The lady in question was writhing like a thing possessed on the table and making strange, rather startling, gurgling sounds as he rammed his bursting member further in, then he gave a moan as he felt his jism hose out, and to his astonishment, in apparent response Virginia started screaming incoherently and bucking convulsively beneath him.
‘I have to say, ooh… ah… ladies, that it has… oof… been a very pleasant afternoon…’ Farquar took another sip of claret, just managing to swallow it before he had to groan with pleasure again.
The boys had set the armchairs opposite each other before charging their glasses with Chateau Montrose. Each lit a cigar, though Farquar suspected that Horace was not really enjoying his much, as he puffed at it very infrequently. This may have been due to the distraction however, of having Virginia, who was kneeling between his legs, sucking away at his prick.
Farquar pulled at his own cigar with pleasure, but it was not that that made him groan with desire. Pretty Penelope Simpson, well whipped and freshly buggered, was kneeling naked before him and sucking him off diligently.
He looked at Virginia’s naked back and watched her head rhythmically bobbing. He let his gaze run down her lovely pale-skinned back and rest on her chubby, welted bottom.
He looked down, at Penny’s bobbing blonde head, failing to suppress another grunt of pleasure as her wicked tongue teased his cock-head. He took another sip of the Montrose. He looked up at Ginny’s striped bottom. He looked down at Penelope’s pretty head. His excitement was building again. He would have been happy to stay like that forever, but Miss Simpson was too accomplished at her task and he was too aroused.
He looked at Virginia’s shapely naked form. He looked down at Penelope’s busily bobbing head. He took a sip of wine and then a puff of his cigar.
Mr Farquar Salisbury, prefect of school house, had a problem. The fact was, he really did not want to go back to school.
The Magic Wand
It was yet so early that the gaslights still glowed yellow as the carriage disappeared into the morning mist. Watching from her bedroom window Elouise sighed sadly. Charles was off at the crack of dawn again and he would, no doubt, not be back until very late. His family owned the bank. Surely he did not need to get in before the tellers? She could not help feeling he was avoiding her, and that this was her fault in some way.
It was not that married life was really such a disappointment, she told herself without conviction, as Biddy helped to lace her tight into her corsets. Charles was a good man, a kind man, and she loved him very much. True, there was a certain distance in their relations, but then there always had been. She had imagined they would get closer after marriage, but if anything he seemed even more remote. Since the first night they had even slept in separate rooms.
That most intimate part of marriage, which she had hoped would bring them together, seemed rather to have driven them apart. The truth was that little had happened on their wedding night. She had been shy and he seemed mortified by his own failing. Whether he blamed her, or was ashamed of himself, from that night he had seemed determined to stay away.
‘Will you be going out ma’am?’
‘Not this morning, Biddy. I want to look through the box room; Mr Cameron said there is a lot of rubbish in there. If we can throw some of it out we might finally get those trunks of mine off the upstairs landing.’
Biddy accompanied her up the stairs with evident enthusiasm. The landing in question housed the room the maid shared with her husband, Joe the footman. The couple had undoubtedly been more inconvenienced by Elouise’s overflow of trunks than had the grander folk who dwelt below.
‘Good heavens.’ Elouise blinked in astonishment at the jumble of objects that packed the surprisingly large room. ‘So this is where everything was put when the Great Exhibition was closed!’
Indeed, this scarcely seemed much of an exaggeration. So full of curios and venerable furnishings was the room that the two young women could only enter at all with considerable difficulty.
‘Well, Biddy,’ Elouise said wryly as she picked a rather mangy stuffed pine martin from the top of a bureau brimming with old papers, ‘it seems we have ourselves rather a task.’
It was a dusty morning’s work in the box room. Elouise might have been far too well brought up to perspire, yet the politest commentator must have conceded that her perfect porcelain complexion had soon taken on a distinctly healthy glow. The room was simply too full of fascinating curios for her to stand by instructing Biddy, as her mother would no doubt have said she should. At twenty-two Elouise had not quite lost that girlish curiosity and tendency to excitement that had long been her dear mama’s despair. She delved into long lost drawers and burrowed into overflowing boxes, exclaiming delightedly at dusty ships in bottles and boxes of mounted butterflies. From time to time she would put aside some treasure to keep; an old diary here and a beautifully worked patchwork quilt there.
It was almost time for luncheon when she came across the cane.
‘Look, Biddy, this is a bit thin for a walking stick, isn’t it?’ She bent the flexible yellow rod experimentally between her hands, and Biddy licked her lips, an odd look in the maid’s eye.
‘Oh lor, ma’am, that’s not a walking stick cane. That’s rattan. It’s a swishing stick, that is!’
‘A swishing stick?’ Elouise asked, puzzled.
Biddy shook her head in wonderment. ‘Have you really never seen one, ma’am? Did your parents or your governess never…’
Understanding dawned. ‘Oh! Oh no, Biddy, my mother did not believe in it. She comes from a Quaker family. It was all long improving lectures for me.’ She grinned at the servant. ‘Sometimes I thought I would rather have been whipped!’
The two young women shared a giggle, and Elouise placed the cane on top of one of the boxes of things that were destined to go.
‘Oh crikey, ma’am, don’t put it there,’ Biddy advised. ‘If my Joe sees it when he comes to get the boxes it will give him ideas.’
‘Ideas? Biddy, what do you mean? You don’t mean that Joe beats you?’
Elouise looked at the maid, shocked. Biddy was an attractive girl of twenty-five. Pretty in a plump way with brown curls held neatly in place by a lace maid’s cap. There was a pink glow on her plump cheeks and her dark brown eyes were shining. It seemed to Elouise that she was wondering whether she should say more. The idea of that brute Joe beating his pretty wife filled Elouise with indignation. What utter beasts men could be! ‘Please, Biddy, you can tell me, you know. I shan’t tell Mr Cameron if you do not wish me to.’
‘Well, miss,’ Biddy said at last. ‘Not like that, not the way you are thinking. He does spank me, and he takes the belt to me sometimes, but only ’cos…’
Elouise watched in astonishment as the maid’s blush spread and deepened until her whole face was a bright, embarrassed pink.
‘Well, ’cos I like it.’ Biddy’s voice was a whisper now.
‘Like it? Biddy, whatever can you mean?’
The maid shook her head slowly. ‘No, not like it, exactly. I don’t like it when it stings, but,’ she looked up, her eyes glistening with excitement, ‘oh miss, I love it when he just grabs me in his strong arms and puts me over his knee. And then there’s after…’
‘But Joe, does he, I mean…?’ Elouise picked up the cane again, more gingerly this time as if holding something charged with powerful magic, a witchdoctor’s staff perhaps, or a conjurer’s magic wand.
Biddy chuckled. ‘Oh yes, miss. Joe loves it too. A bit too much, sometimes. A lot of men like doing that sort of thing.’ Her eyes were wide with surprise. ‘Didn’t you know?’
‘No, Biddy,’ Elouise said, a little dreamily, for she was thinking of something else, ‘I didn’t know.’ She took the cane and wrapped it in the patchwork quilt, and then taking a handkerchief from her sleeve she wiped her brow, for it seemed to have gotten rather
close in the room all of a sudden. Elouise gave the maid a shy smile. ‘But I do now.’
She took her treasures back to her room. Biddy carried the books and some jade jewellery but she kept hold of the quilt – and what was inside it.
‘Biddy,’ she said, as the two young women put the various objects in her wardrobe, ‘do you think, I mean, would you mind…’ the maid was looking at her curiously but not, she judged, unsympathetically, ‘could you… would you, tell me about other things that… that gentlemen like?’
Charles was late again. The clock in the church across the square struck ten and there was still no sign of him. Elouise went to the bedroom window again, too agitated to sit still. What if he did not come back until the early hours? What if he had decided to stay the night at his club? Then she would have to try again another night, but that prospect was too awful to consider; she was sure she would never summon the courage to go through this again.
She sat at the dressing table and considered her reflection. Should she put on more rouge? No, she thought, she already wore more make-up than usual. She did not wish to look utterly like a harlot, after all. She watched the blush bloom on the cheeks of her reflection. The truth was that what she was wearing already scandalised the puritanical part her mother had implanted in her soul.
A brand new white satin corset, liberally trimmed with lace, pushed up her full young breasts in a way she hoped was inviting, but made her blush to look at. The finest silk stockings and even silk drawers, the extravagant cost of which had astonished her, were worn beneath a fabulous negligee. This was a very riot of lace and flounces and, tied with a single ribbon in a bow beneath the bust, framed her cleavage within a veritable wreath of costly lace.
It was no good, she thought, as she stared at the pretty girl in the mirror. She did look like a trollop. Joe might like this sort of thing on Biddy, but Charles was a gentleman, and sure to be scandalised if he saw her got up this way.
Just as she rose with a sigh to remove the jezebel robes, even as her fingers reached for the bow of the negligee beneath her breasts, the sound of a carriage on the cobbles outside gave her pause. In a panic she ran to the window and peeked through the curtain, in time to see Charles striding towards the house.
Elouise could hardly breathe. The exquisite satin corset had been laced extremely tight, but that was not the entire reason her breasts heaved. She had been stupid. She should never have listened to Biddy and her tales about Joe. What did it matter if the wedding night was disappointing? Charles had been kind and gentlemanly even if his ardour had been lacking. Why should such a gentle, decent man like Charles like the sort of thing Biddy had described?
Elouise had left her door open a crack and she could hear him coming up the stairs. Charles would go straight to his own room. There was no doubt about it. There really was no need for her to change. All she had to do was to let him walk past her door.
‘Charles, would you come here a moment?’
Why did she call out? Her heart was hammering in her breast as she stood astonished by her own effrontery. Why on earth had she done such a foolish thing?
The door opened slowly, cautiously, and Charles stood looking at her in astonishment. He was a large man, imposing with fine whiskers and a somewhat stern expression that habitually masked his shyness. Something in the pit of her stomach told her that for once his mood was truly as grim as his thunderous face.
‘Elouise…’ He seemed to be having difficulty talking. Perhaps he was so appalled that he would never speak to her again. ‘What, what…?’
Deciding there was no longer anything to lose, Elouise somehow found the courage to proceed with her plan. She pulled the negligee open below the bow, displaying her shapely legs and trying not to blush too much as she did so.
‘I, I thought I needed some more underlinen,’ she said softly, trying not to sound too hoarse as she spoke. However, suffocating anxiety made her voice sound a little strangulated. ‘But I, I’m afraid I have rather exceeded my allowance. These things were ever so expensive.’
The next minute was the longest in her life. Charles stared with a face like thunder. She kept expecting him to turn, disgusted, and stalk from the room. It seemed he must be too angry to speak, for he stood silent for what seemed like an eternity.
‘Did you, indeed?’ he managed at last, in a gruff voice.
It was now or never. Elouise picked the cane up from the bed and walked rather tentatively over to her husband, whose eyes seemed to get even wider as she held out the rod.
‘I’m afraid I have been rather naughty, Charles.’ She licked her lips with quite unfeigned anxiety. ‘Do, do you think,’ she swallowed hard, ‘that you will have to punish me?’
Charles looked into her eyes, down at her breasts, proffered by the corset, at the cane she held out between trembling fingers, and then back up into her eyes.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said hoarsely, and to her joy and relief she caught a twinkle in his eye. ‘You have been a very naughty girl, Elouise, and I shall definitely have to teach you a lesson.’
He took the cane from her and sliced it through the air experimentally, and the ominous whooshing sound it made put an instant end to Elouise’s sense of relief. Charles may not be about to stalk out, disgusted with her, but now she had to let him give her a thrashing. Giggling with Biddy, and imagining the scene as she waited, it had seemed so exciting, but faced with the reality of that cane, she wondered quite how much a thing like it would hurt.
‘Come here, girl.’ This was a new Charles, masterful, brusque and distinctly stern. Elouise stepped forward, trying hard to control her trembling. His free hand reached out to the ribbon, and for a second his fingers hovered, inches from her breasts. She could see her own bust heaving, almost palpitating as she waited as if mesmerised, to see what he would do. After a moment he pulled the ribbon, releasing the bow.
‘Take it off,’ he said. ‘Take off that strumpet’s gown, girl.’
Elouise did as she was told, and felt even more naked, even more exposed. His hand reached down and took hold of her thigh, stroking it through the thin material of her drawers.
‘Silk?’
‘Yes.’ The feelings his fondling provoked made her thigh tremble in response.
‘When you are being punished, Elouise, I think it more proper that you address me as sir. Do you understand?’
‘Y-yes. I mean, yes sir.’ Elouise bit her bottom lip to stop herself from moaning. Her husband’s hand was so firm, so arrogantly assured. It was as if he had become possessed by a different, much more formidable man.
‘Now,’ he swished the cane through the air again and she could not stop a startled cry escaping in response. ‘I’m not going to give you the stick tonight, my sweet.’
‘No? Ah, sorry; I mean no, sir?’ Elouise did not quite know if she was more disappointed or relieved.
‘No.’ The fingers that explored her thighs moved up until they found the bow that secured the drawstrings of her silken pantaloons, and Elouise felt her mouth go dry as the knot was unhurriedly undone. Then she felt the blood rush to her face in response to the rustling of silk, as the drawers slid down around her ankles.
‘No,’ he said again, tipping up her chin with the cane until she had to look into his impaling hazel gaze. ‘If you ever do anything like this again you may rest assured that I shall cane you for your extravagance. I shall thrash you every time you exceed your allowance on such fripperies. But that can wait. Naughty girls are spanked first, you see.’
‘Spanked…?’ Elouise had no time to consider this proposition, for Charles moved even as he finished speaking. Throwing aside the cane he grabbed her, and one strong hand gripped her by the arm and the other clasped her satin encased waist as he hauled her over to the bed. Sitting down on it he pulled her right over her knee, and it was all so sudden, his strength so overwhelming, that Elouise gave a startled cry as s
he found herself flung across his lap. Without meaning to struggle her hand moved back protectively, only to be gripped around the wrist.
She was caught. It was true that she had set the trap herself, but that did not make her any less the prisoner of her husband’s strength. Her bare bottom felt so naked and vulnerable that she whimpered, even when he patted it gently.
‘You have a lovely firm sit-upon, my dear.’ There was pleasure and satisfaction in Charles’s voice as he stroked the cheeks in question. ‘How long since you had it warmed?’
‘N- never,’ she stumbled. ‘M-mama did not…’
The stroking hand was doing strange things to her loins. ‘A virgin bottom? How utterly delightful.’
There was a sharp crack and Elouise gave a gasp of pain.
‘Oh, and Elouise, did I not request that you address me as sir?’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’
She was in a panic now. The slap had taken her by surprise and the stinging heat in her bottom took her breath away. Then his hand returned to stroking, fondling, and feeling, and Elouise felt herself calmed by it, stroked slowly away into an enchanted, dreamy place.
Then the hand stopped stroking and she froze. Instinct told her he had raised it and his palm was hanging, like the sword of Damocles above her quivering bottom. She held her breath, expecting the smack to come, but it did not. Not straight away. Charles waited and the tension mounted, cranking higher and higher until she almost wished his arm would fall, for she felt she could not bear the suspense a second more.
Finally it came; a loud clap that echoed around the room, a stinging slap that made Elouise wriggle in response. The first few spanks were gentler than the previous punishing slap, but the heat built quickly in her hindquarters. Charles’s hand came down, and down again. The sound of hand impacting on tender bottom flesh rang around the bedroom. Elouise squirmed and clenched her fists and she whimpered, but more perhaps from the maddening tingling in her loins than from the burning of her rear. At least that was the case at first.
Damsels in Distress Page 10