by Nicole Dere
Magda produced a short-handled whip of black leather.
It had many thin thongs. ‘Please, Grand Whore Master,’ she declared, passing the instrument to Lord Burnopside.
He slipped the folds of the robe back from his shoulders in order that he might perform more freely. The iron-grey covering of hair at his chest and the thick hanging shape of his prick showed through the dark material. He stepped forward and measured his distance.
The whip hissed as it curled through the air to strike with a satisfyingly sharp crack on the quivering flesh. The blow was a shade high, the thin red line appearing at the very top of the buttock divide. The slender back jerked, the play of the shoulders under the pale skin delightful. The bare feet lifted, did a little jig of agony before they settled again, and the figure waited, still, except for the involuntary trembling.
They could hear her weeping, but she had not screamed. He struck again, aiming carefully, and there was a ripple of appreciative murmuring as the lashes fell squarely across the centre of the bottom, whose cleft was neatly bisected by the horizontal stripe of red. Soon others were crisscrossed over the writhing rounds, and the girl’s cries were more desperate, though he’d still failed to elicit the pure scream he’d hoped for. Like most of the other males present he could feel the rising and stiffening of his penis. He was breathing quite heavily. ‘Good girl!’ he growled, with reluctant admiration. He passed the whip to another male, a much shorter, plumper figure, who took it eagerly.
He lashed with enthusiasm but with less skill, and the girl’s head moved wildly, lifting from the table, and her legs danced in wilder frenzy, for the blows fell indiscriminately across the backs of her thighs, leaving their crimson tracery of weals. Barbara was sobbing fiercely; gut wrenching sobs that shook her whole frame. But still she had not screamed at the fall of the blows.
‘I’ll make the bitch sing!’ The speaker was a florid-faced individual, with a freckled bald head and professorial, silvery wings of hair at his temples. He seized the handle of the whip, which was now unpleasantly slippery with sweat, and flicked his wrist savagely. There was a muted gasp of collective sympathy from the watching girls, for the snaking black lashes fell above the scarlet pattern of the abused bottom, and landed on the lower back and the base of the spine. The unfortunate Barbara gave a smothered whimper and her hips writhed madly, her belly and her upper thighs grinding cruelly against the hard surface of the wood. He struck again in the same spot, and this time his victim could hold back no longer. Her shrill cry of torment rang out.
Magda stepped in close to the tall man wielding the whip, so that he had no room to draw his arm back for a third time. ‘And so you have,’ she said evenly. She was even taller than he was, and her eyes met his and held his stare. ‘You made her sing. Congratulations.’ There was no doubt of the contempt and reproof in her rich voice. ‘I think she’s been more than adequately punished.’ She turned away from him and nodded at her waiting attendants. ‘Untie her.’
Full of tenderness now, the naked figures unfastened her. Barbara wept convulsively, shaking, largely with relief, but her public ordeal was not quite over. She slumped in the girls’ arms as they turned her to face their mistress. ‘You have been punished,’ Magda said. ‘What have you to say?’
The weeping figure sank to her knees, then prostrated herself until her forehead touched the carpet. She moved her tearstained face forward until her brow rested against Magda’s shapely ankle. Her lips planted a kiss on the soft material of Magda’s shoe, at the pointed toe. ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ she managed, fighting against her weeping. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try not to fail you again.’
Another nod to her acolytes, and the forlorn figure was picked up and led out of the room.
There remained one more task for Magda to perform, this time of a more private nature. Safely in a small study she slid the bolt on the door, and led Lord Burnopside to a leather armchair. She pushed the craggy figure down into it, revelling in her power to command and, with a sinuous ease of movement, which in the skin hugging dress required great dexterity, knelt between his slack knees. His robe was already open and his flaccid penis was weeping at its tip. She took it gently in her fingers and massaged it until it grew and stirred, lifting to her caresses, and then she bent and licked the drop of fluid away.
She felt his legs quiver, his feet scraping softly on the thick carpet. He sighed. Her lips opened, formed a sensual O, and slid over the red helm. She drew it deep into her moist heat, then her lips slid down the shaft until she had taken him almost entirely within her. Soon he was rearing stiffly and groaning as his hips swivelled and his belly lifted in supplication, begging her to bring him the ease his drumming blood was demanding.
She played him with captivating skill, prolonging his’ pounding excitement and bursting need until he was whimpering for mercy. At the last second she pulled her mouth away and let him jet his come over her uplifted face, and he wept, shuddering in release. She stood and turned away to the desk where the necessities for cleaning herself lay to hand.
Some minutes later, when he’d recovered sufficiently, she said conversationally, ‘What about that little popsie of an actress? Any progress there yet? What’s her name? Felicity something... I must say she sounds and looks heavenly.’
He sighed. ‘She is. But I’m afraid we’ll have to tread carefully there. She’s going to be enormously famous when A Woman’s Touch hits the screen. Or should I say, explodes on the screen? Stella tells me she’s working hard at getting into her pants - I mean, for real.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s already done it on camera. I’ve seen the rushes. As soon as I can get hold of a copy we’ll have a look at them together, eh? They’re utterly delightful, I promise you.
Chapter Five
‘Come on, darling, have another drink, for God’s sake! You must show me you’ve forgiven me properly for my little plot in front of the cameras the other day.’ Stella tipped the bottle and the wine gurgled into Felicity’s glass until she squealed as it almost slopped over the brim. Stella grinned tipsily. ‘You’ve got to admit though, sugar, that it’s the hottest scene this side of Lady Chat’s daisy decked pussy!’ The golden hair was a dishevelled mass. The top buttons of the loose white shirt were undone, showing the deep cleavage of those splendid breasts and the tiny satin bow at the V of the plunging bra which encased them. She had flung the slacks carelessly aside, and her long tanned legs were fully displayed as she lolled back in a wide chair.
Felicity took another swig of the fruity wine. Her head swam. She was pissed, she acknowledged, but it was a pleasant feeling. She was rather proud of herself at the amount she had already drunk. Not without showing its effect, she conceded, but at least she hadn’t thrown up or passed out... yet.
‘I ought to go,’ she muttered, feeling an irritation once more at the way she had allowed herself to be persuaded to come back to Stella’s discreet town pad for ‘one last tipple’. ‘It’s late.’
‘Relax,’ Stella crooned. ‘Your boyfriend’s away again, isn’t he? You can crash here if you like.’ Her face assumed an expression of mischievous complicity. She giggled. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’
‘I’m not gay!’ Felicity squeaked in indignant protest. ‘How many times do I have to keep saying it?’
Stella unfolded from the depths of the armchair and swayed over to where Felicity sat. The golden figure, looking enchanting in the loose white shirt, dropped to her knees in front of her. ‘Listen, kid,’ she rasped, her voice deepening. ‘Just who in hell are we kidding here? You can say it as many times as you like, sweetheart, but you know and I know different! I’ve been in bed with you, sugar. I know!’
‘You don’t!’ Felicity felt the colour flaming her cheeks, and her voice shook with the threatening tears. ‘We might have to - to kiss and cuddle and all that, but... but—’ Stella’s fingers dug into her legs, just above her knees. ‘Get off me! I’m going—’
‘You’re not going anywhere, sugar.’ Stella’s tone was calm, gently teasing.
Felicity could feel the tears gathering in her eyelashes. ‘Let me go, please. I want to leave.’ Her voice came in a wavering whisper.
‘You’re a stubborn little bitch, aren’t you? You’re going to have to be taught a lesson!’
‘What? How dare you - get off! No! Don’t!’ Felicity squealed in surprise, then alarm. Stella was laughing, as though the whole thing was still just some kind of prank, but she was pulling at Felicity’s arms, and suddenly they were grappling in earnest and Felicity was out of the chair and they were sprawling on the floor. And all at once her strength seemed to have deserted her. She was lying full length with Stella’s pinning weight across her midriff. Her head was spinning as she twisted feebly in the other’s entrapping grip. She began to sob, feeling foolish and humiliated. ‘Will you get off me?’ she panted, her teeth clenched.
‘You know what silly little kids need?’ Stella answered, also panting with the effort. She rolled Felicity over onto her stomach. Felicity’s feet waved in the air as she kicked out. She felt her heeled shoes fly off. She wished fervently she’d worn her jeans instead of an insubstantial miniskirt, which Stella was now lifting off her behind to expose the tiny dark brown thong which was all she had on underneath. It left her buttocks bare, for its narrow band had disappeared in the cleft.
She yelped, with shock as well as sharp pain, at the resounding slap Stella delivered to her bottom. A vivid red handprint stood out on the pale, quivering flesh. Another slap, and Felicity screamed shrilly. ‘How duh-dare - oh! Ow! Please - nuh-no!’
Stella spanked her hard; swift, open palmed blows which rained down on both clenching cheeks and spread a glowing fire over their hot surface. The screams subsided to a harsh sobbing. Felicity felt the intense bum, and lay trapped under the pressing weight, her feet tapping rapidly on the carpet. She felt ridiculous, and degraded. Yet at the same time, most shameful of all, she felt the corresponding wicked throb of excitement deep within her sex at the chastisement. She was weeping freely when the spanking ceased. She didn’t move, except to massage her stinging behind.
‘You silly kid,’ Stella breathed. ‘Can’t you see I’m absolutely crazy about you? Why do you have to torment me like this?’ As she spoke her nails scraped Felicity’s sensitive skin as she plucked at the elastic of the tiny briefs, and peeled them down over her slender hips.
‘Don’t,’ Felicity whispered, still sobbing, but making no attempt to stop Stella as she slid the damp little triangle of silk down her legs and off her bare feet.
‘God, I love you,’ Stella moaned, stretching out and pressing her body against that of the delicious girl beneath, so that they made contact from head to toe. Her parted lips sealed Felicity’s. Her tongue thrust into Felicity’s warm wetness, and they kissed a long consuming kiss of passion. Stella’s hand moved, drawn as though by a magnet, to Felicity’s flat belly, the small patch of pubis, and the soft wet divide beneath, which flowered open in helpless and glad surrender to this loving invasion.
Her legs bent in a rhythm of response to that caressing stroke, the fingers which unerringly knew how to love, how to draw the melting fire of absolute fulfilment from the palpitating flesh they laid claim to. Felicity still sobbed, still whispered, ‘No,’ when Stella released her mouth, but the word was meaningless. Her pale thighs were moving, opening, yielding, lost in the wonder of the beating need being roused in this wonderful embrace.
She felt her mind spinning off, felt the strength of her bodily hunger taking over completely. ‘I love you,’ she gasped. Their tears mingled. Felicity shuddered at the feeling of utter completion as Stella’s fingers slid into the tightness of her sheath, took her over, brought her to that awesome splendour, the orgasm building, slowly, inexorably, to flow throughout her until she stiffened, her body arched, and she shivered from top to toe.
She had no idea of how long they lay there, clinging together, a tangle of limbs and locked mouths and clutching hands, before she felt Stella guide her fingers down to that waiting moistness. Felicity felt the wet patch of silk outlining the vulva, and now it was her turn to kneel, to savour that wonderful thrill of love and power, as she eased down the white knickers, undid the remaining buttons of the white shirt, slipped it from the acquiescing shoulders, and unhooked the dainty bra, so that the magnificence of Stella’s nude body was revealed. Hastily, Felicity shrugged off her own few remaining clothes, to know the joy of sharing this feeling, of soldering their naked flesh together, before she experienced for the first time the ecstasy of bringing the shattering fulfilment of loving to a partner, which was every bit as wonderful as receiving it oneself.
Some time later, they had no idea when, they picked themselves up, left the scattered bits of clothing lying there, and arm in arm, unwilling to break contact even for a second, made their way to the bed which enclosed them in its magic. Stunned at the ferocity of her reaction to Stella’s loving, Felicity pushed aside for the moment the cloudiness of the thoughts waiting to claim her for the undeniable bliss she had found in the exquisite body which mirrored so closely her own.
Felicity stared down at her own hand, which looked tiny and fragile in the firm grip of the palm that encased it. And yet the soft smoothness and the immaculately styled nails with their exotically dark polish, were the essence of femininity. As was everything about this alluring figure whose steady dark gaze disturbed and thrilled her so much. She towered over Felicity; the square, creamy shoulders, uncovered in the simple figure-hugging black gown she wore, seemed almost twice the width of Felicity’s slender frame. Even the hair, of identical raven blackness and in a simple style so similar to her own, was so much more abundant.
Felicity felt a little shiver of excitement at the sight of her tight, silk covered crotch. Magda was still holding onto her, and Felicity felt helpless, unable to move or speak. Her giddy mind span back to the passionate loving she had shared at Stella’s studio flat by the river. Had the golden girl touched some hidden depth in her which, having lain dormant all these years, had suddenly now burst to such electrifying life? Had she all along had these overwhelming lesbian tendencies buried within her?
She was blushing like a schoolgirl and felt absolutely ridiculous as her frantic brain whirred in the effort of searching for speech. ‘You are completely gorgeous,’ that rich, deep voice murmured. It was as if she had touched her, caressed her in some secret spot.
‘Thank you,’ Felicity stammered inadequately, her face burning.
Still holding her by one hand, the other long arm slipped around her waist, Magda led her over the square of richly patterned carpet to where Lord Burnopside was talking to another group. ‘She is absolutely heavenly,’ Magda purred. ‘So much more stunning than her pictures. Isn’t she?’ The group around his lordship muttered their agreement, laughing politely, to Felicity’s further mortification.
‘Don’t,’ she flustered, even more adolescent in her confusion. ‘Please - you’re embarrassing me.’
‘Come on, sugar,’ Magda purred, ‘you must be used to guys drooling all over you. And gals, too,’ she added, to another chorus of polite laughter. ‘If not, you’d better get used to it pretty quick, baby. Especially the girls, after A Woman’s Touch hits the screen.’
There was yet another burst of mirth.
‘I hear they’re thinking of renaming it, A Woman’s Crutch,’ quipped a chubby, red-faced individual.
Felicity felt the arm tighten about her waist, drawing her even close. ‘Don’t be so beastly, Sir Hugh,’ Magda chastised. ‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely, and not at all the sort of thing dirty old men with coats over their knees toss themselves off to.’
‘No need for the coat,’ Sir Hugh answered, undeterred by the challenge. ‘It’ll be seen in the privacy of their own sordid hovels. They can stand stark bollock naked waggling their dicks at the screen.’
Felicity was surprised at the respect paid by this collection of wealthy men to the tall figure who was holding her protectively to her side. Especially as the other girls, in spite of their wonderful looks, were extremely deferential, and voiced no opinions of their own, responding only when called upon to do so. So much so that Felicity had soon begun to wonder whether they were employees of his lordship, in spite of their elegant grooming and stylish clothes.
In fact, this whole weekend was turning out to be full of surprises already. For a start, she had assumed that Stella, and the other principals from the cast of A Woman’s Touch, would all be there. But, much to her new lover’s disgust, a last minute engagement over in Paris had cropped up for the blonde star. She had tried to postpone it, but without success. The clincher had been when Lord Burnopside himself had telephoned.
‘So sorry you won’t be able to make it down to the Hall this weekend, but some other time, eh?’ he’d said. ‘I really think you ought to do this Paris thing. It’ll be a great boost to the show. Make sure we get full European coverage. Our French friends will be dying to get their hands on it. Especially after seeing you on Spectacle de Samedi.’
There was only Ally from the cast, as far as Felicity could see. And Ted Davidson, the chief cameraman, whom she had loathed almost on sight, and been given no reason to change her opinion through the months of their necessarily close and intimate association. The knowledge of his steadfastly observing her unclothed body, and even arranging it, manipulating the entangled limbs of herself and her lover like some lecherous puppet master, had upset her greatly at first.
Paradoxically, things had improved once she and Stella had become lovers off screen. Or perhaps Ted’s lecherous manner just didn’t get her goat any more. Past caring, Felicity had gone along with Stella’s idea that they should declare their relationship. Should come out, as it were.