Free Captives of Cheyner Close by Adriana Arden Page A

looping it tight about Gail’s waist and following the creases of her buttocks at her rear until it and the tube connecting it to the pressure bottle could not come loose however Gail moved about.
    ‘The bottle’s full of water and glass cleaner,’ Hilary told Gail. ‘All you have to do is to pump it up. You’ll probably need to do that a few times as there’s plenty to do. You can see how you’ve got to pump it, can’t you?’
    Gail nodded, looking as though she could not quite believe what she was doing. She straddled the pump with its novel adornment and gingerly squatted down over it, opening her buttocks. The bullet-shaped deodorant cap nuzzled into the ring of her anus. Screwing up her eyes she sat down harder. Suddenly the cap popped inside her and she was impaled on the pump handle. She straightened her legs, drawing the handle up with her, then squatted once more, driving the air into the pressure bottle. After a dozen thrusts she rose, straining until she expelled her anal plug.
    Walking awkwardly up to the nearest window pane, trailing the plastic tube after her, she pointed the nozzle and clenched her thighs together. A jet of water sprayed over the glass, bringing forth a muffled gasp of surprise from Gail. She wiggled her hips, thoroughly drenching the glass, then relaxed, causing the spray to reduce to a dribble, looking round at Hilary and Rachel with an expression of surprise and wonder on her face.
    ‘Good girl,’ Hilary said, holding her camera at the ready. ‘Now wipe it clean.’
    Pressing her face almost to the glass, Gail began to rub her cloth-bound breasts over the pane, her supple back flexing, her perfectly rounded buttocks tensing, her slender legs braced as she moved from side to side.
    Rachel and Hilary exchanged smiles of delight as they arranged the garden chairs to watch their lovely naked slave at work. This was going to be fun.
    ‘Who would have thought one day we would have Tara Ashwell cleaning our kitchen floor?’ Narinda Khan said in mock wonder.
    ‘And stripped down to her bare skin to do the job,’ Raj added in kind.
    ‘You must remember the expensive clothes she wears,’ Narinda pointed out. ‘She would not want to get them dirty.’
    ‘Of course!’ Raj clutched his brow. ‘How stupid of me not to realise.’ He prodded Tara with his toe, the bantering tone in his voice melting into bitterness as he added: ‘But then that is all I am to you. A stupid brown-skinned man you enjoy persecuting and insulting. But who is kneeling on whose floor now, eh?’
    Tara glowered defiantly up at him, willing herself not to show any fear. It was necessary to endure the Khans’ mockery, knowing they were secretly in awe of her naked beauty, which was saving her from an even worse fate. She knew what they were seeing. It was what her mirror had shown her often enough.
    Clear golden skin, long dark wavy honey-blonde hair and a perfectly proportioned oval face with high cheekbones. Her brows were dark and expressive and set over sparkling warm brown eyes. Her nose was very slightly uptilted, her lips full and generously wide. There was a proud outward thrust to her full breasts, which were crowned with large rosy pink nipple cones. This pneumasticity contrasted with her hourglass waist and wide hips. Her bottom was perfectly pale and rounded, her dark pubic hair neatly trimmed. Regular riding sessions had given her strong shapely legs.
    Yes, she must be proud of what she was, Tara told herself once again. Nothing they could do to her could take that away from – Her thoughts were cut short by the sight of the objects Narinda had just brought out of a cupboard.
    There was more of the hateful binding tape they had used last night, plus floor cloths, a new wooden scrubbing brush with a rubber ball screwed to its back, and a mophead fitted to a short length of old broom handle with a small empty plastic bottle taped close to its end. Into the bottle’s open mouth had been stuffed the