by Nicole Dere
There was a soft thudding noise, and then a shocking jar as something thick fell across her uplifted bottom. She could not identify it, but in any case she was incapable of constructive thought as the blaze of breathtaking pain flared over her clenching buttocks. She screamed, despite her determination to endure the punishment in silence. Debbie’s thighs tightened about her, the hands held her instinctively rearing body, and her cries were muffled in the fragrant female flesh. The fire rippled across her flanks, there was an agonising pause before the second stroke fell, and she screamed again, unable to resist the sweet feeling of release such an onslaught brought her.
She didn’t know how many times she was beaten. She gradually became aware of the steady throbbing of her flayed bottom, and the lessening of pressure from the girl holding her. ‘Splendid, my dear.’ Lord Burnopside’s voice was thick with passion. Even he was gasping, short of breath.
She hung there, still folded in her subservience, when they both left her alone. She felt the bed bouncing vigorously, almost toppling her off the side, and she realised his lordship and Debbie were fucking furiously, their limbs occasionally buffeting her as they coupled.
It was over fairly quickly. Felicity whimpered at a light touch on her throbbing flanks, but then came a blessed sensation of coolness and ease, as some icy liquid was sprayed over the crimsoned globes.
Later, Lord Burnopside showed her the whip he had used, with something of pride. It was one heavy, thick lash, of a curious rubbery substance, bound with silk. ‘We won’t always have to worry about marking you, my dear,’ he told her, as though that was something for her to look forward to.
‘I think you’d better get your things together and go,’ Stella said coldly, facing the tragic looking figure garbed in her customary black outfit and ugly boots. Nicki’s young face was red and smeared with her tears. She sniffed like an urchin recovering from a fit of crying. ‘That’s if you can ever sort them out,’ Stella twisted the knife. ‘You’ve turned this place into a tip.’
‘Can’t wait to get your boyfriend moved in, I expect!’ Nicki whined, again sounding so childish that Stella almost smiled, losing the edge of her impatience.
‘Probably,’ she answered calmly. ‘It’ll save a lot of to-ing and fro-ing.’
The sense of rejection and frustration were just too much for the youthful figure. Her secret had been festering for days. Long lonely days spent mostly in solitary misery, her grief and resentment smouldering away inside. She had been discarded before the affair had really begun when Stella had fallen for that simpering bitch, Felicity Keynes. Nicki had pretended that all the publicity that came with the launching of A Woman’s Touch, the endless photos and telly interviews, the sight of their unclothed frames plastered together leering at her from everywhere, didn’t bother her. But then, to find her wishes coming so stunningly true, when she had given up hope, to find herself Stella’s lover and partner only to be tossed aside once more, after a matter of a few short weeks, was too cruel to bear.
Her desperate effort to forestall that prick Michael Sinclair by interceding, placing her own body between him and her beautiful Stella, had not worked either. He had spurned her too, after that one memorable session here in Stella’s flat, just before New Year. Not that he’d have had much time, even if he had fancied another session with her. Stella had made sure of that. The two of them had scarcely been out of each other’s sight or arms since then.
Her own hurt was too strong to resist the desire to inflict pain elsewhere. ‘At least that way you’ll be able to keep an eye on him, I suppose,’ she sneered. ‘And believe me, you need to.’
The blue eyes narrowed icily. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just that he’s not one to turn down any opportunity for a bit of nooky. As I well know. I’ve never said anything before now, but he had a go at me while you were away in Scotland. Right here - on the sofa.’
‘You lying, twisted little dyke!’ Stella roared. And for a split second Nicki questioned the wisdom of seeking revenge. But she summoned every ounce of resolve.
‘Oh yeah? He fucking had me, right there.’ She stabbed a finger at the sofa. ‘Made me strip off and he did it to me. We didn’t even make the bedroom. And afterwards he tanned my arse for me, if you want to know. He enjoyed himself on both counts. Why don’t you ask him if you don’t believe me?’
‘You jealous little cow!’ Stella gave an inelegant snarl of rage and launched herself at the slim figure, knocking her back onto the piece of furniture where the adulteration to place, sinking talons into the T-shirt and clawing it off the overpowered girl. She knelt over her victim, pummelling and slapping ineffectively, while the sobbing girl kicked feebly and covered her face with her arms.
Stella soon stopped and stood up, breathing heavily. She was convinced Nicki was telling the truth, and was amazed to find her anger was entirely dissipated. Indeed, she felt startlingly good, her body calm, the adrenaline like a relaxing drug. ‘You pathetic little kid,’ she said contemptuously. ‘Come on, get your things and piss off. One thing I’m certain of, sweety - if he did shag you, he’ll have forgotten all about it long since!’
Later that evening, when Michael arrived, she told him Nicki had gone. ‘I threw her out,’ she said, studying him closely. She could read the guilt in the slight flush, and the way his eyes darted away from hers. ‘Are you sorry?’
‘Mm?’ He tried to act casually, as though not really interested. But the guilt made him overdo it.
‘I just thought you maybe fancied keeping her on, as a kind of substitute. You could always bring her on for the second half if you thought I was flagging a little.’ Uncomfortable embarrassment suffused his features and made him shuffle from foot to foot. ‘I hear you smacked her backside for good measure. I wish you’d show me what a macho man you are!’
He recognised the challenge, and the excitement behind the taunt. And he felt the throb of a new and exultant force flow through him. The new Michael. The decent, gentlemanly prat had gone forever. ‘Oh, I will!’ he promised tightly.
She fought surprisingly realistically. Soon her dress was ripped, buttons wrenched off, her breasts, encased in a satin bra, were thrusting free. Her shoes were scattered, flying from her kicking feet, before he bent her over his knee, her knickers tugged down off her bottom, which he struck until his hand ached and the pale rounds were rosily hot. He pushed her off his lap and she lay at his feet, still squirming, her clothes dishevelled and her eyes wild. She rubbed her stinging behind and glared up at him through dishevelled golden locks.
‘And then you shagged her right here, is that right?’ she panted, her deep cleavage heaving invitingly.
‘That’s exactly right!’ He seized her, hauled her roughly upright, then thrust her head down into the cushions. She had stopped struggling. She remained doubled over while he dragged the silk briefs down her limbs and off her feet, flinging them behind him. She sobbed, her rosy bottom uplifted while he fought out of his own clothes, then folded himself over her and immediately thrust his rearing penis into her moist cleft with savage elation.
‘No...’ she wept, grunting under his impaling thrusts and the rhythmic battering of his groin against her burning flesh. Yet it was his very brutality that set her own desires soaring, and led het on to the ecstasy of the explosive release which tore its way through her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Felicity was taken to a part of the mansion she had never seen before. It was on the top floor at the far end of the east wing, and isolated from both servants’ quarters and the other inhabited areas of the Hall. The bedroom was small, the narrow bed comfortable enough, and the furniture functionally adequate. The most striking thing about the room’s decor was that it was entirely white; the chest of drawers, the dressing table and its stool, the wooden chair, and the doors of the built-in wardrobe. Even the drapes and the bed covers and the carpet. The walls, too,
were of pristine snowiness, except that a great deal of their surface, on three sides of the room, was taken up with long mirrors. Wherever she turned she could see reflections of herself, as though surrounded by pale ghosts.
For two days and nights she saw no one, except Magda. Her mistress - for she was proud to acknowledge her as such - brought her frugal meals and sat with her for hours at a stretch, telling her in every detail about the society she was about to enter, the secrets of which she had long guessed at but now marvelled over as they were carefully revealed to her.
It was soon after the New Year’s party that Magda had sent for Felicity and first told her of the Whores of Babylon. When the petit blonde Joanne had entered the room Magda turned her about and lifted the cherry-red mini-skirt she wore. Magda teased down the back of the white micro briefs until the curve of the blonde’s buttocks was exposed, then she opened the cleft with thumb and forefinger. Felicity saw the tiny twin letters standing out against the pale flesh.
‘It’s not some kinky game,’ Magda said, her tone indicating her seriousness. ‘If you want out, say so now, before we start. It’ll be too late otherwise. You’ll be a Daughter forever, bound by all the oaths. You’ll belong to us completely, for always. A lifetime of total obedience, total loyalty. Bound for all time. Do you understand?’
Felicity did understand. She nodded, her heart thundering. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
The next day, after being given one last chance to opt out, she was taken up to the white room at the end of the corridor. Already caught up in the ritualistic fervour, she undressed at Magda’s command, and handed over her clothing. When the door closed after the tall figure, Felicity knew she was a prisoner in the room. She did not even need to test the door to see if it was locked.
Her watch had been removed, and there was no clock, but through the small window she could see a comer of the building and the leafless branches of a copse of trees, so she was able to gauge roughly the natural passage of time. It was almost dark before Magda returned with a tray of coffee, a plate of salad, and yoghurt. She told Felicity about the Whores, and the absolute commitment she was required to make. She explained, too, about the Whore Masters, and about Lord B’s supreme role as Grand Master. She smiled dazzlingly. ‘And I am your Grand Mistress. You belong to me, and through me to every Whore Master. And to anyone I choose to give you to.’
Felicity nodded, too full of emotion to speak.
Magda made no attempt to touch her during the three days Felicity remained shut in the white room, and Felicity did not try to initiate any sexual contact. On the first night, when Magda rose to take her leave, she smiled and said, ‘This is a very special time for you, Felicity. The time to prepare yourself for initiation. The time to examine yourself, to get ready for the new life you will lead, the new person you will become. The beginning of the discipline every Daughter needs to help her live this life. Test your own strength. Don’t touch yourself in any sexual way - not even for a moment. Do you promise?’
Felicity stared, trembling. She nodded, but Magda made her answer, the very first of her vows. She had believed as she gave her assurance that the fervour she felt, the heat of the brand new convert, would enable her to see through this abstinence without problem. But the lonely hours, the nakedness, the very sight of her body thrust at her from all sides, day and night, was an ordeal the like of which she had never imagined. In spite of her desperate efforts, her hands would steal to a breast, to the tuft of pubic curls, the curve of her flank, the moist folds of her sex lips, so that she would snatch her hand away with a cry as though she’d touched a hot stove. She was soon exhausted, for she dare not climb into bed or lie down on the counterpane. Whenever she did so she felt an almost overwhelming desire to stroke, to touch between her thighs, to masturbate for the relief her nerves demanded.
She realised, appalled, that she had never known a period of real continence. She had always indulged in masturbation, and self-caressing moves which were purely sexual in purpose. And such behaviour had always been a counterpoint to a satisfyingly hectic sexual association with others. True celibacy she had never known. It was a refined torture that reduced her before long to bitter tears. She pushed her forehead despairingly against her reflection and beat her fists against those of her image, before sinking in exhaustion to the floor, where she remained curled and weeping for an age, before she wearily lay on the bed and sank into sleep.
On the other side of the glass, a few feet from the distraught girl, Lord B studied her compassionately, while Magda crouched between his legs and massaged his prick to a rearing erection. ‘Ah, Magda, you don’t know how much I want you!’ he groaned, his naked body writhing in the chair as Magda’s long dark curtain of hair descended and draped over his lifting loins. Her lips milked the spearing erection and drained its potent load until he sank back with a weakened sigh.
When calm had been restored, he studied the sleeping figure on the other side of the glass. ‘She’s ready,’ he decided. ‘You’ve done another wonderful job, my love.’ He reached up tenderly for her hand, drew her gently down to kiss those lips which had brought him such bliss, and his dormant penis twitched in his desire for the unattainable perfection of coupling with this unique being.
Felicity’s brain was reeling. She did not know whether it was the drink she had been given, or the wreathing incense that pungently filled the darkened chamber, with that one brilliant shaft of white light like a pillar at its centre. The whole setting was so magical, the mystical anointing of her flesh so stirring, she hardly knew if she were awake or dreaming. Under the long cloak, her glistening body was trembling. She prayed fervently that she would have the strength to get through the ceremony, that the emotion would not prove too strong and cause her to faint away before its completion. She waited, tensed through every fibre of her being, feeling the cold of the marble striking up through the soles of her feet.
At last the velvet mask was slipped over her head and adjusted so all vision was blocked. She felt the arms of the others about her, gently guiding her forward, positioning her. The cloak was unfastened at the neck and swept aside. She could sense the brilliant light was bathing her body, and she tried to control her trembling, to keep completely still. From the darkness ahead of her the deep voice boomed out that she knew was Magda’s, yet sounded awesomely different. She gave the ritual replies, clearing her throat nervously, anxious to be heard by all the invisible watchers.
The hands were lifting, then stretching her out on her stomach, and she gasped at the contact of the icy marble on her bare flesh. The rounds of her behind clenched, and she felt the grip of the hands at her wrists and ankles tighten. She bit her lip to suppress the whimper struggling to escape.
The bite of the whip across her flanks was an exquisite agony. A scream was muffled in her throat.
‘Do you swear obedience?’
She cried out, absurdly pleased that her voice was clear. ‘I do!’
The searing sting of pain again, and the next question, demanding her undying loyalty. Her voice was ragged, hoarse, but still quite clear. The slender strands bit for the last time into her quivering flesh, and she jerked against the restraining holds, unable to prevent the first sob from breaking forth, as she gasped her pledge of binding secrecy.
The fire throbbed steadily, then came the blessing of fragrant wet coolness, as her companions bathed the striped bottom, and the mask was removed from her tear-laden eyes. The light was so dazzling when they turned her onto her back that she was still blinded, but she surrendered herself, luxuriating in their ministrations; the kisses, the fondling caresses, which stirred her eager body to a sweet urgency of desire. Lips closed over her nipples, nuzzled at her inner thighs, at the swell of her mound itself and her throbbing fissure, before, with dramatic suddenness, the blinding light was obscured and an outspread shape hovered over her. It descended, and Felicity sobbed with joy at the enveloping warmth of her mistress�
��s wonderful body; the weight of those ripe breasts upon her own, the nipples engorged, the muscled stomach and sturdy thighs.
The cloak wrapped itself about them, sealing them in their own magical world, so that the invisible watchers and her naked companions faded from thought as Felicity yielded in weeping happiness to that body. With a shock of delight her spinning mind registered the wondrous fact that, for the first time in all their intimate relationship, her mistress was entirely naked. The tiny cache-sexe, that embossed triangle of final mystery, was gone. She felt the smoothness of the tapering belly, its conflux with those splendid thighs, and even the small tuft of silken curls to crest that blessed centre of sexual bliss which she’d never touched, never set eyes upon.
And then fantasy fused with spiralling reality. The powerful knees parted her thighs, and she felt strong fingers opening her further still to the last magical secret, for there, at the lips of her divide, a living column of flesh nuzzled and gained entrance. Not a facsimile, not a harnessed instrument of pleasure such as she had known and delighted in in the past, but a living organ of flesh, inches of hardened dome-tipped phallus, which took possession of her, melding its oily fluid with her own secretions of love. She felt the swoon she’d feared rush to overtake her, the drumming of blood in her ears drowning her cries of ultimate fulfilment at the orgasm which sucked her into its terrifyingly shattering power, and which claimed every part of her, from her fragmented mind to her curling toes.
‘Good God! Where the hell have you been? Your agent - Yvonne what’s-her-name’s been going spare. She’s never stopped ringing this past week.’
Felicity smiled at her cousin, walked past him into the flat and put down her small case. ‘How are you, Johnny?’ she asked breezily. ‘It’s good to see you.’ She kissed him lightly on the lips, and broke away before he had the chance to turn their embrace into a more passionate one. She plonked herself down on the settee and looked around. ‘The old place is certainly a lot better than I ever kept it,’ she acknowledged appreciatively. ‘It looks immaculate. Get me a drink, will you? I’m bushed.’