by Tara Black
When he stopped I found myself gasping for air and holding on to Jill for dear life, although she had made no move to intervene. Across the whole of the back the marks stood out like purple cords, but there was not a single break in the flesh. As we stared in mute fascination the muscles began to unlock and the flogged girl shifted her weight with a sigh. The Master was motionless, expectant, and after a moment from Ama’s turned head a barely perceptible nod passed between them. Then his man appeared from the shadows and the long coil was exchanged for a new one, not even a full yard in length. Except for a braided handle, the thing was of a uniform thickness from end to end, hanging from the chastiser’s hand with its tip grazing the floor.
Once more the arm rose and fell in a whirl of action and the lash buried itself six times in the soft flesh of the buttocks. Six cuts had landed but there was only one line, dead centre, which ripened and darkened under our eyes as he fine-tuned his position on the opposite side. Aimed a tad lower, the whip struck six times more to leave a broader band of plum-coloured contusion. The accuracy was breathtaking, and the thought of the pain inflicted by such a concentrated attack made me feel weak. Yet it was not over. Twice again the body was required to submit to the changing of stance and the fierce volley of lashes that followed. At the end a hand’s breadth of swollen flesh crossed from hip to hip, oozing a little where the last inch of leather had bitten deep into the flanks.
The Master drew back, gathering his offspring to him, and the three maids closed round the figure hanging from its restraints. Tamsin touched my arm and I came back to earth; it was time for the final stage. She started to fuss over laying me out on the padded slab, but I told her, a little snippily, to save her energies for the arse about to arrive in a much worse state than mine. And so they came, half-leading, half-carrying the wilting body until it could be lowered onto the six inches of black rubber that sprouted from my crotch. There was no need of lubrication: in the midst of all the scalding lashes the lady was blessed with the delicious ache of a sopping cunt. The hands withdrew and I was forcibly reminded of my own tender stripes. At the same time the spur on the device dug sharply into my clitoris, and I felt the PA’s stubbier strap-on nose in until our bodies were plugged together in a pulsing mass of sensation. Above me, Ama’s eyes were closed, though the way she rocked and moaned was making me shiver with lust.
To the left boy was slowly buggering boy, and to the right Molly pumped her dildo in and out of Laura’s willing bum. From my supine position the scene in front was unfolding in bizarre inversion. With the codpiece gone, the patriarchal organ stood out, huge, from a forest of black hair, while the daughters’ puckered mouths teased its shaft and tip in turn. As the ensemble moved toward us the girls peeled away to open their legs for the waiting, stiff-cocked lads. Fucking under Daddy’s nose, as promised, but Daddy had other things on his mind. His erection loomed above me, positioned with a thumb and forefinger encircling its root. What a specimen it was! Every inch that had plumbed my rectum was before me in bulging splendour, foreskin half back to show a clear bead of pre-ejaculate hanging from the urethra. Ama’s eyes flicked wide open and before the drop could fall her tongue had taken it.
I watched, mesmerised, as she nipped the glans between bared teeth then pulled back to lick the tip, over and over in a sequence that had the juice welling. The veins of the distended shaft pulsed and I could hear the rasp of his breathing above the thumping of my own heart. For a moment I took in the lens of the camera to the left, trained on the weirdly formal dance of body parts and wide eyes of the maid to the right. Then the lips closed and sucked and the loins pressed sharply into mine. All at once the crescendo of sensation was unstoppable and the room erupted with the sounds of bodies helpless in the throes of orgasm. And as I bucked and cried with the best of them the mouth above spilled over with thick white sperm. At another time and in a different place I might well have shied from such an effusion, but in climax I opened and swallowed the surplus of the gift from Master to his new Mistress with something approaching eagerness. It seemed only fitting.
In little more than an hour the company was reassembled and seated, with varying degrees of comfort, at the long dining table. Mrs Beaton’s sister had been loaned from her employment for the occasion, and her small army of assistants set to assembling the components of our celebratory feast. We had not planned a formal affair of set courses, but to have an array of dishes from which each could pick and choose at will. Centre place was occupied by a boar’s head skewered with truffles à la bourgogne, joined by plates of beef and pork and dishes of potatoes and vegetables. It was not an occasion of polite conversation or interchanges cultivated to match the quality of the food. Evidently I was not alone in feeling ravenous following our bouts of disciplinary sex, and eating took precedence over all else save the supping of chilled chablis or a ruby shiraz according to fancy. Only after plates had been loaded with second or third helpings, and glasses recharged many times over, did it seem any one had attention to spare. And when they did, it was perhaps predictable to what end it would be directed.
Giant plasma screens had been placed to the sides, elevated to a height that allowed an unobstructed view to all, though of what exactly was unclear since they’d been dark and silent throughout. Then I noticed a glow that grew brighter, and in half a minute had resolved itself into an image of arguably the finest pair of buttocks we’d seen all day. They loomed over us, at least twice life-sized, before flattening and bouncing back when the paddle cracked down. The maids whooped and clapped and despite her crimsoning features it was plain Mrs Beaton had no objection to an action replay. Mo left the controls she’d activated and moved in behind Tamsin, seated beside me. We had all exchanged the coarse penitential linen for a satin garment of similar type, and out of the corner of my eye I saw fingers creep under the hem while others fondled the outline of a breast.
Across from me lips met lips, and what could have been at first a sisterly kiss grew rapidly into an incestuous thing of deep tongues, while to right and left eye engaged with lascivious eye and hands began to wander. It was all too much, and easing myself out from between my neighbours, I moved round to the seated Molly and encircled her with my arms. As I hoped, the strap-on was still in place and I found myself in the grip of an alcohol-enhanced lust that would not be denied.
Brazenly I went forward on my elbows, Molly greased her weapon with a dollop of butter that lay to hand, and with one steady push she was in to the hilt. I need not have worried about the reactions of our fellow diners, for at that very moment the black bride took to the table herself on all fours, gown up round the neck. Behind her the Master rose to his feet and stood while Jill rubbed a final millilitre or two of distension into his already impressive erection. Then she spread the whip-seared cheeks of her mistress and guided the beast into the pink wetness of the gaping vulva. Whether she was consciously aping the handmaid of uxor studiosa, or making it up as she went along, the outcome was the same: Ama’s deranged squawking set in train the orgasms that were to explode all around amidst the detritus of food and drink.
And that was that. It was not the end of the evening, of course, but it was the last part memory allows me to recount with any presumption of accuracy. However, I console myself with the thought that our model narrator of the Notebooks was similarly unforthcoming about the later stages of the original celebration. What I can say is that the lurid fragments of the commemoration that do stick in the mind leave me confident that we did her proud.
New Blood
The weeks following our grand finale were, as could have been expected, a little flat. Occupied with mundane if essential business for the Library I was unable even to revisit the House, and the mood was not improved by the news that Tamsin intended to resign from her post. Having hit it off with Mo, the PA had decided to throw in her lot with the camerawoman’s scheme of producing s/m erotica tailored for a female audience. Folie à deux or an idea whose time had come? I
didn’t know then, and the verdict is yet to be delivered as I write; either way Tamsin was not going to be easy to replace. So I was not in the best of humours on my return from viewing an exceedingly dull collection at Bodiham House, when Dominic greeted me with something of a smirk on his face.
‘I made an appointment for you, boss. Saturday morning at eleven. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Should I?’ Something was afoot and I was quite happy to let him draw out his moment of disclosure.
‘No, far from it. Do you remember that old battleaxe of a teacher, Miss, er...’
‘Marston, if memory serves. Don’t tell me she wants a heart-to-heart.’ Dominic’s grin broadened.
‘Not her, but the peachy girl she had in tow.’
‘Ah yes, rather dragging her feet.’
‘Well, she seems to want back into the lion’s den. Something about an offer to show her more of the instrument case.’
‘Mm, Becca Miles. Very tasty, and by the end she did seem to be warming to the experience in more ways than one. Shame you won’t be here, Dominic.’
‘Actually, I could do with putting in some extra work on those new lists.’ I chuckled at the slightly pink earnestness of the expression. The poor boy had missed out the last time with the old dragon in the outer office.
‘By all means, feel free. Nothing wrong with a little discreet eavesdropping. But now I feel a plot hatching, and you can reward me by getting a line to Ardingley End. I’ll take it inside.’
The boy was happy enough to fall in with my little plan. I knew he’d been occupied with his new friend, but I guessed, correctly, that he would not pass up the chance to take part in the training of a female novice. I plead not guilty to any charge of matchmaking: what I had in mind was more that he could use a bit of hetero input and she could benefit from an entry point to stimulating weekends in the country.
On the day the boy had been collected from his train and installed in good time for the arrival of our visitor. She was even prettier than I remembered, and the skirt was perceptibly shorter and tighter than before. For his part the boy was quite fetching with his mop of hair and black roll-neck giving him a Gallic air. The girl glanced at him curiously after we’d shaken hands, so I hastened to explain.
‘Some young men, Becca, seem to require correction on a regular basis, my boy here being one of them. So I have taken the liberty of inviting him to take part today. It will, I hope, make for a stimulating demonstration, if of course you have no objection.’
‘No, er, none at all.’ She looked a little nervous, but not unduly discomfited by his presence.
‘Good.’ I had already selected what I intended to use on them both, and passed it over for her inspection. ‘I believe I showed you the Lochgelly before. It is a serious instrument, but I believe that a girl with a real interest in the world of corporal discipline deserves no less. Do I have your approval?’ I was putting her on the spot but I wanted to leave no room for misunderstanding. She licked her lips, staring at the three-tongued piece of leather in her hands, then held it out to me.
‘Yes. Though may I ask how many strokes? I mean, I think I’m up for it anyway, but...’
I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘Of course, dear. The boy needs a sound dozen, but I wouldn’t think of giving a first-timer more than six. Naturally, they will be good ones.’ When she nodded in acceptance I turned to the boy. ‘Right, lad, let’s have those trousers off and you over the desk.’ He obeyed without a word, and I spent some time lifting and tucking in his top to make sure the hardness of his penis was not lost on young Becca. ‘Okay, boy, get a good grip. This is going to hurt.’
There is something supremely satisfying about the way heavy supple leather strikes the naked buttocks, at the same time lifting and embedding itself in the yielding meat. That day I excelled myself with the force and accuracy of my strokes, so that when the last had fallen a dark crimson rectangle, sharply defined, clung like a wet cloth to the swelling mounds. The boy, too, rose to the occasion. Though his pain was clear to me from the intensity of his gasps and grunts, he remained exactly where I’d put him. Becca looked a little pale, but I pressed a jar of herbal cream into her hand with a brisk air.
‘Come, girl, he deserves a little reward for taking his punishment like a trooper. Rub it in well now.’ After a diffident start she was soon massaging the abused flesh with dedication, and when she was done her own complexion had turned quite pink. When the boy straightened up I took hold of his stiff cock and stroked it, catching the clear drop that oozed from the tip. ‘It seems the aftercare went down a treat.’ As was his way, he was looking down saying nothing while her flush turned as red as his behind. But she managed a laugh and I felt confident her embarrassment would soon pass once I was out of the room. But first, there was her delectable behind to deal with.
‘Now, Becca, I think the skirt should come right off. And if you can take up the same position...’ I waited while she unzipped the garment and stepped out of it, then took it from her. She bent over and I folded up her blouse while admiring the way the bottom filled out the lace-trimmed silk of the knickers. When they came down I was pleased to see the crotch visibly damp, and allowed myself to run a hand over the exposed cheeks. ‘Go with it as best you can and keep these relaxed, dear. Now, are you ready?’
‘Yes, I suppose. I mean... yes.’ She took the first two with only a little squeak, but I laid on the third as hard as I could and she shot up with a yell, clutching at the injured parts. But almost at once she dragged her hands away and went back down. ‘Oh sorry, sorry. Please, give me that one again and I’ll try harder.’
‘Certainly, sweetie, if you say so. So that’s four to go.’ I made each one count, but she found her resolve and stayed put to the end. I let her rub for a minute, then pushed her gently over once more and handed the cream to the boy. ‘Right, I’m going to leave you to it. Take your time, you won’t be disturbed.’ Nature could take its course for I had needs of my own that were becoming rather insistent.
Dominic was waiting just outside the door, which was standing ajar, and I wasted no time. Inside his pants I found the rampant organ I was looking for, hauled my jeans down and went over, bum in the air. We were in no need of lubrication: with practiced movements he worked my cunt until I oozed and dripped with lust, then pressed himself against the tighter hole above. There are few sensations in my experience to match that moment when the muscle opens, half-willing, half-protesting, to allow access to the head of an invading cock.
So my story ends in as regrettably lewd a fashion as it began, though this time there were no interruptions from unexpected callers. Only the Keeper of the National Rare Books, bare-arsed across her own desk, enjoying a wonderful protracted buggering by her handsome secretary...
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