The Mistress of Sternwood Grange

by Arabella Knight

  ‘Suck.’

  She sucked, hard.

  ‘Lick me, bitch.’

  Mandy’s tongue lapped hungrily at the slightly salty flesh.

  ‘And kiss me once more.’

  Mandy pressed her mouth firmly into the labia.

  ‘Not with those lips, bitch,’ came the dark command.

  For a brief moment, Mandy was puzzled. The dominatrix raised her right foot and, pressing her toes into Mandy’s slit, raked them against the shiny plastic. ‘Those lips.’

  Mandy blushed as a sudden rush of understanding flooded her brain. Peeling up the clinging sheath of plastic, she exposed her own blonde curls. Crablike, between the splayed legs of the naked dominatrix, she struggled to inch her hips up towards the recently shaved delta. Amused at her awkward, and painful, attempts, the woman gazed down into Mandy’s blue eyes. Mandy stared directly up, shuddering as the raven hair tumbled down over the woman’s shoulders as her tormentress tossed her head in cruel amusement.

  ‘Do it, bitch, or you’ll feel the lash.’

  With a supreme effort, Mandy jerked her hips up, fusing her blonde curls into the warm, wet slit above. A hot spasm of shame, and some unknown sensation not unlike forbidden lust, exploded deep down in Mandy’s tightened belly. Above, the woman growled softly as she savoured the ultimate gesture of submission and surrender one female can offer another.

  ‘Well done, slave,’ she whispered, then abruptly pushed Mandy away. In a cold tone, she ordered Mandy to attend to her needs in the sauna.

  Mandy perspired freely in her tight plastic apron and gloves as the dominatrix luxuriated in her steam bath. Emerging, pink and glowing, her raven tresses matted to her temples, the nude stood alongside a narrow leather couch as Mandy plied a soft towel.

  ‘Not bad,’ the dominatrix conceded grudgingly as her slave completed the intimate act of towelling her body dry. ‘Bend over.’

  Alarm tightened Mandy’s throat at these unexpected words. The towel fell from her hands, slithering silently to the cool tiles. After all her efforts, punishment was the last reward she expected.

  ‘Four strokes,’ the dominatrix snarled softly, suddenly clapping her hands.

  An angel poked her head through the parted curtains.

  ‘Crop,’ demanded the raven-haired nude.

  Six seconds later, a crop was supplied. The curtains closed, leaving Mandy in seclusion with her tormentress once more.

  ‘Further across the couch. Give me your bottom. No, bigger. I want it big and round,’ the dominatrix purred. She continued almost pleasantly, ‘I would have given you ten if I was displeased. You have served me reasonably well.’

  Mandy squirmed across the soft leather of the couch but froze as the tip of the crop descended to depress the swell of her exposed left buttock.

  ‘Perfectly still while I stripe you, girl.’

  The crop withdrew, only to return a fraction of a second later to bite into her bunched cheeks with a searing swipe. A crimson flashbulb popped silently behind Mandy’s tightly shut eyes as the leather-sheathed crop sliced her soft cheeks with vicious tenderness. The red light exploded once more as, again, the crop kissed her cheeks with savage affection. The third stroke, slightly delayed, cut across the quivering crown of her bare bottom, rocketing her hips into the leather surface of the couch.

  An agonising pause followed, during which the fierce heat spread down from her whipped cheeks to the shadowed flesh between her clamped thighs. Mandy ground her clitoris into the shining leather, humping herself rhythmically into its dark hide. She tightened her buttocks as she felt the tip of the crop tap-tapping her upturned cheeks to quell her writhing. Steadied and stilled, she stretched across the couch, submissively awaiting the fourth searing swipe. The dominatrix lingered, pressing the length of the crop down into the fleshy cheeks. Mandy shivered and moaned, tonguing the leather in her anguished torment. Suddenly, within three quarters of a second, the crop had been whisked up – only to crack down mercilessly across the ravished bottom.

  ‘Oil me. Gloves off,’ the nude commanded, tossing the crop aside and easing her splendid nakedness face down on to the couch.

  Mandy shivered after the brief but blistering punishment, and searched about in vain for the oil. Her bottom ablaze, she poked her head out between the curtains and whispered to a nearby angel. Oil was produced by the redhead, Rowena, and handed over with a sympathetic grimace. Mandy grinned and returned to the naked woman stretched out on the leather couch. To her dismay, Mandy watched the raven hair cascade as the nude reached down and picked up the abandoned crop. More? Was there to be more of the fierce discipline? To her puzzlement, the nude slipped the crop down between her thighs, crushing and trapping it between the leather and her pubis.

  Oiling the dominatrix was a slow, sensual pleasure for both the mistress and the slave. As Mandy applied the sheen with her palm, she was acutely conscious that the crop which had lashed her bare bottom was now being manipulated by the nude: the thicker end rolling against her dark nipples, the tapered, whipping end worrying the labia below.

  The nude’s heavy, slightly muscular buttocks were now raised about three inches up off the leather couch, impatiently spasming for the oiling. Sore bottomed and perspiring, Mandy tasted the bitter fruits of submission and humiliation as she palmed each swollen cheek with the sticky, scented oil. Supremely indifferent to her toiling slave, the dominatrix continued to ravish her slit with the wet tip of the crop. Grunting softly, she approached her climax, squeezing her buttocks and trapping Mandy’s oiled finger between their warmth.

  ‘Oil me there,’ the nude gasped, tossing her raven hair as she offered up her now gaping, stretched cheeks to reveal the pink rosebud of her sphincter. ‘Quickly, bitch.’

  Mandy’s index finger, dripping with the gleaming unction, hovered above the anal whorl.

  ‘Do it, bitch. Now,’ she rasped, almost choking on her own thickening lust.

  Probing the tight warmth tentatively, Mandy shuddered as she savoured her burning shame. The strong muscles within the heavy buttocks trapped her finger as the next wave of orgasm rippled and threatened to explode. The snarling dominatrix stiffened as she crushed her breasts into the leather. Mandy saw the right hand guiding and pumping the vicious crop against the clitoris. The oiled hips jerked up, the nude screamed softly. With her finger still buried deep inside the heavy buttocks, Mandy suffered the ultimate humiliation of servicing another’s orgasm – not as a pleasure-partner, but as an insignificant slave.

  The submissive was easier to manage. Mandy propelled the slender blonde into her sauna with sharp spanks to each soft cheek. The gentle blonde purred with pleasure as Mandy controlled her, ordering her about with stern authority. Even towelling the glistening blonde after the sauna was a strict affair, with Mandy punishing the blonde’s bouncing breasts briskly with the brushed cotton, carefully savaging the defenceless nipples until they peaked with delicious pain.

  ‘Hazel twigs. Whip her bottom lightly,’ Rowena, the red-haired angel murmured, appearing through the curtains and offering Mandy a small, bound bundle.

  Mandy smiled and nodded as she accepted the scourge. Turning to her shivering blonde, she spoke sternly. ‘Face down on the couch.’

  The blonde straddled the leather with pleasurable anticipation as Mandy studied the hazel twigs, inspecting them closely. The scourge was made up of fourteen supple twigs, each trimmed to a length of eleven inches. They had been bound together at the base with waxed cord. Pliant and springy, they were potent with pleasure and bristled with the promise of pain. Mandy dragged the tips of the quivering twigs down across her bosom. She gasped softly as her nipples stiffened and rose up, peaking and saluting the gentle torment.

  ‘Hands up on the couch. No, by your face. Palms down.’

  The blonde obeyed with alacrity, waggling her slender bottom invitingly as if impatient for the stinging caress of the scourge.

  ‘Feet and thighs tightly together,’ Mandy ordered crisply, carefully
maintaining the waspish note of dominance. She watched with growing satisfaction as the obedient blonde welded her legs and thighs together, forcing her cleft into a fierce crease between the naked cheeks.

  ‘No,’ Mandy said. ‘Relax your bottom. I want it soft for the whipping. ‘Make it rounder,’ she whispered, secretly amazed at how easily she found the words of command. ‘I am going to whip you slowly with these hazel twigs,’ she explained, as if in a schoolroom before an attentive row of adoring students. ‘Slowly and gently. Enough to bring you to the boil,’ Mandy purred, thrilling to the effect of her dominant voice on the squirming blonde, ‘but not enough to make you spill over.’

  Sugared sorrow was what the blonde wanted. Sweet torment. The promise of pleasure offered up in a cup – only to be dashed from her eager lips. Mandy suddenly knew with an absolute knowledge her role as dominatrix to this submissive. Just as she had detested pleasure-serving the red-robed dominant, now Mandy anticipated the dark delights of twig-whipping this beautiful blonde’s bare bottom.

  Mandy savoured every moment of this new-found delight. She paced herself carefully, prolonging the exquisite pleasure. When she was with the red-robed dominant, she had been forced to serve at a tempo dictated by the other’s whim. Now, Mandy felt a surge of excitement burning within her. Already her slit was hot and wet. She was in total control of the naked blonde stretched out before her: in absolute command of both the submissive’s imminent joy and sweet despair.

  With a soft swish, Mandy raked the bare bottom with the bunched hazel twigs. The blonde squealed her delight into the leather, clouding its sheen with her hot excitement. Again, Mandy dominantly swept the supple scourge down across the beautiful cheeks. Hips bucking and jerking up in response, the blonde arched her buttocks up for more. Levelling the bunch of twigs against the smooth thighs, Mandy flicked her wrist, causing the tips of the dancing hazel rods to pepper the curves of the blushing cheeks with stinging kisses. Writhing on the leather, the naked blonde furtively inched her fingers down towards her bosom.

  ‘No,’ Mandy warned, tapping the knuckles smartly. ‘Hands up where I can see them.’

  The blonde tongued the leather in her sweet torment. Ignoring her, Mandy plied the hazel scourge seven more times, leisurely reddening the delicious bottom. As Mandy lightly whipped the bouncing buttocks, the blonde surreptitiously managed to cup and squeeze her naked breasts.

  ‘I warned you.’

  The scourge lashed down, eliciting a squeal.

  ‘Hands by your face,’ Mandy hissed, now relishing her supreme dominance.

  Submissively, the naked girl obeyed, splaying both hands by her tousled blonde mane.

  ‘And if you come before I give you permission,’ Mandy continued, astounded at her confidence as dominatrix, ‘I will punish you harshly. I will bind your hands and feet together,’ she whispered, raking the nude’s spine with the hazel twigs, ‘and whip you till you beg for mercy.’

  The blonde purred her pleasure into the damp leather and inched up her buttocks for the lash she desired. Mandy would not be bidden. She teased the bare bottom, tracing the outline of the curved cheeks with the trembling twig-tips. Slowly, she raised the scourge up, smiling as the buttocks rose up in an arch of anticipation. Mandy lowered the bunched twigs, allowing the hot flesh to kiss its sweet torment.

  ‘More. Harder. Lash me.’

  The urgent tone, the note of demand, annoyed Mandy. It reminded her of earlier moments of humiliation and subjugation. A flash of anger arrowed through her brain. The mocking words of Celia Flaxstone – calling her late aunt an old bat – and the brazen attempt to steal Mandy’s inheritance. The arrogant red-robed dominant who had forced Mandy to serve her. These, and other, recollections of her recent suffering and humiliation flooded Mandy’s consciousness.

  For a brief, ungovernable moment, she was no longer Mandy the maid, cunningly seeking to retrieve her fortune, but Amanda Silk: proud, sophisticated and accomplished.

  The bare bottom before her was no longer that of a submissive blonde pleading for the pleasures of pain. It represented everything Mandy had been forced to suffer and endure since coming to Sternwood Grange. Discomfort, dismay and distress.

  She whipped the hazel twigs down savagely – the blonde squealed her raw delight. Mandy’s arm rose and fell again and again. Closing her eyes and shutting out the memory of her own humiliations and privations, Mandy gripped the scourge tightly and lashed it down repeatedly with increasing ferocity. A shrill scream of ecstasy forced her eyes wide open. Her cornflower-blue eyes widened at the unexpected sight before them: whipped into a climax, the blonde bucked and threshed abandonedly, pounding herself into the leather as she screamed her long, loud orgasm, ‘My angel, oh my beautiful angel.’

  Four

  The summer sun blazed down upon Sternwood Grange, its heat silencing the doves sheltering in the wilting elms. Mandy had hardly seen the blue sky stretching wide over Suffolk since her arrival. She had been toiling in the basement kitchens, preparing delicacies for the exotic tastes of the residents up above, and had then been made to labour in order to satisfy their more peculiar appetites for pleasure and pain.

  ‘You were quite a hit in the sauna,’ Erica commented, escorting Mandy towards the gym. ‘I’ve had some very good reports from the blonde submissive you attended to after her sauna. Wants to see a lot more of you, my girl. Enjoy yourself?’

  Mandy blushed but made no reply.

  ‘You seem to have a flair for dealing with the submissive type. I think we’ll focus your activities as an angel on the yellow robes to begin with.’

  To begin with. Mandy was momentarily distracted by a sticky warmth oozing at her labial lips, prompted by the memory of whipping the blonde’s bare bottom with the hazel scourge yesterday. To begin with. Erica’s words echoed in her brain. How long would she be trapped here? Could she really make her escape whenever she chose? With the stiff imposition of fines and penalties, it could take weeks, months perhaps, before she had amassed the means to escape. And then what? How and when would she confront Celia Flaxstone?

  ‘Stop daydreaming, girl, or I’ll use my strap,’ Erica rasped. ‘Come along. This way.’

  At the end of the cool corridor they turned left and entered the gym. It was brightly lit, spacious and superbly equipped. Silver mirroring lined three of the four walls. Mandy followed Erica across the polished wooden floor, her mind trying to form pictures to fit the muffled sobs of pleasure and soft gasps of sweet pain that filled the vast echoing space around her.

  ‘All submissives.’ Erica nodded to the line of pegged yellow robes. ‘Let’s see how the angels are entertaining them.’

  They approached a prickly mat. Mandy remembered the type from her boarding-school days. It was the type that scratched soft schoolgirl bottoms through their blue serge knickers. The older girls in the Upper Sixth used to giggle and call it ‘pussy teaser’ – Mandy never knew why until, when she was in the Lower Sixth one chill November morning, she crushed her wet labia down into it during an attempt at five press-ups. She had lingered until the bell rang. ‘Pussy teaser.’ Mandy smiled at her schoolgirl memories. Smack. Smack. Erica slapped Mandy’s bottom harshly, the double spank echoing around the gym.

  ‘Pay attention.’

  Mandy donned the mask of alertness. She saw a naked brunette squatting on one of the mats, her bare cheeks pressed painfully down into the tormenting bristles. The brunette was nursing a scuffed medicine ball, cradling the heavy sphere against her bulging breasts. Standing at the edge of the mat, cool and clinical in a simple white sheath dress, stood the brunette’s angel.

  ‘Now lift it up above your head and keep it up while I count to twenty,’ came the sternly spoken instruction.

  The brunette’s bosom bobbed delightfully as her slender arms stretched up. Mandy studied the face of the perspiring brunette as she struggled to keep the medicine ball aloft. It was, she considered, probably the pale face of the eldest daughter of some Shires squire, or perhaps
that of a neglected niece frequently found haunting vast rectories. Now, under the pitiless gaze of her cruel, brooding angel, the brunette was blossoming: flushed with excitement, apprehension and strenuous effort. The angel counted slowly, the slender arms sagged slightly.

  ‘I shall punish you if you fail. I shall punish your bare bottom with my cane,’ promised the angel sweetly, thrumming the air with a short length of bamboo.

  Mandy saw the brunette grimace with renewed effort, her bosom heaving and her face set with determination.

  ‘Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,’ counted the angel methodically, tapping the short cane against her thigh.

  The left arm spasmed and gave way. The heavy leather ball fell with a thud on to the polished wooden floor and rolled towards the angel. She stopped its progress with a jab of her foot, then kicked it back to the panting brunette who lay slumped on the mat.

  ‘You failed. You know what that means, don’t you?’ the angel murmured, fingering her cane. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ mumbled the brunette thickly, cupping her breasts and squeezing hard. ‘Yes. I must be punished. I must bend over and have my bare bottom –’

  ‘Must?’ challenged the angel, dragging the tip of the cane up along the brunette’s throat until it captured her chin and controlled it. ‘Must? I say what may and may not happen to your bottom.’

  ‘Sorry. You are right, of course. You own my bottom. Do with it what you will,’ the brunette gasped, looking up at her angel with dark, sparkling eyes.

  ‘Pick up the medicine ball.’

  Scrambling across the mat, the brunette obeyed. Kneeling in front of the ball, which she steadied with her hands, she eased her breasts, then her belly, across the surface, presenting her naked buttocks for discipline.

  ‘No, I don’t want you across the ball, yet,’ the angel said quietly. ‘Pick it up and let’s try again, hmm?’

  Mandy and Erica watched. This time, the brunette managed to keep the ball aloft until the angel had counted seventeen.