‘Ready, Amelia?’ The Reverend’s voice rang in her ears, teasing, mocking, belittling her once again. ‘Don’t tell me you have forgotten about your final six, my dear?’
The wicked whispering hiss cut through the air again.
Tender in the Night
‘Ooh… ooh… ooh…’ Clara whispered as Jamie spread the cooling ointment over her delicious little bottom. The slender girl wore nothing but her corset and her stockings, and he found the sight bewitching, draped as she was over his knee.
‘Hush now,’ he told her, though his voice was fond. He gave the still-welted bottom a pat, and Clara gasped and squirmed a little on his lap. The rubbing of her hip and belly against his aching erection threatened to provoke an eruption at any moment.
After the afternoon’s activities Jamie had brought Clara back up to the nursery. After the Sunday Service, as was customary, the denizens of Hope Hall had severally gone off for a rest before supper was served. Each member of the company had chosen his or her companion from the ranks of those who trembled on the Penitents’ Bench. Then each chosen girl had been chivvied off to assist her betters in taking their ease.
It puzzled Jamie a little that he had chosen Clara. He had noted the smile on Lady Alicia’s face when he had made haste to bag the slender young blonde. He understood that smile. Why would he pick the chit who quivered under his rod every day of the week? Why not choose Lucy or Kitty for a pleasant afternoon of change?
He gave the bottom on his lap another, harder, slap, as if cross with Clara for having such an entrancing effect on him. The girl gave a whimpering cry of pain as his palm cracked against the sore skin of her so recently birched bottom.
‘Get up,’ he ordered gruffly, ‘and get that corset off.’
Clara scrambled to obey, struggling with the fastenings on the front of her corset until he gestured her to step forward and helped unhook the thing. Betsy had laced it preposterously tight, she realised as he grunted with effort. The nursery-maid saw the waspies as a way to vex the cousins, and the minx would use them mercilessly if he allowed her to. Which, of course, he would.
Clara stood uncertainly, naked now except for her white silk stockings, an arm’s length away. She regarded him solemnly. Her slender hands were held obediently at her sides, though she could not prevent her fingers fluttering. Unlike her cousin Amelia, Clara had soon learnt not to cover herself when made to stand naked in his presence like this. Only the beginnings of a blush betrayed her shyness, and the fact that she continued to find this exposure a real ordeal.
Jamie dropped his gaze to her shaven quim. It was so pretty that he felt the urge to kiss it, and his cock twitched eagerly at the sight. ‘Feet wider apart,’ he ordered thickly.
Clara complied. Her pussy-lips were neat, the inner labia hidden by her swollen mons. It had been more than two days since the barber’s last visit, but he would hardly have known. Her pubic hair had been fine and blonde, and the only hint of stubble was the suggestion of gold dust in the region, glinting when she moved and caught the light. Or was that something else that glistened there?
‘Come here,’ he grunted.
Clara took a tentative step forward, bringing her more easily into his reach. He reached forward, grasping her left leg above the knee and gave a squeeze. Jamie enjoyed the feeling of flesh beneath the silk, but his need was too great now to dally very long. He heard her moan, and noted the trembling in her leg as his finger traced its languid way up her inner thigh.
‘Legs further apart,’ he said gruffly. ‘I do not want to have to tell you that again.’
Clara obeyed with alacrity, adjusting her position so that her feet were now a good two feet apart. His fingers resumed their upward journey. As they rose, the soft warm flesh of her inner thighs was increasingly slick and wet to his touch.
‘You really are a little tart, aren’t you, Clara?’ His fingers teased her sex-lips and she gave a loud moan. Jamie kept his gaze on her distracted face. Clara had closed her eyes and was biting her lip. Jamie slid his index finger deep inside her. ‘Such a pretty little pussy,’ he said as he probed, enjoying the way she moaned and writhed in response. ‘It needs something, though…’ Jamie used his thumb to stroke the outside of her swollen flesh as his index finger continued to explore her slit. ‘A silver ring, perhaps two, through these lips. Something I could use to chain you to my bed, or padlock to ensure your chastity.’
Clara’s writhing and moaning was getting ever more distracted. His heart thrilled to watch the shy girl succumb to his touch with such helpless abandon. It was a game he could have played for hours, another day. This afternoon, his own desire was barely more in check than that of his companion. He considered making her suck him, torturing her by taking his pleasure while denying her the chance to assuage her own obviously desperate need. Jamie smiled at the thought, but he wanted something else at that moment.
He withdrew his finger, which glistened with her juices, and stood up. Bending over, he pushed forward, scooping Clara over his shoulder in one move. The girl gave a little startled gasp as he carried her away. Jamie was no weakling and Clara was so slender that he carried her with ease into his bedroom. He tossed her casually into the centre of his bed, and hurriedly stripped off his clothes.
It took but a moment, then he turned, his erection arching skyward. Clara was lying where he had thrown her, waiting, her eyes regarding him with their usual solemnity. Jamie gave an animal growl and leapt at her. Clara squealed and clutched the counterpane, but did not attempt to get out of his way.
Then he was upon her, covering her body with his hands, biting her perfect breasts and invading her rosebud lips with his tongue. For a few frantic moments he felt and kissed and bit every tender morsel of her body as Clara cried out distractedly in response. Then he was inside her. Clara was tight and Jamie was not lightly endowed, but she was so ready that he went in with a few well-lubricated thrusts.
‘Yes, oh yes, yes, master… oh yes sir,’ Clara called out as she bucked beneath him, more frantic by the second. For all that her frame was slight, her thrashing was so violent that Jamie had to hold on to her waist with all his strength. The sight of her lovely face in ecstasy turned his own simmering juices up to boiling point. They came together, Clara crying out like a wounded bird as Jamie grunted obscenities.
‘Sir, master… Can I tell you something?
They lay entwined together on the bed, both bodies lightly misted with perspiration. Jamie’s cock, though no longer hard, was still inside her. He did not want to withdraw it, for the feeling was so pleasant and comforting. Her vaginal muscles held him in a firm caressing grip.
‘You may call me Jamie, if you like, just while we are alone like this.’
Clara snuggled into him, rubbing her little nose into the hollow where his shoulder met his chest. Jamie squeezed her tight.
‘I just wanted to say, sir… Jamie.’ Her pretty face was looking up at him seriously. Her eyes were so blue and wide and trusting that a man could fall right into them and drown, he thought.
‘I – I love you.’ Clara blushed and buried her face in his chest. Jamie squeezed her again, reassuringly. The girl looked up at him again, even more irresistible than before. ‘I just wanted to tell you,’ she said seriously, ‘I just wanted to make sure you knew that I… that I belong to you.’
Betsy winced, letting out an audible cry as Lord Alex took a firm grip of her nipples between his thumbs and forefinger.
‘Still a little tender, are they, my dear?’
‘Ooh… yes, sir,’ she managed.
The nursery-maid was kneeling on the carpet of Lord Alex’s private study. Apart from her stockings, she was entirely naked. Lord Alex, in stark contrast, was in full dinner-dress. He might have seemed the picture of refined respectability, had he not just unbuttoned his fly and taken out a stiff and very eager-looking cock.
Betsy licked her lips
, as if mesmerised by it. Lord Alex had gruffly ordered her to shuffle closer. It had seemed to Betsy that Lord Alex must intend her to fellate him, and she had leant forward, lips opening, until she was disabused of that idea.
When the Marquis grabbed her nipples, she knew differently. The knowledge of what he planned sent a quiver through her loins. Though the first stinging of the nettles had subsided, the skin of her breasts still throbbed. It most certainly was not the night she would have chosen for this particular little game. With a resigned sigh she realised that, no doubt, that was exactly why Lord Alex had picked it.
Not that she had much to say about the matter. Her master opened his legs and tugged at her tender nipples, forcing her to squeeze even closer, wincing as he brusquely pulled the tender nubs of flesh. He eased her in close to his belly, and his rearing cock. Then, when she could move no nearer, he pulled the nipples back in, catching his manhood tight within the sumptuous embrace of her cleavage.
Betsy gasped as the nettle-flayed flesh of her inner breasts was pressed against an erection hard as a hornbeam.
‘Be quiet, you silly girl. Now then, I want you to raise your hands and press in on the sides of your titties. That’s it. Now, now, no need to make such a face or start blubbing again.’
It was diabolically clever and, because her breasts were still throbbing from the nettles, distinctly uncomfortable. Lord Alex pulled her nipples upward and inward, tugging the swollen buds hard in his strong fingers, tweaking them for his amusement. Betsy pushed her own breasts in together, trapping his cock in a tight envelope of warm flesh. Lord Alex grinned down at her from above, cigar clamped between his teeth, and began to pump enthusiastically.
He thrust up and down, frigging himself furiously against her soft flesh, as Betsy gave a series of increasingly startled cries. Her breasts were so big, and Lord Alex had hoisted them up so high, that she saw little of his cleavage-engulfed erection, even when she looked down in alarm. However, as his pumping became ever more frantic, at the apex of each thrust, the ruby cock-head started to emerge, surging out of her cleavage, perilously close to her quivering chin.
The pain in her nipples was excruciating now. His lordship seemed to be twisting as well as hauling in his excitement. Betsy, who had been gritting her teeth desperately, found herself compelled to open her mouth and give a cry of pain.
She had not realised that his climax was so close. The hot stream of silky fluid spurted at exactly that moment into Betsy’s mouth. She choked and spluttered in alarm before she recovered enough composure to swallow. As Lord Alex finished spending, she licked her lips furtively, like some great cat stealing a jug of cream, hoping against hope that he had been too distracted to notice.
The Marquis released her nipples and pain flooded into them as the blood returned.
‘All right,’ Alex growled, ‘clean me up, now.’
Betsy leant forward and cautiously licked the dribbles of semen from his rapidly deflating cock-head, swallowing the slightly bitter emanations with a well-drilled show of dutiful enthusiasm. For a moment, she thought she had gotten away with it.
‘Stand up, now.’
Betsy did as she was bidden, quivering as he laid a hand upon her still-raw bottom. She was soon more aware of his right, however, which reached around, explored her folds, and slid two fingers deep inside her moist slit. The nursery-maid moaned as she was fingered. Fellating Lord Alex, and having her nipples kneaded so pitilessly, had all but brought her to the brink.
Lord Alex moved his left hand from her bottom to her waist and used it to steer her onto his lap. Betsy tried to sit still but the fingers were driving her to and beyond distraction.
‘Turn a little towards me. I want to bite your breasts.’
The order was straightforward if somewhat brutal. Betsy did as she had been told, half turning and leaning towards him until he caught one of her nipples between his teeth. He teased the swollen strawberry of flesh, nipping and sucking it in turn while his fingers continued with their work. Betsy could not stop herself from squirming in response. She could not stop herself from closing her eyes in ecstasy. Her body responded to his brusque toying, even as she winced at the pain.
‘Not a good start to the week,’ Lord Alex said during a break from her nipple. ‘You are wriggling like an eel. Worse, you lost some of my spending, Betsy: the evidence is all over your chin. When we are finished here, you had better go and put yourself a black mark in the big book. It will be the birch for you again next week, I am afraid.’
As he spoke, he worked his fingers even deeper, letting her grind her clitoris against the firm heel of his hand. The mention of the birch brought back all the seething agony of the afternoon’s three dozen strokes, in a blinding flash of overwhelming memory. Betsy gave a high, abandoned scream, and came.
‘Well, girl, do you want it or don’t you?’ The Reverend Dawes sat at his ease in the smoking room. He smiled in amusement at Amelia as she struggled with herself.
Really, she ought to tell him to go hang, Amelia thought, but she knew that would be unwise. Even so, he was giving her a choice, and her pride told her to disdain his office. Her bottom, on the other hand, still felt incredibly hot, and the ointment in his hand looked so very cooling.
‘No, thank you… sir,’ she forced herself to say at last. Amelia had no intention of putting herself willingly over that man’s knee. Once his fingers started smoothing soothing ointment… No, best not to think about what might happen after that. Amelia stood, awaiting the Reverend’s response. Her chin, though held up proudly, was trembling traitorously. Amelia clenched her fists in frustration as she tried to keep it still.
‘As you wish, girl.’ There was amusement in his manner but not the least hint of disappointment. Did she wish him to be disappointed? Of course not – what could she be thinking? No, it was just surprise, for she was sure that the Reverend Dawes was just itching to paw her body. The memory of him looking at her, that first day, came back to her. Given half a chance, he would take monstrous liberties: abuse her, ravish her, do whatever awful things men like him liked to do to pure and innocent girls like her. Those things she could not seem to stop imagining in bed…
‘Well, then.’ He put the tin of ointment back into his pocket in a way that seemed worryingly final. His index finger beckoned. ‘Come here, my dear.’
If only she had been permitted some more clothes, she thought. It was hateful to have to be alone with the man, dressed so inadequately once again. The corset, stockings and smock did nothing to hide her form from his steady and amused gaze. Unable to stop the blush spreading, not daring to defy him, Amelia stepped closer. Her palms were perspiring at her sides now. Funny, how one’s hands and… other bits became so moist, whilst one’s mouth went dry.
‘Now, now, be quiet.’ The hand on her sore bottom evoked a moan which she seemed powerless to prevent, though whether it was a cry of fear of pain, or a release of unbearable tension, Amelia could not have said. The patting hand sent sharp shards of pain coursing through her as he stimulated the still-abraded skin, but then Amelia was also extremely frightened of the man.
‘Actually Amelia, I admire your fortitude.’
The hand smacked again and Amelia bit her bottom lip as pain jolted through her in response. It was not hard, no more than a little pat, but on her poor birch-blistered bottom, it was sore enough.
‘Most girls take the ointment, when it is offered. I suppose you are confident you can escape further chastisement until the after-effects of the birching fades. Good, very good – for I take it that that means you have resolved to behave yourself.’
Amelia’s stomach gave a sudden sickening lurch. She had not even considered this appalling prospect. What if the Reverend Dawes decided to cane her now, for some peccadillo? What if Jamie took the tawse to her on some outrageous trumped-up offence as soon as she returned to the nursery? Suddenly, her sore bottom felt even mor
e horribly vulnerable. Amelia swayed as she felt her knees go weak.
‘Get on your knees, child.’
Wondering wildly what he had in mind, Amelia scrambled to obey. She was seriously frightened now, half-expecting her tormentor to find an excuse to thrash her throbbing bottom right away.
Amelia knelt on that hard wooden floor of bitter memory, facing the Reverend Dawes. He had picked up his brandy glass in his right hand, but fondled the bulge in his black serge trousers openly with his left. Amelia felt the blood rush even faster to her cheeks and hurriedly dropped her gaze.
The Reverend leant forward and reached over, using his fingers to tip up her chin until she had to look into his eyes.
‘You are a very pretty girl, Amelia,’ he said at last.
Here it comes, she thought: he’s going to make me suck his thing, or some other such appalling indecency.
‘I should like to have you. I bet you bugger like an angel,’ he growled.
Amelia, caught between terror for her tender bottom, outraged indignation, and a strange excitement surging in her loins, said nothing. She blinked and tried unsuccessfully to stop her bottom lip from trembling.
‘But you don’t want me to, do you, Amelia?’
There was an awful, portentous, pause. Amelia felt the blood pounding in her temples and for a moment found it difficult to breathe.
‘No. No, sir,’ she said at last, somehow managing to blink defiantly back into his terrible gaze.
To her surprise and tremendous relief, the Reverend Dawes, smiled. ‘Very well. I never yet took a girl against her will. But I warn you, Amelia,’ he winked at her, ‘if you change your mind, you are going to have to beg me for it!’
He stood, adjusting his trousers as if he were a little uncomfortable about the crotch.
‘Well, I must be off,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘I do not want you to relieve me. I have maids at home who will literally leap at the opportunity. I will send someone to escort you up to the nursery, my girl.’ He bent and patted Amelia’s cheek fondly. ‘I shall see you in church next week, if not before, miss. I trust that until then you will be good.’
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