LORD BRAMBLE'S REHABILITATION

by Peters, Damon

  "Debora," John called, finishing rolling up his sleeves.

  The nurse climbed onto the bed and over Isabel's closely twined legs to reach to the waist of her pretty French knickers and begin drawing the material downward. She could have done it with one forceful tug, but the two men were watching and so she took her time, running her fingers under the material as if to ease it from the girl's skin, then to tug it slowly downward, an inch at a time. She pretended to have to labour over Isabel's bottom, though the girl's bum, nor the flare of her hips, were that large. The cheeks were nicely pert though, and a lovely pale pink. With the skill of a showman the nurse drew the fabric off the raised and poised hill of Isabel's bottom, smiling as she heard the girl groan, no doubt aware that the slowly lowering knickers might now reveal the tender skin bordering her pussy, might even show something of her tapering labia and the moisture always present near her vagina.

  The knickers were drawn right down, and finally off. Debora waived them in the air like a prize, ignored by the two men whose whole attention was upon Isabel's raised bottom and clenched thighs, whose breathlessness could be heard, despite her head being pressed into the bed covers in an attempt to hide her raging face.

  "Be good, Isabel. I'll not hesitate to use that belt if you give me cause," John told her, stepping to her side to place his left hand on the small of her back and the flat of his right hand on the pronounced cheek of her poised bottom.

  The girl buried her head deeper into the covers and gasped on the delivery of the first slap, her eyes widening as, legs tightening together, she felt not pain, but a tingling shot of electricity that raced through her belly and centred on her groin.

  A second landed, the same sharp flare of sensation ebbing into a background warmth that, with another slap of his hand, swelled slightly. It was all she could do not to rub her legs together or seek to extend the sensation by pressing her pubis into the firm bolster over which she lay.

  Each slap made the girl gasp and jerk. Each slap brought an added intensity of colour to the crown of her small, pert buttocks. Shortly, the slaps made her squirm slightly and pant, the insidious warmth becoming an inescapable itching heat. His slaps were delivered to skin made tender by previous slaps and the bracing change entering her pelvis made her clench her buttocks and thighs and whimper as it carried the stinging sensation deep into her groin.

  "She's feeling it now," Sir Oswald chuckled, well used to delivering the same sort of punishment, preferring a punishment that took a length of time rather than those where just five or six strokes were it, and then it was over.

  She was indeed, beginning to cry out after each slap upon her raging bottom, the hand pressed to the small of her back stopping her from rolling off to the side as the raging sensations brought a fresh urge to squirm and toss. Her whole and now raw bottom had become filled with unfathomable but overwhelming sensations.

  Isabel began to kick and flay, losing control as another slap filled her with fresh heat and pain. Sir Oswald moved to peer between her legs and spy the pretty sex squeezed between her long slender legs, labia toned as richly as her burning bottom, short curls adoring their curved lips.

  John was like an automaton, his attention locked on the raised bottom now blazing with colour, one hand keeping it from turning too far off to either side. He breathed in with the lifting of his other hand, and held his breath as he brought it down to land with a sharp slap upon her fiery skin. He then let his breath out while struggling to keep her still, her sharp cries and sobbing ignored.

  "Five more," he told her, surveying her now brilliant little bottom as the all-consuming pain of fifteen repeated slaps upon the same small area of her skin provoked her to wail and squirm, no longer caring if her kicking legs exposed her privates, only wanting to get rid of the growing heat invading her middle, overwhelming her other senses.

  He delivered the last five with a little more pressure of his hand, stirred by her flaying limbs and her strident cries. She wept between each stroke while breathlessly blubbering for him to be lenient and let her off the last few.

  He stopped with two to go and waited for her struggling to ebb away before speaking. "Want me to let you off the rest?" he asked, conscious of Sir Oswald and Debora both moving forward, eyeing the naked half of the young woman still tossing over the pillows that raised her.

  Engulfed in the insidious heat still swelling in her behind, Isabel softly wept while eagerly nodding.

  "Will you do as you're told?" he asked.

  "Yes, yes, yes!" she promised, nodding her head vigorously.

  "Debora," John called, releasing the sobbing girl.

  Debora grinned and walked round to climb onto the bed once more, this time at Isabel's head. Grinning at the two men and having risen onto her knees, she gathered her uniform to her waist and let them look at her sex, laying naked from beneath her uniform, the curls cut right back so nothing about her plump labia or the half-open cleft was left obscured from their eyes.

  Dropping her buttocks onto her heels and leaning back, Debora pulled on Isabel's hair, lifting her head to guide it between her outstretched thighs. "Come along now," she softly urged. "You know what you have to do," she urged, drawing herself forward so the softly weeping girl would have her face meet her humid and wanton crotch.

  Debora tensed her legs, lifting her crotch into the sobbing girl's face to gasp with delight as Isabel responded and timidly licked her at her moist and sensitive gash. "That's it," she breathed, moving her pelvis in a matching rhythm with her tongue and mouth, raising it into the probing and licking, then away as the girl swallowed.

  "Legs apart, Isabel," John urged, tapping the back of her thighs with his smarting hand.

  The girl sobbed, Debora kneeling astride her face, guiding the girl's head by a hand in her hair, grinning down at her as she swivelled her crotch to have her tongue caress every part of her wet vaginal cleft.

  Isabel knew she had no choice and hesitantly parted her legs, refusing to think of the two men standing at the foot of the bed, gazing along her pale inner thighs to feast their eyes on the delicacy of her sex.

  "Good girl," Debora purred, looking at the men's expressions and knowing they could see what they wanted to see.

  "Is she being good enough?" John asked. "Or should I motivate her a little further?" he wondered.

  Debora grinned as his words made Isabel lick more fervently at her pussy, probing into her cunny with her moist tongue, then swirling the tip about her prepuce, probably activities she liked a maid to do to her, she reflected, spreading her thighs to allow the girl the freedom to mesh the lips of her mouth with the lips of her sex.

  "Oh yes, she's doing very well," the nurse purred, her excitement rapidly rising.

  "Sir Oswald? What do you think?" John asked.

  "Very nice," the man agreed, staring at the delicacy of the girl's labia, the glow of her skin, the way her bunched up buttocks shone from Jon's repeated smacks.

  "Finish it, Debora," John nodded.

  The nurse swivelled her pelvis and pushed the young woman's head more firmly to her crotch. The girl understood what was wanted of her and licked with greater urgency, letting the nurse turn her crotch to where she wanted it. Licking away the sweet juices, driving her tongue into the tight little cunny, or lavishing the stubby prepuce with her saliva, she worked until the nurse's thighs tightened on either side of her face and a little spurt of moisture decorated her face, accompanied by the sharp and thrilling cry that told her the woman had spent.

  The nurse drew away and the door opened and closed. A silence descended on the room and Isobel wiped her eyes and reached back to stroke her still burning bottom, her rubbing, clutching hands offering some relief, but never enough. She was oddly calm and lay for a while on her front, her legs still splayed apart, rubbing her smarting bottom and allowing a finger to touch a little lower occasionally.

  What could she do, now that calling Lilly was not an option? She rose and stopped, a gasp escaping her as s
he saw that John was still in the room, sitting comfortably beside the fire and watching her.

  She blushed and cast around for her knickers, her hands coyly held in front of her curly thatch of pubic hair.

  "A bit late for that, don't you think?" he asked.

  She licked her lips and tasted Debora's sweet excesses, then coyly drew her hand away and struggled to remain still as the man gazed at her.

  "And your breasts?" he asked.

  Isabel took a breath, her eyes growing distant as she remembered a passage in the book where Miss Harvey had been forced to strip in front of her captor and had strangely felt exciting in doing so, standing straighter as she showed herself off, feeling aroused by the hunger she saw in the man's eyes.

  Isabel felt the same riot of emotions as she pulled her camisole off, then stood awkwardly in front of him, unsure what to do with her hands as his gaze settled on her small firm breasts for long moments. His eyes helped stiffen the tips, Isabel feeling the tension in her teats, a sensation that drifted down to her crotch, increasing the hot moisture she could feel gathering there.

  "Does you bottom still hurt?" he asked.

  "A little," she admitted, blushing as brightly as the cheeks burnt. It hurt, and yet it didn't. She craved to have a maid help he dispel the heat in her bottom and groin, blushing with the knowledge that it would take very long once started. There was a need within her.

  John nodded. "Come closer. Let me see," he proposed.

  Isabel lost her breath to the thought of doing as he asked, yet his eyes held a warning too and she knew that to disobey his command would be to put her onto the bed once again, her already sore bottom likely to feel the belt or the crop instead of his relatively soft hand. So she stole herself for the task ahead and crept forward to stand and turn in front of him, her hands in fists and her bottom lip caught between her teeth once more as she struggled to remain still and quiet.

  The soft cares of his fingers made her jerk and their continued soft stroking of her tender cheeks made her pant in an effort to breathe enough, and still she felt light-headed and ready to collapse with breathlessness.

  "You skin is very soft," he remarked.

  "Part you legs," he instructed, his voice soft and yet commanding.

  Isabel heard a roar in her ears as she meekly hung her head and obeyed. Fingers traced the short groove of her bottom, then drifted past the underside, a fresh touch on her inner thighs making her gasp and jerk, he pussy wetting itself in its desire to feel those fingers caress her intimate flesh.

  "Moist?" he enquired.

  "It's not my fault," she whimpered, denying the rising need that threatened to overwhelm her with its clamour for fulfilment.

  "Let me see," he told her, and his fingers turned to her crotch, poised beneath her compact bottom, her labia ready to yield for him.

  He touched her and Isabel sobbed and struggled to stay on her feet, new sensations ignited and spiralling into her body. His digits effortlessly drew her apart and her juices sprang forth to invite his fingers to delve deeper, to enter or rub, to squeeze or pull, to do anything he wished of them.

  Instead they withdrew leaving her quaking with need and totally breathless, saturated with a yearning whose depths she'd never experienced before.

  "Please," she begged.

  "Please?" he asked with a chuckle.

  "Please Sir. Please," she whimpered, burning in her embarrassment as she bent further and pushed her crotch out towards him, her feet shuffling apart to leave her fully exposed, her body shaking with the need to have him caress her.

  "I think you need more than a finger or two," he told her, using his thumb to delicately draw her sliming labia apart, the better to expose the bright flesh that formed the mouth of her cunny, inflamed flesh dampened by the creamy juice that slowly trickled from it, the bending of her body allowing it to pool about the base of her straining prepuce.

  "Anything!" she gasped, her eyes widening and her breath shortening.

  He stood and began undressing, starting with his shirt and watching her stare at him as he bared his chest. Pale skin was decorated with dark hair, and over a dozen scars that each marked the explosive release of shrapnel. She straightened to gaze at it, trying to imagine the pain he must have undergone. He dropped his trousers and his thighs were similarly decorated, the larger scars still showing the marks left by the sutures using to close and hold his flesh together.

  "Get on the bed," he told her, pulling his underpants down and letting her see his erection jutting from the taper of his loins, a large sack holding his precious balls, his circumcision allowing her to fully see the domed head.

  She swallowed, marvelling at its thickness and length, then hurriedly turned to do as he asked, bending over the end and parting her legs in readiness to have him take her from behind.

  "Not like that," he told her, admiring her nonetheless, understanding why young Rolland was drawn to her given her tight little bottom and the ease with which the small cheeks parted and gave up their secret. Were he so inclined, her anus looked invitingly pink and small, a tight passage that could no doubt inflame his organ as it slid through that corrugated ring to embed itself in her rectum.

  "You want me on my back?" she gasped, burning with the thought of it.

  "Over the bolster," he agreed, going over to her to help pull her onto the bed and positioned with her buttocks on the bolster of pillows, slender legs spread out at the knee, her sweet pink sex laying invitingly between them, her cleft breeched.

  He could have sat and admired such a pink sex for hours, but there was an urgency that needed calming first, and so with no further preamble he drew himself over her, gathering her wrists in one hand to imprison them beside her head before, with the dexterousness of someone who had visited too many brothels, he placed himself at her moist and ready channel, and thrust.

  She cried out, eyes and mouth creating large ovals as he speared her hot and clinging passage with a single thrust. And then he held himself inside of her, using his free hand to stroke her flank and marvel at the smoothness and firmness of her skin before seeking to capture a little teat standing from the flattened mounds of her breasts, and pinch the little bud.

  "Sir!" she gasped, staring at his rugged face while her body accepted his claim upon her.

  He smiled and commenced fucking the girl, grunting with the effort it took to press into her tight purse, his breath quickening with the heat that invaded him, and had him swelling within her clenches.

  "You deserve the, and more," he panted, finding a steady rhythm that wouldn't tax his control.

  "Yes," she agreed between hot and rapid breaths, her knees rising to either side of him while her eyes begged him to complete the act and bring her to her orgasm.

  "I should spank you every day," he reflected, pushing his way back into her wet but tight cunny to feel her heat radiate into his flesh once more. His hand descended from her breast to grip her hip and hold it still, allowing him to power still more vigorously into her hot and wet purse.

  "Yes!" she gasped, begging him to do that, and as shamefully as possible. "I deserve it!" she agreed, the thought of it conspiring with his vigorous thrusts to bring her closer and closer to her release.

  "A spanking, and then this!" he grunted, thrusting more powerfully than before, holding her down while he did so to watch her expression change.

  She screamed through her orgasm, lurching and tossing beneath him, held by his hands and his groin, impaled upon his organ. It was a delight to watch, inflaming him to thrust still more vigorously into a cunt brought alive by her orgasm.

  Suddenly the motions of her cunny about him touched a fuse and he was coming too, pulling urgently from her slick passage to have his seed flung across her pale body, from her small little teats down to her pubis, long trails of hot thick sperm.

  John rose and sought out his underpants. Isabel lay as he left her, slender legs splayed apart, her vividly pink sex still apart, welcoming him should he wish to
repeat the exercise. He was still there, looking at her, when she stirred and saw she was being watched.

  "What?" she asked, her cheeks burning as she closed her legs and timidly sat up upon the bolster of her pillows.

  "Just wondering if you're going to continue to be a brat or not," he admitted with a shrug, then turning to begin dressing.

  "Perhaps I need short reminders," she murmured, blushing hotly as she made the admission. "Perhaps not so harsh or long, but a few, regularly," she suggested timidly, watching him with a pounding heart.

  He considered and smiled. "You have an apology to make to your father and Sir Oswald. We'll then considered how to rehabilitate you," he agreed.