll have the skin off any of you caught inside ten minutes of the riders' start!" In the silence that followed, Melanie heard water splattering onto the cobbles as fear or excitement loosened some poor girl's command over her bladder. She didn't look round to see who it was. Platt consulted his pocket watch. "Right, it's time. Make me proud of you."

    He picked up a long switch. Alison opened the inner gate of the yard and together they herded the girls through the covered passage beyond in a press of naked limbs and bobbing tails. On hands and feet with their bottoms high, the pack surged out into the stone-flagged stable court. The barks and yaps of the hounds got louder. Melanie's heart was thudding. In a tight group they were driven through the arches that opened onto the great oval of gravel that lay before the Hall itself. 

    And there were their hunters waiting for them.

    There were thirty-five or forty riders, both men and women. All were immaculately turned out either in red or black, but with narrow coloured sashes slung across their shoulders. Major Havercotte-Gore alone amongst them was wearing a distinctive pink jacket. Most were already mounted, and stirrup cups were being handed round. A cheer went up as the pack appeared and silver goblets were raised in ironic toast to them. 

    Melanie felt their eyes upon her and her stomach knotted afresh. The cosy confines of the pack yard seemed a long way away. Suddenly she was horribly aware of her nakedness and was desperately grateful for the small degree of anonymity her mask offered. 

    The pack was brought to a halt before the riders. Platt's switch flicked out over their bent backs. "Make a line!" he commanded, and they scampered to obey him, spreading out until they formed a single row facing the hunters, kneeling almost shoulder to shoulder.

    "Show!" Platt said.

    With the rest, Melanie sat back on her heels with her back straight and knees spread wide, folding her pawed hands behind her neck. The hard chocolate cones of her nipples were standing up from the heavy domes of her out-thrust breasts. The metal tag hanging under her mound of Venus twinkled for all to see.

    The hunters walked their mounts up and down the line of twenty-two vixens, examining them with interest, commenting freely on their bodies and likely speed and agility in a chase. Melanie, as the only black girl, received particular attention. Under their gaze she felt her resolve weakening and she began to tremble. The thought of what these people intended for her was too much to bear. A wave of sickness rose up within her... 

    Then she saw the Major beaming down encouragingly at her. Immediately Melanie felt a lifting of her spirits as a warm glow replaced the terrible cramping fear within her. The Major's honest appreciation of her body and delight in her physical prowess was something she had never experienced before, but it thrilled her more than she could say. She remembered that she had promised she would run her best for him. Well so she would!  

    Then she realized that Arabella also had her eyes on her and shivered. Melanie could have coped with straightforward lesbian lust, but there was also an unpleasant cruel streak in the young woman. She vowed silently that whatever happened she would not let Arabella catch her. 

    The barking of hounds suddenly swelled in volume. 

    "Submit and lift tails!" Platt commanded. 

    The pack girls bent forward with heads down, flattening their breasts on the gravel and thrusting their bottoms up into the air. Reaching behind them they scooped their tails up so that they fell down the length of their backs.  

    Straining at their leashes, the pack of hounds entered the courtyard, dragging half a dozen handlers in their wake. Their excited yelps rose in frantic chorus as they saw the line of prostrate girls with their exposed hindquarters facing them. They surged forward until they were trampling over the girls' booted legs, nuzzling and sniffing at the aromatic row of split flesh-peaches so conveniently displayed for them. Gasps and moans and a few helpless giggles rose up from the line of human vixens. 

    Melanie felt cold noses at her slit and discovered a new low of degradation. Yet at the same time came the stirrings of the dark tantalizing excitement that she had only known in these last strange days. In her confusion her mind veered from disgust at such treatment to the thought that this was perfectly natural. The hounds would be tracking them down, so what better way to learn their most intimate and personal scent? 

    After what seemed an eternity they were pulled off them and the women were ordered to assume the sejant position, crouching at the alert. The Major's voice rang out, echoing back over the gravel from the imposing facade of the Hall.

    "We're ready to send the vixens off," he told the riders. "They'll have the usual ten minute start. Is everybody wearing their team colours?" There was an affirmative chorus. "Timekeepers: have you got your tag clocks ready?" Devices like bulky pocket watches slung on lanyards were held aloft. "Good." The Major consulted his own gold hunter. "Ready the pack," he told Platt.

    Platt's switch flicked across the girls' backs and they lifted their bottoms like sprinters on the starting blocks. Melanie's heart was racing, desperate for the waiting to end so that she could be in her own element once more. Her surroundings seemed to fade into the background as she focused all her attention on the Major's next word. 

    "Go!" he shouted.

    The girls sprinted off across the gravel, buttocks twinkling and tails streaming out behind them, accompanied by the cheers of the hunters. As the pack pounded through the wide ornamental gateway they fanned out, heading out over the open ground towards the woods. 

    And suddenly Melanie was on her own in the open field; the quarry, the naked prey, with only her own strength and wits separating her from capture and the fate that entailed. But instead of dismay she felt exhilaration. For the first time she truly knew herself. She laughed as she lengthened her stride, revelling in the play of her muscles, flying across the rough grass and feeling the air rush over her naked body and the heavy bounce of her unrestrained breasts. 

    She was a bondmaid: a piece of human property. And yet she was free to run, to experience the true thrill of the chase. And in that moment, she discovered perfect happiness.