Erotic Obsession

by Iona Blair

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  Chapter Five

  May had been a melancholy month so far, with overcast days and rainy nights. Jay sauntered along the beach, stopping to pick up a pebble and toss it out to sea. Gulls screeched out their eternal cry under a cobalt sky. In the distance, an osprey swooped down by the water's edge, competing with an eagle for a fish.

  He was now about halfway through Emma's journal, devouring and savouring every word she had written. The first few pages had been all about her arrival on Fenner Island, her impressions of the Manse, which was to be her new home, and her thoughts about the Reverend Filamore Day, her employer. She had written the words Jay was now so avidly reading, by the light of a flickering oil lamp, remarking that it needed a new wick, preferably a flat one.

  Much to his delight, this journal that meant so much to him was more than just a record of Emma's immediate observations about her new environment. It was also an autobiography, an evaluation of the events in her life, which had led her to this place in time.

  I arrived at the Manse on a blustery day in late March. The ferry crossing had been rough, and so it was with a queasy stomach that I first made the acquaintance of my new employer, the Reverend Mr. Filamore Day...

  "The Reverend Day will, of course, expect you to wear a plain black dress at all times.” The plump matron at the employment agency had informed me. “And he will provide you with an adequate supply of white aprons.” I was, therefore, suitably attired for the occasion in a sombre high-necked gown, drab coat and matching hat.

  "Yes, I think you'll do very nicely,” the black coated Pastor had declared. He was a short man with a balding head and ruddy complexion.

  My room is in the attic, sparsely furnished with just a single cot, wardrobe and dresser. A small nightstand holds an oil lamp and a copy of the King James Bible. The only window is set high up on the east wall. It is small and elliptical, and if I stretch up on tiptoes, I can peer out at the vast expanse of ocean and sky. I unpacked my carpetbag, neatly folding the few belongings I still have left in the world.

  In the wardrobe, I carefully hung my green satin dress with the pink striped trim. It was the only other outfit I now had, besides the grim black ensemble, I was currently wearing.

  As the spring days lengthen and grow warm, I've explore the beaches and meadows of Fenner Island with a light heart and a new sense of wonder. I hitch up my long skirts and ramble contentedly over rocks, sand, and bracken covered forest floors. It is a secluded, peaceful place and the slow natural pace of life here is like a soothing balm after the tormented frenzy I had escaped from.

  "Your lascivious nature will get you into serious trouble one day,” Sister Luke had warned me sternly. I was bent over the desk in her study, with my uniform skirt up around my ears and drawers down around my ankles. I was to be caned for lewd behaviour.

  If I turned my head slightly to the left, I could see Penelope Thomas’ pale, terrified face. She was standing under the gory picture of the sacred heart, her dimpled knees knocking together in fear. Beside her, and wearing her most outraged expression was the plump novice, Sister Claire. It was she, who had caught Penelope and I romping each other lustily, in a stores cupboard in the laundry room.

  I remembered the fresh scent of newly laundered linen and the cooing of a dove from the bird feeder in the garden. These smells and sounds were interwoven with the delight of Penelope's little rosebud twitching against my tongue. She moaned and wound my hair in her hands, while my fingers probed deep into the tight recesses of her hot blossoming womanhood.

  It was at that excruciatingly satisfying, wet and panting moment we heard Sister Claire's shocked gasp of horror. We had been well and truly caught in flagrante delicto.

  Amazingly enough, even in that horrible, never to be forgotten moment of discovery, and well aware of the savage beating that would follow, we still strived to consummate our explorings, before we were wrenched apart. We had simply gone too far to suddenly draw back from that delicious trembling brink, no matter what the circumstances.

  Now Penelope watched my punishment, knowing she was to suffer the same fate.

  When Sister had finished lecturing us, she'd laid the cane flat across my bare behind, measuring the distance carefully before taking aim. She wouldn't want to miss and hit my genitals, which given the indelicacy of my position, must be shamefully exposed.

  Thwack! The thin stick of knobby rattan came swishing through the air and landed on my trembling bum. It was a powerful stinging blow that hurt so much it knocked the wind right out of me.

  I gasped slightly but knew better than to move. I had made the mistake of doing that once, and Sister had been so incensed that she had caned me twice as long as usual, and harder too. She had blistered every inch of skin from my waist to the backs of my knees. It had taken me more than a month to recover from the ferocity of that particular beating.

  Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The blows fell swiftly and mercilessly leaving an ugly blemished mess in their wake. I cringed over the desk and tucked my injured bottom in as far as it would go. But Sister Luke was having none of that.

  "Raise your bottom as high up in the air as you can,” she ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

  Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Blood trickled down my legs and I sobbed in pain and misery. Finally, Sister told me I could get up.

  I clutched at my wounded bottom with trembling hands as Sister made me kiss the cane and thank her for the correction. I tried to pull up my bloomers to cover the stinging, burning flesh but my hands trembled too much. I hobbled awkwardly over to the spot where Penelope had stood with them still down around my ankles.

  Now it was Penelope's turn to be punished, and the poor girl shook so much she had to be held over the desk by Sister Claire. Sister Luke raised the wicked looking cane high above her head before bringing it down on Penelope's pale trembling rump. It made an almighty cracking sound. The girl screamed in pain and tried to get away, twisting this way and that like some tortured wild thing caught in a hunter's trap.

  But Sister Claire held her fast, gripping her arms firmly as the cane fell again and again on the frantic little behind. Penelope cried and sobbed as the painful beating continued. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

  Finally it was over, and with blood oozing from her wounded bottom, the fair-haired Penelope limped painfully towards me, her bloomers almost tripping her up on the way.

  Sister Luke lectured us about the sins of the flesh and how ours had to be well and truly scourged because of them. Sweat poured down her long face and dripped onto her wimple. She rubbed the arm that had wielded the cane, wincing slightly as she did so.

  Penelope and I had a rendezvous almost every night in a small, musty cupboard beneath the stairs. We managed to lock it from the inside and had made it more comfortable over time with a blanket and pillow. But that night as I nursed my painful behind I wondered if we dared. I didn't honesty think I could survive another beating as ferocious as the one I had just endured.

  As the last coughs and rustlings died away in the grim dormitory room, I tossed restlessly, my genitals as hot and damp as my scourged and suppurating behind. I longed to hold Penelope in my arms and finish what I had started that afternoon. But if I took a chance and went to “our” cupboard, would she follow? I remembered her screams of pain as the cane had lashed down on her tender skin.

  When everything was silent except for the occasional snore, I got out of bed and crept painfully out of the room. As I passed Penelope's bed, I could see she was still awake, and I indicated to her with a slight inclination of the head that she should follow.

  Tucked into the tiny cubbyhole with my knees drawn up to my chin I waited for my friend to arrive. I could hear a scattering sound as mice roamed the skirting boards, their sharp little teeth gnawing at anything they could find. Sorrowful with disappointment, I was just about giving up hope that she would come when she finally appeared.
We embraced hungrily then held each other silently for a very long time.

  Afterwards I would learn that Penelope had become as aroused as myself by the beating, once the initial shock and fear had worn off.

  We lay down on the pillow and pulled the blanket around us. From the study where we had been so savagely punished, the pendulum clock chimed the hour. We lay like that, gently kissing, while our hands rested tenderly on each other's painful bottoms. Then we positioned ourselves for mutual oral pleasuring. When our crisis came it was the most acute moment of shuddering ecstasy that either one of us had ever experienced.

  And that's how I learned that a painful bottom could increase the intensity and excitement of coupling, a lesson that Sister Luke did not intend me to learn. But nevertheless, because of her beating I became addicted to punishment, applied to my bare hindquarters before intercourse. Always seeking to recapture that rapturous moment shared with Penelope in the musty cupboard beneath the stairs. So the good nun had to take at least some of the responsibility for this erotic predisposition of mine.

  Didn't she realise that beating the bare bottom of an adolescent girl could inflame the genitals which lay quiveringly close to the path of the cane?

  Jay had trembled with excitement the first time he'd read Emma's account of the caning she had received at the convent school. He had been lying on the sofa, within sight and sound of the restless waves, stroking his erect cock with frenzied agitation. Subsequent perusings, whether in bed, in the bath tub, or propped up against a boulder at the beach, had done nothing to cool his ardour.

  There was only one thing to do. He had to act out this burning fantasy with the shapely little hooker from Never on Monday. But there would have to be an older woman present to play the part of Sister Luke and administer the caning to Emma.

  * * * *

  Lydia could hardly believe her good fortune. Just when she had been despairing of ever getting close to the handsome Jay in a sexual way, this latest request of his had fallen right into her eager lap. Quite like manna from heaven. Already, she rummaged excitedly through her special closet that housed everything from French maid's costumes to military uniforms. And there it was, a long black habit sandwiched between a ballet dancer's tutu and an elaborate crinoline complete with bustle.

  So it was, that on a mild May evening, under a new moon that curved like a scimitar, all three met in room 230 of the Trelawny Inn. The air was heavy with the scent of lilac, and vibrated with the chatter of the starlings that lived in the nooks and crannies of the building.

  The management had obliged by supplying a desk, and unbeknownst to Jay, the video camera was once again primed for action under the guise of a smoke detector.

  Emma wore a white schoolgirl blouse and long, navy blue skirt. Her pretty face had a scrubbed, wholesome look and her hair was braided in a pigtail.

  Lydia had suggested that he give her a light spanking first. “It will warm up her bottom for the caning, so it won't mark,” she had explained.

  Emma draped herself obediently across Jay's lap, her hands resting flat on the floor. He raised her skirt and tugged down her white cotton panties. He caressed her bum for a while, his breathing getting heavy with excitement. Then he began to spank her lightly but briskly until both dimpled cheeks were flushed pink.

  A hot wave of passion surged through Lydia as she watched the tender, very erotic spanking. Emma really was a sexy, saucy minx with her firm breasts, long legs and exquisitely shaped bottom.

  When Jay stopped spanking the seductive little hooker, he stroked her pink ass lovingly. His fingers probed into her dark crack and down over the backs of her thighs.

  Lydia wasted no time getting started. Heavily veiled and wimpled, she looked every inch the stern disciplining nun. She swished a long handled cane experimentally before ordering Emma to bend over the desk. Then she laid the cane flat across the girl's pink bottom and gave it a few little taps while taking aim. Emma's little rose petal genitals peeked out at her lewdly.

  "Ow,” the girl cried out as the stern session with the cruel cane continued. “Ouch. Ooh."

  Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack. The blows fell in swift succession, rapidly turning Emma's pink bottom redder and redder.

  Jay unzipped his fly and rubbed his throbbing cock. Lydia noticed his eyes were glazed over with excitement. He moved his chair closer to get a better look. She knew that the sound of the spanking, as well as the sight of it, was taking him to new heights of arousal.

  This was not a severe caning, such as the one the real Emma had suffered under the cruel hand of the righteous Sister Luke, or nearly as painful as the time she herself had disciplined the girl for stealing. On that occasion she had spanked her until her bottom was flaming.

  Now Lydia was actually laying on the strokes fairly lightly, resting the cane across the little bottom between blows. She stopped caning the girl as soon as her bottom was evenly flushed.

  Jay caressed the reddened tush with trembling hands. Emma was still bent over the desk. He probed her little bottom crack and rubbed her moist genitals between his finger and thumb. Then he penetrated her with his rigid ramrod of a cock and took her with long powerful strokes.

  Lydia slipped her hand underneath her cumbersome habit and massaged her own wet genitals. If only it was me being fucked so royally, she thought with envy. She was very close to orgasm, had been ever since the caning had begun. And now, as she watched the wildly copulating couple climb towards their summit of bliss, all it took was slight rubbing over her clit to make her convulse.

  Jay picked up Emma and carried her tenderly to bed. Lydia watched as they kissed and caressed before repositioning themselves in a mutually pleasuring position.

  Emma made tiny mewing noises, which gurgled deep in her throat as she took Jay's throbbing penis in her mouth. Jay groaned with pleasure and lapped at the girl's quivering genitals while he explored the inside of her cunt with excited fingers.

  The bedsprings creaked and shook from the intensity of their passion.

  "I'm coming ... I'm coming ... I can't hold back,” he cried out. His voice trembled with passion.

  Jay's movements became so rapid that Emma could hardly hold him in her mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head. When he exploded, she cupped her lips firmly around the base of his cock, and drank his cum.

  They changed position and rocked together for a while, locked in a delirium of intense sexual gratification. Then they pressed their heels firmly against each other's genitals, until their arousal began to build again.

  Jay placed his big toe over Emma's clit, and she held onto his foot and fucked it. “So you like feet do you?” he murmured sensuously, sliding his toe off her clit and into her cunt.

  While she watched this erotic display, Lydia masturbated furiously. She had thought she'd seen everything before—and given her profession, that was not surprising—but it was the first time she'd witnessed a girl being fucked by a man's big toe. It was turning Emma on big time too. But her arousal was destined to skyrocket even higher when he penetrated her bum with it as well.

  "How do you like getting fucked in the ass with my big toe?” he whispered. Emma muttered an unintelligible response, her pretty face flushed crimson with the intensity of her passion.

  Jay stroked her clit with his thumb, while continuing to fuck her in the ass with his big toe. The girl's face turned a dark red and sweat broke out on her upper lip. She was nearing the apex of her excitement.

  And when it came, Lydia too reached yet another blistering climax, pleasuring herself with quick, short frantic movements.

  She knew that she was de trop. The excited couple had completely forgotten about her presence. Disappointed, she took a generous swig of whiskey from the silver flask in her handbag. She had hoped Jay might invite her to join them. Lydia breathed in the very essence of this room that was noisy with the rutting sounds of love and redolent with its odours.

  Then after casting one last, covetous glance at the bed, she
lit a cigarette and walked quietly towards the door. She would pleasure herself many more times that night as she recalled the searing action that had begun with a small dimpled bottom being soundly spanked. As she emerged into the hallway she was confronted by an elderly couple who stared at her in undisguised amazement. Puzzled at first, it suddenly dawned on her how it must appear to them—a nun emerging from a hotel room at midnight, reeking of whiskey and smoking a cigarette.

  "I can't seem to quit,” she mumbled apologetically, indicating the cigarette with a rueful expression. The memory of their astonished, disapproving faces caused her great glee as she walked down the hallway, with head held high.

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  Chapter Six

  The gardens at the Manse were a spirit-lifting blaze of colour, from the ruby red rhododendrons to the bright orange azaleas. It was a sunny May morning, and Jay watched from his office window as old Isaac Sledge, the gardener, worked his special brand of green magic. His grandson, a spindly young man with wild tufts of ginger hair did all the manual labour.

  When Jay had moved into the old house, he had immediately replaced the boring expanse of closely shaved lawn with an interesting rockery full of wild flowers. He preferred the earth's natural bounty to the manmade fashion that sought to mutilate every lush growing thing into bonsai.

  "The gorse isn't doing well this year,” Isaac announced disapprovingly, as he examined a couple of the golden flowers with his gnarled fingers. “It's all the rain we've been having. It doesn't like to be waterlogged."

  According to local gossip, Isaac was all of ninety years old. And it suddenly occurred to Jay that the aged landscaper might well have known Emma. In fact, Emma herself may have lived on to be a great age, well into the 1960s. But did she spend the remainder of her life on Fenner Island? Jay had stuck to his self-made rule to read the precious diary slowly from beginning to end, so he had no idea what the end would be.