by Sarah Steel
Katie, pressing hard into the other girl’s soft warmth, strained up on tiptoe. On the dark band of the horizon she could just make out tiny pin-points of red, silver and green dancing lights.
‘There are three boats tonight,’ Elisabetta informed her proudly.
‘Are they fishing for swordfish?’
Her small hand slipped down to lightly caress Katie’s left buttock. ‘No, tonight they fish for tuna.’
The two young women turned towards each other. For a full minute they just looked into each other’s eyes, then sank slowly to their knees, their breasts bumping together gently. Then the waitress bowed her head submissively and rested it in Katie’s lap. ‘The tuna is not like the faithful swordfish,’ she whispered.
‘No?’ Katie murmured, the fingers of her right hand dominantly raking through a riot of dark curls.
‘The tuna, it lives for the moment, for a new love with each change of the tide. A fresh pleasure every night.’
Katie bent her head and kissed the waiting, sulky mouth with vicious tenderness. They rose up off their heels and ground their pubic mounds together, and the English girl grew more dominant, pinioning the Italian down firmly against the sand. Unbuttoning Elisabetta’s uniform feverishly she sought and found the delicious breasts, exposing them to the silvery moonlight.
‘Kiss them,’ Elisabetta pleaded.
Katie fondled the lovely bosom savagely before pressing her parted lips at each eagerly proffered nipple and sucking hard, very hard, grunting her raw pleasure as Elisabetta wriggled like a netted tuna and squirmed her buttocks against the sand.
‘I want—’
‘What?’ Katie teased. ‘What do you desire?’
‘Punish me.’ She twisted her face away shyly. ‘I want to be punished the English way.’
Katie felt the pulse in her throat and further down at the wet heat between her thighs. Punishment, the English way. Her mouth felt dry and her head spun with dizzy delight. Elisabetta had asked to be spanked!
The pretty little Italian’s bottom was delicious. The soft peaches dimpled to the firm touch of a dominant fingertip and danced beneath Katie’s caressing palms. Parting the round cheeks she watched, holding her breath, as the dark cleft deepened in the ghostly moonlight. Resting her spanking hand briefly against the obediently proffered buttocks, she ran her free hand up the spine of the supine young woman until it was buried in the dark tumble of curls at the bowed neck. Her fingers flexed around the soft nape, and then gripped tightly. Elisabetta mewed like a kitten at its cream, inching her thighs open and exposing her glistening pussy to the moonlight. Katie then let her hand sweep slowly down over the naked swell of flesh, and resting it lightly across the girl’s thighs, she angled her thumb-tip in at the wet slit. The pretty little Italian wriggled impatiently, jerking her soft cheeks up in eager expectation.
‘The English way,’ Katie whispered.
The sharp sound of three hard smacks rang out in the moonlight, rising over the sound of the tide. Elisabetta squealed, and then nestled deeper into her punisher’s lap. Katie, a little uncertainly at first, quickly thrilled to the task of punishing the bare bottom beneath her, and after six rapid blows she paused to caress the warm cheeks. The girl across her lap sighed contentedly, crooning a tuneless song beneath her breath.
‘So,’ a harsh voice suddenly snapped, ‘this is where you are.’ Charlotte’s stern statement froze Katie’s hand an inch away from Elisabetta’s hot bottom. ‘Do not disturb me when you creep back into the room. Stay out of my bed and sleep on the floor tonight, you understand?’
Avoiding eye contact with her angry mistress, Katie nodded in contrite silence.
‘And,’ Charlotte’s voice was dangerously low, ‘you will remain in the hotel tomorrow morning. I shall be going out after breakfast. I must do a little shopping, but I shall expect you ready and waiting for your punishment when I return.’ Turning abruptly, she strode away into the darkness, her quickening footfalls silent upon the sand.
A little shopping… vitamin E cream for the strap. Katie shivered in dread at the prospect of the punishing hide slicing down across her naked buttocks, but unconcerned by the brief drama that ended so abruptly, Elisabetta jiggled her spanked cheeks invitingly.
‘Stupid little bitch,’ Katie whispered fiercely. ‘I’m going to get it good and hard now, and it’s all your fault.’ Her hand rained down with vicious force across the girl’s bottom. ‘All your fault,’ she accused, ignoring Elisabetta’s cries.
Katie tiptoed around their hotel room the next morning. They did not speak. Breakfast was a wretched affair, the silence deafening.
Charlotte showered, towelled herself dry, and then went back to bed. Propping herself up on her pillows she covered her breasts with wild strawberries, spliced and iced, which arrived as instructed with the breakfast tray. It was her way of combatting the effects of the Italian sun.
The treatment lasted an hour, during which time she ostentatiously read yesterday’s English newspapers, holding the broadsheets aloft to deny Katie any reassuring glances. Tossing the paper aside finally, she plucked up the wild strawberries, threw them away, wiped her bosom, dressed and left the room in silence.
Once she was alone, Katie searched frantically for the yellow suede bag. Haunted by the image of the curled hide within it, she desperately sought to unearth the strap from Charlotte’s hiding place. Just to hold it. Smell it. Examine it. Somehow she thought finding the strap, holding and touching it, would reduce her terror and torment. But apparently Charlotte suspected this was what Katie would do and hid it well to make sure her submissive young lover passed an anxious, troubled and ultimately fruitless hour.
Charlotte returned to the hotel carrying a curious green canvas bundle, tightly wrapped with waxed cord. She placed her purchase on the bed and instructed Katie to strip and shower. ‘You know how I want you, properly washed and prepared.’ These were the first words she spoke since their encounter on the beach the previous night. ‘I prefer to punish a nice clean, freshly washed bottom. And you need not bother with talc or body lotion after your shower. Now hurry up.’
‘No, please,’ Katie mumbled, rising out of her chair. ‘Please don’t—’
‘Into the shower at once,’ Charlotte commanded curtly.
Katie sank tearfully to her knees and shuffled awkwardly towards her dominant partner. Once at her feet, she stretched her fingers out and clutched the polished shoes before her.
‘That will get you nowhere,’ Charlotte said impassively.
Katie crushed her breasts into the carpet as she inched towards the impassive shoes. Craning, she kissed the shiny leather. ‘I’m so sorry!’ she gasped. ‘I truly am so sorry. And I’ll never look, never touch…’
Charlotte lifted her feet one at a time, extricating them from the lips of the penitent blonde sprawled across the carpet.
‘Oh Charlotte, please, not the strap. I beg you.’
‘Into the shower, and if you are so averse to the taste of leather across your bare bottom, so be it. No strap.’
‘No strap?’ She could scarcely believe she’d heard right.
‘I shall not use the strap to punish you,’ Charlotte repeated patiently, and Katie practically skipped into the shower. Stripping quickly, she stepped under the hot downpour and reached for the scented shower gel.
‘No gel for you.’ Charlotte, similarly stripped and naked, stepped into the shower behind her and snatched the bottle from her hand. ‘A brisk flannel will get you clean enough for me.’ She snapped open a coarsely textured cotton flannel sponge and held it up under the water. ‘Legs apart,’ she barked.
‘No, don’t, please,’ Katie whimpered.
‘Arms out.’
Katie spread her arms obediently, pressing both hands against the pale blue tiles, and as Charlotte flicked the wet flannel up between her thighs her fingers spread out in ago
ny. The cloth punished her exposed pussy, making her squeal in torment. Charlotte delivered a withering sermon to her victim as she next ravished her breasts with the rasping flannel, concentrating on the sensitive nipples. Katie hung her head in shame, her silence a loud acknowledgement of her guilt.
The cruel sponge, doubled up in Charlotte’s avenging fist, was knuckled up savagely between Katie’s parted thighs, forcing her to beg for mercy. ‘I’m sorry!’ she gasped. ‘I love you! I love you!’
‘Nobody else?’ Charlotte hissed.
‘Nobody else!’ The penitent gulped. ‘Please forgive me.’
‘Forgive you?’ Charlotte echoed as the punished blonde sank to her knees. ‘But of course I forgive you. I always do.’
‘You forgive me?’ She looked up beseechingly, blinking water out of her eyes.
‘Yes,’ Charlotte spoke decisively, ‘I forgive you.’
‘And no strap?’ she whispered, still scarcely able to believe it.
Charlotte squatted behind her, forcing the flannel between the wet, slippery cheeks to rake the sensitive cleft between them. Katie moaned softly as the cruel cotton was dragged across the tight path of dark velvety flesh buried between her buttocks. Then she sighed, and thinking her cruel punishment with the leather strap a danger now removed, she offered her bottom submissively.
Back in the bedroom she towelled herself dry, and on Charlotte’s command donned a special item of lingerie – a seamless translucent body-liner in peachy flesh tones that clung tightly to her soft nakedness like a second skin. The fit was so severe she had to finger the suit away from where it bit lovingly into her flesh, bunching and lifting her breasts whilst sculpting the ripe swell of her buttocks. Each plump cheek wobbled as the thong cut into her cleft. Thumbing the taut crotch from her moist labia, she looked very sweet and very vulnerable in her bare feet.
Charlotte, in a slightly brooding mood, selected a clinging black tulle top. The padding at her pubis narrowed severely, rising up past her pussy to bury itself deeply between her buttocks. Cut very high at the hip, it allowed for maximum freedom of movement. She looked athletic and sinuous and very, very powerful in matching black high-heels.
The green canvas bundle remained unopened upon the bed. Katie approached it inquisitively. Bending down, her breasts bulging, she fingered the bundle. ‘What is it?’
‘A present,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘You’ll see. All in good time.’
‘A present? What for?’
‘Just a little something to ensure we remain a couple and truly together from now on.’
Katie’s fingertips stroked the canvas-wrapped bundle lingeringly, but they could make no sense of what lay concealed within.
Charlotte picked up the phone, and speaking in faultless Italian gave an order to room service. Several minutes later, three smart taps at the double doors broke the somewhat tense silence.
‘Permesso?’ Elisabetta’s voice asked uncertainly.
‘Avanti,’ Charlotte replied.
Katie turned, her face suddenly pale and anxious. Remembering how she had been discovered with the maid on the beach, she blushed as Elisabetta entered the room bearing a silver tray. There were, she noticed, no glasses to accompany the bottle of exotic Italian liqueur. A thick wedge of ciabatto bread rolled gently across the tray as it was placed carefully down on a small cherry wood table.
‘Close and lock the door, Elisabetta, per favore,’ Charlotte requested firmly.
The maid smiled timidly, her eyes darting from Katie’s body-liner, through which her blonde nest and dark nipples peeped, to Charlotte’s bold, figure-hugging sheath of black tulle. ‘No glasses, signorina?’
‘Non, grazie.’
‘I lock the door when I go, no?’ the pretty maid asked.
‘You lock the door, si, but then you stay.’
Katie’s eyes widened anxiously, their soft violet deepening to a concerned indigo. Something, something indefinable yet palpable in Charlotte’s tone, alerted her to danger. She froze like a gazelle hearing a twig snap beneath the predatory paws of a lioness.
Elisabetta remained where she was, looking beautifully puzzled.
‘The door,’ Charlotte insisted.
Katie shivered, but then she remembered her mistress saying there would be no strap. ‘I shall not use the strap to punish you’. Those had been her very words.
After retreating to the double doors and turning the key, Elisabetta turned, approached the tray on the cherry wood table again, and stood docilely beside it.
‘We are relaxing in our lingerie, Elisabetta. Why don’t you do the same? Come,’ Charlotte gestured, ‘take off your uniform.’ Her tone was one of steely politeness. Nevertheless, the maid understood it had not been an invitation, but an instruction.
‘Signorina…’ she murmured, anxiously fiddling with the hem of her apron.
‘At once.’
Katie watched in awe as the lovely maid wriggled and squirmed out of her blouse, apron, skirt and stockings, and as an afterthought, kicked off her white pumps.
Charlotte padded slowly across the carpet towards the small table. Its polished surface reflected the swell of her breasts bound tightly within the stretchy black tulle as she stood above it. ‘How very appropriate,’ she murmured approvingly, intimately inspecting the nearly naked servant shivering slightly in her white lace bra and panties.
Elisabetta shrank slightly from the caressing knuckles of Charlotte’s inverted hand. Her olive-hued bosom whitened as the dominant fist firmly depressed the cupped flesh of her breasts. The snow-white bra was lightly under-wired, the exquisite cups individually formed and fashioned to capture and contain each brimming breast. And the delicate white straps bit lovingly into the pretty maid’s slender shoulders.
‘Bellissima!’ Charlotte sighed, dappling her fingertips just below Elisabetta’s taut belly. The panties, severely cut away to expose both sumptuous bottom cheeks, were of a matching snow-white satin, and the trembling maid’s dark pubic bush rasped slightly against the lacy weave as she nervously trod the carpet. ‘So pretty,’ Charlotte said approvingly, her thumb-tip returning to torment a peaking nipple. The fine interweaving of the bra and high-cut panties gave them a delicious, stretchy sheen, intimating the olive flesh bound within their snowy embrace was at once pliant and soft, obedient to the touch. ‘Delightful,’ Charlotte murmured, stroking the suspicion of a seam dividing the pubic mound and the labial lips below with an idle fingertip. ‘Take them down for me, if you please.’
Elisabetta stepped back, her dark eyes widening as they filled with wonder. Then suddenly tossing her head back impetuously, she quickly palmed her panties down to her thighs. The stretchy fabric drew her slender legs together, binding them tightly above her knees.
Charlotte smiled, nodding her satisfaction with the maid’s prompt submission to her stern command. ‘What a beautiful bush, my dear,’ she remarked, taking a finger and thumb full of the tightly coiled fuzz and teasing it out with delicate dominance.
Elisabetta, her toes digging into the carpet, inched forward a fraction. Bound at her lower thighs by the restraining stretch of her panties, she stumbled and bump-kissed her pussy against Charlotte’s levelled fist. As her pubis collided with the gently clenched knuckles, her fleshy bottom cheeks wobbled.
Katie moaned a low, jealous note. Charlotte’s brown eyes narrowed, but ignoring the blonde, she gazed directly at the dark-haired girl’s bosom. ‘Such exquisite breasts, Elisabetta. Show me.’
But before the maid could obediently slip away the white straps to bare her breasts, Charlotte, still rhythmically knuckling the exposed pussy, buried her face down between the cups. She kissed the satin tenderly over each soft mound before sucking both nipples fiercely, and when, some minutes later, her mistress’s head rose from the maid’s cleavage, Katie glimpsed the darkening wet stains left by the cruel lips at the snow-white cups. ‘
Noooo!’ Her sharp protest rose to a shrill whine.
‘So?’ Charlotte hissed, spinning round. ‘Now you feel the pain of jealousy, the pang of betrayal? Now the hurt begins to make you moan?’
Katie shook her head. She did not speak, but remained sullenly silent.
‘Oh, but you do feel the pain, don’t you?’ Charlotte insisted.
Katie, bowing her head, blushed and nodded.
‘Here in Naples they use the same word for fishing and flirting.’
Elisabetta agreed. ‘Si, signorina, it is exactly as you say. To fish is the same as to flirt.’
Charlotte, now at the bedside, scooped up the green canvas bundle and plucked open the wax cords binding it. To Katie’s utter surprise, the green canvas disgorged four pieces of a fishing rod – four lengths of whippy cane, a reel and an unruly ball of fishing line. Each segment of the rod was delicately tapered. The thickest section, which held the reel, had a cork handle and narrowed to a hexagon approximately six centimetres in diameter. The whole thing was varnished, giving the yellow whippy wood an evil sparkle.
Charlotte selected, tested and discarded the first three segments of the rod, but when her fingers curled around the most slender, supple length, they tightened. Then she crossed to a door of the large fitted wardrobe, and opened it. A brass hook, for bathrobes or some such garment, was affixed to the white door. ‘Come here,’ she commanded, and Katie moved meekly forward. ‘No, face me.’ Katie turned and pressed her back and bottom against the inside of the open door.
When satisfied, Charlotte returned to the bed, picked up the fishing line and bit off a short length. Then returning to her submissive victim, she ordered Katie to present her hands together at breast height. The fishing line quickly bound her thumbs, reddening them as it bit gently into the flesh, and then forcing the bound thumbs up, Charlotte used the hook to pin them to the door above her wriggling captive’s blonde head. ‘Fishing, like flirting,’ she said ominously, ‘is a pleasure that brings pain. There is to be no more. No more fishing. Do you understand me?’
‘You said you would not punish me,’ Katie protested.