In Wicklow Wood there is a Tree 2

by Barretthunter

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© Copyright 2011 - Barretthunter - Used by permission

Storycodes: M+/ff; MF/ff; outdoors; capture; bond; bdsm; spank; cane; breast; hum; kidnap; sex; anal; nc; X

(story continues from )

A Sally West Misadventure

Part 2

The steps got nearer. It sounded like a man or at least a fairly big woman. Sally was doing her best to peer round the tree and Yasmin was twisting her neck round to see. They saw the man at the same time. It was the bearded birdwatcher they had passed earlier, a youngish man, ginger-haired, quite short but fit-looking, bespectacled and dressed in plain khaki. He saw them in the same instant.

“Hey, you two – religious ceremonies with the trees have to be booked in advance!” he shouted, but his tone was not unfriendly.

“It’s not a religious ceremony! We’re police officers and we’ve been attacked by the Lone Stranger!” Yasmin called out. He quickened his step. A few paces away he stopped.

“Bloody hell!” he said.

“Please help us!” said Sally.

“Who are you?” asked Yasmin.

“I’ll do what I can,” he replied. “I’m the nature reserve warden. You’re not the two coppers I was expecting, are you?”

They confirmed that they were indeed. He was surprised, for, he said, someone had rung him and explained they would be delayed.

“Well, I’d better see what I can do about this,” he said, lowering his trousers.

In different circumstances the two officers might not have minded his vigorous attentions, for he was not bad-looking, but they were not in the best of moods. On top of that, after taking advantage of them (the Victorian phrase being more than usually appropriate in this case) he had asked them both if they wanted a Mars Bar. They had taken this as some sexual allusion and had said nothing. He had then produced four Mars bars and, after removing the wrappers, given two to each girl, one each inserted well into the most obvious place available apart from her mouth. Sally’s second bar was left nestling on top of her pulled-up breasts, while the other was placed between Yasmin’s tighter, firmer tits, which held it securely, at least until the outer covering melted.

At least, they both thought when he had thanked them and ambled off, he had not spanked them. On top of the thorough thrashing they had both received from the Lone Stranger, that would have been intolerable.

“The bastard! He’s out of a job and into the nick!” Yasmin stated with some fervour.

“If he really was the Warden,” Sally replied. “Sh*t, my tits are hurting, strapped up like this.”

“My bottom hole is hurting!” Yasmin replied.

“Huh? He didn’t do that to me!” said Sally. “These Mars bars are starting to melt.”

“I’m getting cold! Being wet makes it worse!” said Yasmin. “Oh, what can I do?”

“Wiggle about to stay warm,” said Sally helpfully. “Wiggle what you can wiggle, anyway.”

A while later, ants discovered the Mars bars.

They heard a noise coming nearer. It was a rabbit.

“At least this is England, so they don’t have wolves,” said Sally.

“Or bears!” Yasmin added. “Or gorillas. EEEEEEEEIAOWK!” A golden retriever was sniffing her bottom. It did this for quite a long time before nipping round to sniff Sally. She felt the cold, wet nose touch her secret lips and screamed. The dog did not seem to notice. It had discovered the Mars Bar and was licking vigorously. A distant human voice called and a whistle sounded. The dog paused in thought before bounding off.

About ten minutes later they heard footsteps approaching slowly. The footsteps quickened, but not very much. A conversational woof indicated that the retriever was with the newcomer. Behind the footsteps, a voice called, the voice of an old man:

“’Ere, slow down, Hilda. Remember my war wound!”

“Oh yes, the one you got falling off that window-ledge at the victory parade!” a slightly firmer old female voice replied. “I can’t wait for… Bloody hell!”


“Two naked hippies hugging a tree!”

“Male or female?”

“Female.” From the speed of the second set of footfalls now, it appeared the man too had forgotten the alleged war wound.

The old couple and their dog stood staring at Yasmin and Sally, who struggled to find the right words to speak. Yasmin tried first.

“Please – we need help. Can you call the police?”

“Yes I can,” said the old man. He had copious, rather untidy white hair, large brown blotches on his skin and a stick on which he leant.

“Please do then,” Yasmin continued. “We’re police officers ourselves and we’ve been overpowered and assaulted. You can ring 999.”

“Yes, I can,” said the man.

“Then do, please!” said Sally.

“Ah,” he replied, “I said I could ring the police, but I didn’t say I would. If you’re coppers, why do you two have big arses and tits?”

“Because we’re women!” said Sally, annoyed.

“Albert, dear, they do have women in the police, you know,” said Hilda. “Remember that one that came round about your car not being taxed, when you could still drive?”

“You mean she was real?”

“Of course she was real, you old fool. What – you don’t mean you…”

“She never complained,” said Albert. “Didn’t do nothing about my car tax neither.”

“PLEASE, help!” Yasmin broke in, “we’ve been horribly treated!”

This stopped the reminiscences as Albert and Hilda inspected their bottoms.

“They have had a right going over,” he observed.

“Probably deserved it!” Hilda replied. “Young kids now need a good thrashing. Serves them right for going naked and tying themselves to a tree. Disgusting display, I call it! Now when I was a girl…”

“LISTEN! We’re police officers! We’ve been overpowered and stripped and handcuffed and, um, thingy, assaulted. Serious assaulted! You’ve got to help us!” cried Yasmin.

“Young lady, interrupting your elders and betters is rude. What’s more, telling us we’ve got to do anything is impertinent!” said Albert, poking Yasmin’s bottom with his stick to reinforce the point. “Especially from an immigrant, what…”

“I beg your pardon! I was born in Staines!” Yasmin objected. “I’m YAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Albert had thwacked her glowing brown bottom sharply with the stick.

“Interrupting again!” rapped Albert. “I think you need a lesson teaching, young lady.”

“That’s right, Albert. You teach her!” his wife added.

“Leave her alone! She’s YEAAAAAAAAIOW!” Sally interrupted. She had just found that Hilda had a powerful right arm and a rather large hand for a woman.

“That’s enough of your cheek, you hussy!” Hilda told her. “Albert, dear, I think this one needs a good thrashing too.”

“You might be right,” her husband replied, “but one at a time. The brown one first.”

Despite Albert’s apparent weakness, he wielded his stick at an angle of 45 degrees with impressive force on Yasmin’s already suffering target. Sally could see little of the action, but her friend’s screams and wails and the regular THWACK of the stick told their own story. After a while he discarded the stick for the more pliable and less tiring belt Yasmin had so helpfully worn to the site, and which the Stranger had helpfully left at her feet. His wife was clearly enjoying the display, and Sally was not surprised when she took over the belt and laid into Yasmin’s bottom herself.

At long last the whacks stopped. Yasmin sobbed childishly while Hilda delivered a pompous little lecture about morals, politeness, decency and respect for elders.

“’Sright, love,” said Albert. “Now for the other one. B*gger! I’ve got chocolate on my stick!” Sally’s eyes were now fixed on the same stick and she did not like the idea of it descending on her bottom at all, though her attention was somewhat diverted by the ants which were crowding round the melted gooey Mars bar spread across her tits. Albert raised the stick. Hilda mischievously poked her bottom so she squealed. The stick struck hard across her two fearfully quivering cheeks. She squealed louder. Albert spat on his hands and weighed in again. Sally’s bottom, already sore, was now hurting horribly. Her salvation, some eight strokes later, was Albert’s tiring arms; but she knew all too well that the belt was coming next, Yasmin’s belt. Sally began to cry, and from time to time was aware of Yasmin crying too, contributing to a sorry duet.

When Albert handed over to his wife, who cut in from a slightly lower angle, Sally found her sensitive undercheeks under attack. Perhaps it was that which preoccupied her so that she did not at first notice that the old man’s flies were open and an antique but obviously serviceable c*ck had risen to attention.

“Albert!” said Hilda, “I thought you’d forgotten to get your Viagra.”

“So I had!” he replied. “Seems I don’t need it now.” Hilda thought.

“Well, in that case, why don’t we take these two things home? They’d be cheaper.”

“Have to feed ‘em,” Albert pointed out. He had marched, with no hint of his limp, round to Yasmin. He presented arms to her proudly.

“’Ere, love – ever seen anything like this before?” he asked.

“Of course I have!” she cried, halfway between contempt and crying.

“Are you married?” Hilda asked her.


“Then, young lady, your morals are disgraceful!” Hilda might have been minded to develop this moral lecture further, but she was a realist. The Paki piece was not going to listen while Albert was screwing her with all the vigour of regained youth.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, ooooooh…” the young officer warbled.

“Nnnngh…ghurrrh…nnngh…aaaaaaah!” Albert replied.

“Rarrrrrrr! Ooooooooooow! Raoooooooow!” the retriever commented.

Sally was able to gauge the progress of the event only by sounds, Yasmin’s quivering arms and another shower of leaves and twigs falling – but she could see that Hilda had produced an ancient camera and was recording her husband’s prowess.

Then Albert, an evil grin on his face, was coming round to deal with her. From that point on she knew very well what was happening.

As the elderly couple went on their way with the dog, their last words the two policewomen could hear were, from Hilda:

“Disgraceful. I don’t know what the world is coming to. Young girls today’ll open their legs for anybody.”

“I’ll get that film developed at the photography evening class,” Albert said. “Pete and Gordon will be green with envy. Old Mrs Cooper will be licking her lips, I promise you.”

The two officers were again left alone to birdsong and the last few ants. After a while their weeping duet faded.

“I didn’t know you were a Staines girl,” Sally said to her friend. For some reason that set Yasmin off sobbing again.

“Yas, can you just stop crying for a moment?” Sally asked. “I think I can hear something.”

“Burr, hur, hur…what?” Yasmin replied.

“It sound like a jogger,” said Sally.

That regular soft thud of footfalls following one another quite quickly, that huff and sigh of someone out of condition or in condition but tiring, was unmistakeable.

“Help! Help!” Yasmin yelled. The footfalls stopped for a moment and then resumed along with the puffs and sighs. A plump, middle-aged, bespectacled Asian man appeared in smart white and blue running kit.

“Goodness gracious me! What a revelation! What a sight!” he said in a marked Gujerati accent. “How do you wish me to help?”

“Getting us free from this tree,” Sally replied – but then she realised the man could not do this. “Sorry, I don’t suppose you can do that. Please ring the police. We’re police officers ourselves.” The man did not immediately reply. When he did, it was with a note of embarrassment:

“Ah. There is just a very small problem.”


“I have left my mobile phone at the shop.”

“Well, use one of our radios! We’ll tell you how to.”

“What radios?” said the man. Their radios were indeed nowhere to be seen.

“Then please run to the road, any road, and ask someone else to ring 999!” Yasmin pleaded; but the man saw a problem in that too.

“I’m afraid, young lady, I’m rather tired. I’m not young any more, you know. Fifty-one I was last birthday, though of course I look younger.” If anything he looked older, thought Sally, but she decided not to comment.

“Well, walk then!” she suggested.

“Ah, but there is a problem with that too.”


“Well, you are imagining I came here by accident, a white knight mounting a magnificent charger in shining armour. Actually, my very good friend told me you were here. ‘Tonto’, he said – for some reason that is what he calls me, it is some kind of joke, I think – just nip down to the warden’s hut in Wicklow Wood and you will find something greatly to your advantage. And he was right!”

Sally did not like that phrase “greatly to your advantage”. She decided to appeal to the man’s sympathy and sense of family duty.

“Look, please help us! We’ve had an awful time. We’ve been beaten and um, you know, and my friend here was nearly drowned and now she’s cold and there were ants all over us and a dog, a golden retriever…” She became aware that she was straying from the basics. “Please! We’re at our wits’ ends! You look a nice family man. We’re only young. We could be your daughters!”

Tonto seemed to consider this carefully.

“Young lady, I do not think you could be my daughter, even from some illicit relationship which I have never had, at least without proper and sensible protection. You are the wrong colour. This young lady, on the other hand, it is possible. But if I found any daughter of mine naked in a public park, I would exact a terrible retribulation!”

“Er… I suppose you’re right, sir. We couldn’t be your daughters,” said Yasmin rather quickly. Tonto stared at her.

“What is your name, young lady?” he asked.

“Yasmin, Yasmin Khan.” Tonto looked relieved.

“Ah! A Paki! That is all right, then.” Yasmin was indignant.

“I am NOT a ‘Paki’. I’m British and English of PakiSTANI origin, innit?” She quivered with rage. It was chiefly her breasts and buttocks which quivered, and Tonto watched with interest before replying,

“Young lady, you should make your mind up and not confuse! You are British or you are English or you are Paki? Anyway, it is all right because I thought you might be a Hindu young girl. It would be a great disgrace for a Hindu girl to show her bottom and her breasts and her, as the English say, naughty bits in public. Also I would have grave moral reservations about thrashing a Hindu girl who was not my daughter. But fortunately, I need have no such misgivings.”

With this the two policewomen fell silent while Tonto scurried about muttering to himself that Mr Stranger had said he had put the implement on a seat. He was beginning to debate to himself whether his friend had actually meant just that he had applied the implement to a seat, presumably one of those on the prostitutes tied to the tree, when his murmurings abruptly ceased and he cried,

“AHA!” He had found the cane, plus some spare rope.

At the sight of it Yasmin broke down.

“PLEASE! Just look at our bottoms! They’ve been practically FLAYED!” Tonto looked.

“Well, it does seem to me that you have made just only a slight exaggeration. There is certainly very little room left. So it is most fortunate that while my friend is an arse man, I personally am a tit man!”

So it was that a rough, hairy rope was secured round Yasmin’s slim neck just below her chin with the other end attached to the neighbouring tree, pulling her head back just enough to give Tonto an unimpeded shot at her round, firm breasts. So it was also that Sally’s head was pulled back in the same way so her rather more generous breasts stood out proud and unsquashed. So it was that the cruel and whippy cane hovered above her defenceless right tit before slicing clinically into it, burying itself momentarily in sensitive female flesh and leaving fire behind. Three times Sally’s poor friendly tit was punished before its sister suffered the same.

“Now for the titties on the Paki,” Tonto announced. That Yasmin’s tits were smaller did not save her one of the six cuts. When Tonto laid down the cane, the two officers sounded like a roomful of unfed babies.

“Dear me, what a hullaballoo!” he commented. “No self-restraint, you young women!” With that he boldly went where Albert, the warden and the Stranger had gone before, his pumping of “the Paki” being accompanied by little cries of satisfaction from himself and sighs and sobs from Yasmin. A moment later,

“NOT THERE! NOIAAAAAAAAAOW!” cried Sally. She recovered enough to feel slighted when, in mid-screw, Tonto took a call on his mobile phone. Evidently it was from his wife, and while he continued to pump Sally’s arsehole with great vigour, he was assuring his wife that he was jogging diligently but getting a little out of breath.

“Yes, dear, I’ll be back soon,” he concluded – and a couple of minutes later he was gone.

“This can’t get any worse!” Yasmin exclaimed.

“Don’t say that!” warned Sally.

This was prescient of her. Their next visitors were the gang of youths they had disturbed and chased when they were still carefree and fully dressed. What happened next was entirely predictable, except that Yasmin at least was disconcerted at the intimate attentions of the girl members of the gang. When finally the gang had left, whooping and laughing, there was a brief silence before Yasmin said to her friend,



“I’m glad this baton isn’t thick like the old truncheons!”

“Are you?” asked Sally.

Sally did not quite know whether to hope for a rescuer (who might just be another one to take advantage of a maiden in undress) or to hope to be left alone, though the latter begged the question of how they would get free. When she heard a powerful car approaching quite slowly, she felt both hopeful and apprehensive.

“’Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello, what have we got here, then?” asked Sergeant Tucker.

“It looks like PC Khan, Sarge,” said a younger male voice – PC Darren Donovan.

“It looks like an arse to me, son,” said the Sergeant.

“SIR! This is a fellow officer! We should be helping her, not leering at her!” said PC Melanie Flowers.

“There’s another one round the other side. It’s old West!” Darren remarked. “They’re both handcuffed.”

“Fair enough, Constable Lowers,” Tucker replied. “You go for bolt cutters. Darren and I will make sure these two come to no harm.”

“Sergeant, I’m sorry, but I’m not leaving Yasmin and Sally!” the brave and rebellious Melanie insisted.

“Sarge, I’m sorry, but I think she’s right,” said Donovan. “I’ll go for the cutters.”

“’Ere, I’m not WALKING back from this f*cking place!” Tucker objected. “What do you think I am, Dixon of Dock Green? I’ll come with you.” Managing a sly pat and pinch on Yasmin’s bottom, he departed with young Donovan.

Now Melanie patted and smiled at and said soft, supportive words to her two friends in bondage. They responded gratefully, for they both knew what Sergeant Tucker would have done.

“Mellie, why don’t you look inside that hut?” Yasmin suggested. “You never know. Bolt cutters seem like the sort of thing a nature reserve warden might keep around.”

Melanie, her face showing she had little confidence in this suggestion but was too polite and supportive to say so, walked off to the hut. The front door was locked. The back door was locked. Some ten minutes later she returned.

“I can’t possibly break in. That would be illegal and we’re supposed to uphold the law,” she explained. Yasmin and Sally said nothing.

“Are you all right?” said a male voice.

A youngish man, fit-looking, shortish and wiry, brown-haired, clean-shaven and good-looking, had padded up in trainers. Expecting yet another whacking and yet another exploring c*ck, the two bound officers stayed silent.

“Who are you?” asked Melanie.

“The warden. What’s going on? You know it’s illegal to impersonate police officers?”

“But we’re REAL police officers!” Sally insisted, almost crying. “We really are!”

“They are, too,” said Melanie, and showed her I.D.

“Good God!” exclaimed the warden. “I’ll ring 999.”

“Thanks, but my colleagues have been here already. They’ve gone off for bolt cutters,” said Melanie.

“There was a man here before, he did bhurr, hurr, hurr, horrible bhurr, hurr, hurr…” said Yasmin.

“He said he was the warden,” Sally added.

“Well, he wasn’t! I am!” said the newcomer. “Look, if you want bolt-cutters, there’s a pair in the hut.” Soon with his welcome help, Sally and Yasmin were free. The cuffs still clasped the slim brown wrists of Yasmin, but the chain between them was cut. The plastic cuffs on Sally  had disappeared entirely.

The next stage was to put together bits and pieces of uniform so they were more or less decent.

“I suppose we just have to wait for Doug Tucker and Darren,” Sally commented.

“They could be ages!” said Melanie.

“Why wait?” asked Yasmin. “We’ve got our bikes and we’re just about decent again.”

“We can’t leave Mellie here alone!” Sally objected. “The Stranger could come back, or even that youth gang!”

“She can ride on the back of one of our bikes!” Yasmin suggested.

“Oh, fantastic! I haven’t ridden on the back of a bike since I was thirteen!” said Melanie. And so it was done. Sally and Yasmin found that sitting down on the bike saddles was quite unpleasant because of the treatment their bottoms had received, so they stood up in the saddle. Melanie worked out that as Yasmin’s bottom projected less far than Sally’s, there was more room to sit behind her, so she got on behind Yasmin and clasped the other girl’s waist tightly. With the warden waving and shouting goodbye, they set off.

Left alone, the warden walked inside the hut and put away the false beard, hair dye and spectacles he had used for his previous disguise. Then he rang a familiar number.

Racing along on the bikes, the policewomen were recovering a sense of joy and of freedom. Even when Yasmin and Melanie hit an awkward muddy bit and spilled off, Yasmin into the mud and Melanie into – but luckily not far into – a bramble bush, their shrieks had something of schoolgirlish melodrama about them. Looking round to see what had happened, Sally also came off, or rather unbalanced and ended up bashing her poor, sore bottom while the bike descended on top of her. But with true British spirit, she, Yasmin and Melanie all came up laughing and, giving one another thumbs up signs, remounted to continue their exciting journey.

Up to now it had been on the level or slightly uphill, but now, Sally knew, came a long downward slope ending in a sharpish left turn of the track, which then continued gently down to join a metalled road which in fact ran right below the mini-cliff at the bottom of the steep slope.  Someone had extracted sand there in the early twentieth century, she seemed to remember, which had created the sudden drop. In her current mood, the long slope and quite sudden turn was an exciting challenge. It would be exhilarating. It would be fun.

She waved to Yasmin who was a little behind (“she has a little behind, too,” thought Sally).

“Here we GOOOOOOOOOOOO!” she yelled as she started on the long descent.

“YEEE-HAA!” yelled Yasmin, for once more of a cowgirl than an Indian.

“This is FANTASTIC!” thought Sally. “Now – when I brake, I need to do it gently or I’ll come off.” She braked gently. Nothing happened – or rather, the bike continued to gain speed. She tried again, harder. Nothing happened.

“My brakes!” she yelled in sudden panic.

“Mine too!” Yasmin yelled back.

They could still have saved themselves, at the expense of grass stains and bruises, if they had thrown themselves off the bikes or deliberately crashed – but such a thing is hard to steel oneself to do and they were not thinking clearly. They were going faster and faster, horribly fast.

At the edge of the sudden drop, Sally tried to turn the bike to follow the track. Predictably, she failed: the bike fell sideways and toppled over the drop while Sally sailed dizzily through the air. Before even she had landed, two long screams behind her told her Yasmin and Melanie had suffered much the same fate.

Sally had shut her eyes. Either she was going to hit the road horribly hard and do herself some awful injury, or she was going to sail right over the road. What was beyond it? Big trees.

She hit something surprising – not road surface and not a tree. She plunged deep into something quite soft and the final bump was no more than mildly painful.

THUD! THUD! That must be Yasmin and Melanie. Sally opened her eyes. She was in gloom, surrounded by something pale and giving but sort of prickly. It was straw! That did not make sense. She wondered if she had died – but straw in half-dark seemed an odd sort of heaven. Besides, it ponged.

Melanie, meanwhile, had not landed just in straw but in something soft, slimy, smelly and horribly familiar. She could just see that large dollops and smears of something dark and brownish were clinging to her white uniform blouse.

“Yasmin!” she wailed, “Help! I’ve landed in this awful stuff!”

“Coming!” called brave Yasmin, getting gingerly to her feet and starting to step awkwardly through straw towards her colleague. “SHIT!!!”

It was never clarified if this was an imprecation or if it was meant to identify the nature of the material on which she had slipped.

Sally had also got to her feet. She had just realised that they had all landed in a big open-backed lorry, and that the back was still open, when to sounds of humming and cranking the back rose. Sally ran for the gap but never made it. She crashed into the straw, her face plopped right into a large, wet soft object, and the back of the lorry thumped into place.

It was even darker now, but not completely dark. There were slats along the side that were completely open to the elements, but much too narrow to climb through.

A neat metallic noise – a sliding noise and a click – caught their attention. A panel had been drawn back at the front of their prison.

“Hello, girls!” called the Lone Stranger. “Well, well, well! You two – Miss Brownie Pertbottom and Miss Lilywhite Bigbottom – you just can’t tear yourselves away from me, can you? And who’s that shrinking little violet with you? My, oh my! It’s little Miss Flowery Melons! What have you got in your arsehole this time, dear? Never mind. I know what you’ll have in it quite soon. Sorry about the cowpats. My friend Shaun here used this lorry just a while back to transport cows. So – nothing new there, then.”

The engine turned over. The lorry began to move.

“A whole lot of my friends are REALLY keen to meet you all!” the Stranger told them.

Some ten minutes later the lorry passed a Community Support Officer.

“HELP! HELP! WE’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED! WE’RE POLICE OFFICERS!” cried a young female voice. In the slat at the side of the lorry, which was passing at 38 miles per hour in a forty limit area, he saw three dirty female faces.

“Students!” he said, and turned away.