by Various
I squeeze my thighs together against the surge of lust this provokes but my fingers aren’t up to the task. They fumble uselessly at the buttons before Lily tuts and pushes my hands away to do the job herself. And it is a job, undressing a lady.
First she removes the velvet jacket and lays it gently over the back of a chair. Then Mr Blackshaw begins to unfasten my skirt while Lily unhooks the myriad buttons of my high-collared white blouse. Next come the petticoats and bustle. Throughout the procedure I stand still and obedient, feeling more exposed with the removal of each piece of clothing.
Lily smiles up at me as she kneels to unlace my dainty little boots and then her fingers peel away the stockings. Now I’m wearing only a chemise, a corset and the same split-crotch pantalettes as Lily. While they cover each leg to the knee, they gape open in the back and I moan softly as the cool air teases my damp sex.
Mr Blackshaw bends down behind me and parts my cheeks with his fingers, peering closely at me.
I whimper, mortified.
‘Goodness me,’ he says with mock disapproval, ‘this is hardly befitting of a lady, is it?’
I know there’s no answer for that. My excitement is more than obvious. I daren’t point out that I’m not the only one in such a state.
Without another word he gestures towards the ottoman at the foot of the bed. I beg him with my eyes but he is implacable. I kneel there and Lily positions my arms, raising them out to the sides so I can take hold of the bedposts. I’m grateful for the extra support as Mr Blackshaw bends me forwards, positioning me how he wants me. He unfastens my drawers as he did Lily’s and they fall open to either side. They stay gathered around my knees, however, hobbling me. I like the thought that I couldn’t run away even if I wanted to.
I close my eyes and hold my breath, bracing myself for the punishment that is sure to follow. Instead I feel Mr Blackshaw’s hands at my waist and I sigh with gratitude as he begins to untie the laces of the corset.
Lily crawls onto the bed on all fours and watches, a catlike grin on her face. It’s a slightly wicked grin and I realise their intention as soon as Mr Blackshaw gives the laces a firm tug. I clutch the bedposts so I am not yanked to the floor. Then I gasp as Mr Blackshaw draws the laces even tighter and my waist shrinks another inch.
‘Nice,’ Lily purrs, drawing a finger across the swell of my bosom above the corset. ‘Very nice indeed.’
My face burns at the combined sense of constriction and exposure as the tight-laced corset makes even more of a display of my breasts and bottom. But, as if that isn’t enough, Mr Blackshaw places the ruler between my bare thighs, smacking them gently to urge them apart. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. It’s a positively lewd sight and I blush and lower my head, relishing the sense of shame and excitement.
‘Now,’ he says, ‘what shall we do with you?’
He draws the edge of the ruler down over my naked bottom and I shiver at the touch of the cool wood.
‘What does a naughty young lady deserve who gets so shamefully wet at the sight of her maid being punished? Hmm?’
He can’t possibly expect an answer to that. In any case, I’m incapable of speech. I make some tiny mewling sound and squirm, rolling my hips in an agony of desire and fear.
Lily moves closer to the edge of the bed and crouches right in front of me. ‘I should think she deserves the same as her poor little maid,’ she says, lifting my chin with a fingertip. ‘Wouldn’t you agree … Miss?’
My face burns feverishly hot and I nod helplessly.
‘Very well,’ says Mr Blackshaw.
And before I can protest, before I can even prepare myself, he brings the ruler down smartly across my cheeks. I yelp, writhing and struggling as much as the position will allow me. Which isn’t much. The corset won’t let me bend at all; it thrusts my bottom out, making it even more of a target. And with my arms spread between the bedposts I might as well be chained like a slave for a whipping. I can’t even kick my legs. Parted as they are, with my pantalettes down around my knees, I am fully restrained. Helpless. It’s absolutely thrilling.
The ruler finds its mark again and I cry out, tossing my head and clutching the bedposts tightly. The stinging blows spread across my skin in stripes of pain and between my legs I feel myself getting even wetter. My sex tingles, desperate for attention.
Another stroke, then another. I gasp and yelp with each one but Mr Blackshaw is merciless. So is Lily. I lift my head to see her eyes glittering with devilish excitement. With a mischievous smile she strokes the swell of my bosom, teasing me as the ruler falls again.
Her fingers trail along the neck of my chemise, toying with the tiny laces. Deftly she unties them and peels open the flimsy garment. I whimper as she eases my breasts free of their confinement, exposing me fully. She kisses me then, her lips warm and wet against my nipples. The added stimulation makes me lightheaded and for a moment I am afraid I will faint. The ruler revives me.
Lily strokes and kisses my breasts, pleasuring me while Mr Blackshaw punishes me. The twin sensations mingle and blend like some rare and decadent concoction and I am lost somewhere in between. I feel Lily’s teeth close gently around my nipple and I hiss with pain. Then Mr Blackshaw’s hand is between my legs, stroking me softly.
‘Oh, dear,’ he says with a smile in his voice. ‘I’m afraid that hasn’t done any good at all. If anything she’s even wetter.’
Lily grins at me. ‘Shocking,’ she says.
I can’t help but smile myself at their outrageous hypocrisy. A glance over my shoulder shows me the bulge in Mr Blackshaw’s trousers and we both know what state Lily is in.
‘Take me.’
They are silent for a moment, exchanging a surprised look as if they had forgotten I had a voice. It isn’t much of one but I use it again, whispering my demand.
‘Take me. Please.’
Lily moves first, gathering my breasts in her soft hands and tweaking both nipples as she presses her lips to mine. I close my eyes and hear Mr Blackshaw unfastening his trousers. Then his hands are on my bottom and I gasp at the pain as he strokes my cruelly punished flesh. He draws his fingers over the angry red weals, making me pant as he teases me. At last he makes his way lower, slipping his fingers down to my soft wet sex.
Then I feel the warm hardness of his cock pressing against me. I tremble, my arms straining with the effort of maintaining my position, and he enters me. He slides his length inside me with one long slow thrust. I moan as the sensation spreads through my entire body, wave upon wave of pleasure. I push myself back against him, urging him deeper. He obliges, taking hold of my tiny pinched waist and thrusting hard. I wriggle my sore bottom against him, clenching myself around his cock. All the while Lily is lavishing her own attention upon me, pinching, kissing, licking. The onslaught of stimulation is nearly unbearable.
It isn’t long before I feel myself about to climax. The sensation begins to build in my sex, growing more intense with each powerful thrust. And just when I think I can’t take any more, my body explodes. Ecstasy washes over me, leaving me breathless. I go limp, shuddering with bliss, every nerve in my body wildly alive and pulsing and sending little shock waves of pleasure through me.
It takes me some time to recover, to realise that Mr Blackshaw is still fucking me, prolonging my own climax while he reaches his own. Lily is frigging herself under her skirt, her legs splayed obscenely in front of me as she watches us. I’m too devastated to do anything but bask in the delicious obscenity of it all and when Mr Blackshaw comes he clutches me tightly, emptying himself into me while Lily muffles her own cries, screaming into a pillow as her body bucks and arches on the bed.
My head is spinning. My body aches from the position but I don’t want to move. I listen to the birds chirping outside, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. I feel part of a strange and beautiful world. A horse whinnies and I smile as the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones draws near. I imagine what it might be like to be harnessed like that, t
o be urged on with a riding crop, to have a tail –
‘Oh, no!’
Lily’s cry yanks me rudely from my fantasy. Her eyes are wide as she scrambles up off the bed and runs to the window. Outside I hear the carriage draw to a halt, the horses stamping their feet.
‘My father!’ Lily wails, her face ashen. ‘Hurry! Mary, dress yourself!’
It takes me a moment to remember my place. My true place, that is. But as Lily – Miss Lily, I have to remind myself – strips off and thrusts my black dress and pinafore at me, the mist begins to clear.
Mr Blackshaw quickly does up his trousers and hauls me to my feet. I’m still a little dazed as I fumble with the buttons of my uniform and try to smooth my hair into some semblance of order. I spend a few moments looking around for my little lace cap but it is nowhere to be found.
Together Mr Blackshaw and I manage to get Lily back into her dress. Although it’s obvious to us that she isn’t wearing much underneath, her father is unlikely to spot the impropriety. Her hair is another story but perhaps she can cover it with a bonnet. There’s no more time. The master is back and we exchange a horrified look as he calls for the butler.
‘Blackshaw? I say, are you here?’
Mr Blackshaw hurries out, regaining his composure with every step. It takes me a little longer. I trail behind him, following him into the music room, where His Lordship stands looking perplexed.
‘Ah, there you are, Blackshaw,’ he says. If he thinks it odd that his butler wasn’t there to open the front door he doesn’t say anything. ‘Such a funny thing happened. I got to Lord and Lady Carlson’s estate only to find that they hadn’t asked me to come at all. It’s damned peculiar.’
‘Indeed, sir,’ says Mr Blackshaw, unflappable as always.
His Lordship shrugs it off. ‘Anyway, how’s my daughter getting on with her lessons?’
‘Very well, sir. Perhaps she might play something for you this evening.’
‘Oh, I don’t much care, if I’m to be honest,’ he says dismissively. ‘But it’s jolly good of you to take the time to help her. One hates to see a young lady with nothing to do. Idle hands and all. Next thing you know they’re reading novels and getting all manner of unsuitable ideas.’
‘Indeed.’ Mr Blackshaw glances over at me and I have to avert my eyes lest the amusement in his make me laugh.
‘What the devil?’ His Lordship reaches down to pick something up from the floor by the piano. A scrap of lace.
I gasp. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, sir, I must have lost it while Miss Lily was practising. Mr Blackshaw was kind enough to let me listen. She does play beautifully, sir. Like the very angels.’
His Lordship smiles at my inane prattle as he hands me back my cap. ‘Ah. Well, jolly good.’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I’ll just go and tidy myself up if I may.’
He nods curtly at me and turns to look out of the window. Mr Blackshaw cups my bottom beneath my skirt as I pass and I can’t hold back the little yelp as his hand touches my inflamed skin.
His Lordship’s eyebrows climb to his hairline as he regards me with bewilderment. ‘Everything all right, Mary?’
‘Sorry, sir,’ I say, flustered. ‘It was just … I pricked myself. With a hairpin.’
‘Well, be careful,’ he admonishes.
‘Yes, do be careful, Mary,’ echoes Mr Blackshaw. ‘We don’t want you doing yourself an injury.’
‘No, sir. Sorry, sir. Excuse me, sir,’ I babble, backing out of the music room.
Miss Lily is just making her way down the stairs as I close the door. She looks lovely and for a moment I can’t believe she’s the same girl who was in such a state earlier.
‘Does my father suspect anything?’
‘Not a thing,’ I tell her. ‘But next time perhaps you should find guests even farther away to send him to.’
She smiles slyly. ‘Actually, I was thinking I might go and visit my cousin in the south of France. I couldn’t go alone, of course. I should never be able to dress myself without my maid. And Father wouldn’t want me to neglect my lessons either.’
I return her smile and reach out to stroke her creamy décolletage. She sighs sweetly.
‘Perhaps Mr Blackshaw might teach us Latin next.’
Wanton Wagers
Morwenna Drake
‘It’s so delightful that you could make it for Christmas, Anne.’
‘It was kind of you to invite me to Murton Hall, Aunt Sylvia,’ Anne Pearson replied with a broad smile. Her aunt through marriage, Lady Sylvia Ellis was easy-going but with a sense of fun that complemented the Christmas festivities; just the person to lift Anne’s spirits now that her period of mourning for her husband was over.
‘I just couldn’t bear the thought of you alone in that draughty house by yourself. And it’s so dark up in Scotland.’
Anne laughed. ‘No more than here in Somerset, Aunt, I promise you. It’s not the hostile foreign clime you think it is.’
Her aunt wrinkled her nose in disagreement but didn’t press the matter. Instead, she changed to another topic of which she disapproved. ‘So, dear – when are you joining Dr and Mrs Morris?’
‘Some time in February.’
‘Anne, really – don’t you think being a governess is beneath you? I mean, your uncle would see you taken care of – you don’t need to –’
‘Ah, but I want to, Aunt Sylvia,’ Anne interrupted. Her aunt changed tack.
‘Couldn’t you be a governess for someone more –’ She grappled for the right word.
‘Respectable? Rich? No. Dr Morris and I get on well and I’m sure you would warm to him if you ever met him. Now, can we have an end to this discussion and a start to the festivities, please? You haven’t introduced me to a single person yet – are you really that ashamed of your governess niece?’ Anne’s brown eyes twinkled mischievously.
‘Of course not!’ her aunt protested. ‘And I see just the people now.’ Sylvia guided her niece towards a tall woman whose slender figure verged on being gaunt. Her mousy hair was pulled back in a tight bun and, even though she was slightly shorter than Anne, she somehow managed to look down her nose at them as they approached.
Sylvia beamed at them. ‘Miss Maitland? May I introduce my niece, Mrs Anne Pearson? I believe you were at school together.’
‘Indeed,’ said Anne. Her smile was just as cold and distant as Mary Maitland’s.
‘And I’m sure you remember Mr John Stanley, Frederick Stanley’s son? He’s leaving us after Boxing Day to pursue a painter’s life in Italy,’ added Sylvia.
Anne turned her gaze to the young man. He boasted a smile that was a little too cocksure and a blue-eyed gaze that was too bold. His dark hair was slightly longer than was fashionable but it fell across his eyes in a rakish manner that was quite becoming. He gave a small bow.
‘Of course I remember Anne,’ he said smoothly. Such scandalous informality was not lost on Mary.
‘We both remember you fondly, of course, Anne. But where is Mr Pearson this evening?’ She emphasised his name and shot a sly glance at John. ‘I very much wanted to meet him. He’s a banker, isn’t he? And I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet John as well, since he appears to be such a good friend of yours.’
Mary was enjoying herself immensely at the prospect of uncovering some scandal. As evenly as she could, Anne replied, ‘My husband is dead, Miss Maitland. I am surprised that the purveyors of gossip upon which you so often rely did not mention such a fact to you.’ Mary’s mouth opened in genuine surprise, but Anne gave her no chance to reply. ‘Now, pray excuse me. I feel the need for a glass of punch.’
Anne turned and walked away, anger boiling within her. Gossip didn’t bother her – if it was accurate; bravo to the woman who cut you down with the truth, wrath to the woman who saw scandal in every shadow of a smile. She could hear Mary’s voice, frantically squeaking an apology to Sylvia. Anne hoped her aunt was enjoying taking the high ground as much as she would have done.
Reach
ing the refreshments table, she paused to steady herself and someone offered her a full glass. She looked up to see John Stanley next to her.
‘An impressive display, Mrs Pearson,’ he said admiringly.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Not “Anne” then?’
‘Apologies, I was but teasing. I thought that our brief association as children might entitle me to such informality, but after the blow you dealt to Miss Maitland’s pride, I’m not sure I want to risk your wrath.’ His smile was cheeky, with a hint of something deeper. She found her memory thrown back to hazy summer afternoons when a group of them had gone to watch the haymaking. She had spent most of the time surreptitiously watching John’s lithe form leaning against the fence with an easy smile beneath a straw hat. The hat was gone and the smile was more knowing now, yet she still felt that familiar twinge of excitement in his presence.
She straightened her back, refusing to be lost in foolish recollections. ‘As I recall, our childhood association was me pushing you into the ditch after you tried to steal a kiss at the autumn ball, is that not so?’
‘You cannot blame an innocent boy for trying his luck when such beauty is before him.’ The compliment was delivered with a warm sincerity.
‘I see your manners have improved, but I don’t recall this “innocent boy” you speak of. I recall a scoundrel who had the heart of a poet and the devil’s own love of gambling.’ Her smile was saucier than it had been for a long time; it felt good on her lips.
John adopted an abashed look that didn’t touch his twinkling eyes. ‘Ah, it was not a poet’s soul I turned out to possess, but that of a painter. But my love of gambling has never left me, I must admit. For example, I bet my father that within a year of being in Italy, I could be the most famous painter on the continent.’
A surprised laugh burst from Anne’s lips. ‘You jest?’
‘Alas, only a little. I believe it was the most famous painter in England. But I cannot help myself when it comes to wagers. In fact, I have one for you, Anne.’ She raised an eyebrow and waited. ‘I’ll wager you’ve not had a decent man between your legs since you were married.’