Eloise laid the brush on Natalie’s upturned skirts and stepped near to the maid’s head. Natalie sobbed, knowing what was going to happen, her breath suddenly coming in sharp pants. Eloise reached down slowly, calm and poised as she took hold of the shivering maid’s hair and twisted a handful of it into her grip. Natalie responded with a broken sob, a sound that mingled despair and excitement.
For a moment, Eloise paused, savouring Natalie’s surrender, stretching out the moment of torment to extract every drop pleasure from the plight of the maid. Natalie was shaking hard, her breath coming in little ragged puffs that blended with her sobs. Slowly Eloise applied pressure, forcing Natalie’s face down, inch by inch, towards the surface of the pale gold liquid that filled a good third of the vessel. The maid gave a choking gasp, only to be abruptly silenced as her face was pushed into the contents of the chamber pot.
Eloise laughed, a light, silvery sound that came in striking contrast to the lewd bubbling noises that the unfortunate Natalie was making as her head was held down in her mistress’s waste. Then she began to sing, teasing Natalie with the suitably adjusted words of a popular ditty:
‘Soeur Talia, Soeur Talia. Buvez-vous? Buvez-vous?
Sonnez les sanglottes. Sonnez les sanglottes.
Paf, paf, paf. Paf, paf, paf!’
Her words were punctuated with smacks of her palm to the maid’s bottom, and only when she had finished did Eloise release her grip in Natalie’s hair. The maid came up, spluttering and gasping, her mouth open wide. With a quick motion, Eloise thrust Natalie’s face back into the chamber-pot, catching her unawares, only to immediately release her and jump up with a delighted laugh. As the maid gagged and spat out the contents of her mouth, Eloise was already reaching for the hairbrush. Giggling with a girlish glee, she smacked the brush down across Natalie’s bottom. A second smack followed without pause, then a third, then more, and the maid’s buttocks began to wobble rhythmically under the punishment.
Grinning merrily, Eloise set to work on Natalie’s bottom, her anger and frustration forgotten in the delight of spanking the naked quivering cheeks. The maid’s squeals rang loud in the chamber, further adding to her mistress’s delight. When Natalie sneaked a hand back between her thighs and began to masturbate, Eloise gave another peal of laughter. With her own excitement rising quickly she watched the maid’s fingers work among the moist pink folds.
The quality of Natalie’s sobs and whimpers changed, expressing less pain and humiliation and more helpless ecstasy, until she had begun to give the low animal moans that Eloise knew signalled the onset of her climax. Changing to a hand for the purposes of slapping the maid’s now glowing bottom, Eloise pushed the handle of the hairbrush deep into Natalie’s cunny. Natalie lifted her bottom to accept it and called out her mistress’s name as the wide silver handle filled her vagina. The slaps rang louder as Eloise redoubled their force and then Natalie was begging, not to stop, but for harder and yet harder smacks. Eloise brought her palm down full across her maid’s nates, slapping upward in the way she knew would bring Natalie to the peak of rapture. The maid cried out loud, once more called Eloise’s name and started to come in earnest, panting and thrusting up her buttocks for her mistress’s smacks with all the wanton abandon of a she-cat on heat.
Aware that it was now she who was the servant, Eloise felt a flush of resentment. Grabbing Natalie’s hair once more, she quickly thrust the maid’s face back into the chamber-pot. The maid’s cries of pleasure were at once reduced to a bubbling noise, yet she continued to come, writhing under Eloise’s slaps as she rubbed frantically at the firm nubbin at the centre of her cunny. Eloise watched, continuing to spank and hold Natalie’s head down but with her eyes fixed on the rhythmic pulsing of the girl’s gaping vagina and pouted anus. She could feel her own juices, moist between her thighs, and with that came the thought that, were she to adopt so undignified a position, she would look little different to the maid, count’s daughter or not.
As Natalie came down from her orgasm, Eloise released her head. Without saying a word, Eloise led her maid to the wash-stand and helped to clean her face. Still silent, Eloise pulled up her skirts and sat on the edge of the bed, presenting Natalie with her open cunny. Without hesitation, Natalie sank to her knees and buried her face among the curls of Eloise’s sex, finding the clitoris and starting to lick.
Eloise stroked Natalie’s hair as her pleasure rose towards orgasm. Her words were loving, apologetic, then pleas to be treated the same way herself, to have her own bottom stripped for beating and for it to be done with her own face pushed into a night-soil pot. As Eloise came, she screamed out Natalie’s name and then they were in each other’s arms, cuddling together and kissing – no longer mistress and maid but lovers.
It was not a condition that could persist for more than a few minutes, and Eloise quickly regained her haughty composure, Natalie her air of willing obedience. Now feeling cheerful and strong, Eloise ordered Natalie to tidy up and once more turned to the window. The landscape of Burgundy now seemed as beautiful and tranquil as it ever had, a sight that increased her sense of confidence and power. Far below, a peasant was coming in from among the vines, his back bent under the weight of a great hod of grapes that represented the start of the vintage. For a moment he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a look that brought to her mind the simile of a snail looking up to a dove – the hopeless yearning of a creature considering something that it could never, never aspire to. With that thought came the idea for a simple – and suitable – revenge on Henry Truscott. It was perfect, and also held out the faint yet tantalising possibility that it might not mark the end of their acquaintance.
In England – to Henry Truscott’s surprise and satisfaction – the expected scandal never came and he had soon returned to his carefree round of clubs, brothels and gambling hells, the beautiful daughter of the Comte Saônois reduced to a frustrating memory. So when a porter at the club in which he was taking a leisurely after-lunch cognac handed him a letter sealed with mauve wax and scented with a perfume reminiscent of exotic fruits, he had no idea as to its origin.
‘If that’s from a trollop, she’s a deuced expensive piece,’ Conrad Clive remarked from the neighbouring chair. ‘What’s the game, Harry?’
‘I really have no idea,’ Henry replied, breaking the seal and unfolding the letter. For a moment he read, his expression changing from alarm, through delight, to frustration.
‘Something up,’ Conrad remarked to the assembled young idlers and club hangers-on within earshot.
‘Damn little tease!’ Henry finally exclaimed, tossing the letter on to the table with an irritated gesture. ‘As if I could find such a sum.’
Conrad picked the sheet of paper up and scanned it briefly.
‘I say, listen to this,’ he announced, evading Henry’s half-hearted attempt to snatch the letter back. ‘“To Henry Truscott Esquire, from the Demoiselle Eloise de la Tour-Romain. Sir, on regaining my composure following your most dishonourable behaviour, I set out to identify you and was soon rewarded with the information by your friend Charles Finch, in return for a small favour.” I say, I bet the old whoremonger drove a hard bargain! “I must apologise for becoming unsettled when last we met, and trust that the damage to your coat is no worse than that to my gown.” Whatever have you been up to, Harry? “On calmer reflection, I have decided to consider the offer you made to me as you left. I will be yours to use in whatever way you please –” I say! “– to have naked, or partially naked, or dressed in any manner that amuses you. To display myself in any way that may please you, however revealing of my private person, exposing my body as if I were bitch or mare. To surrender to you each orifice of my body and to use my fingers, tongue or whatever you wish to favour you, in any way you command.” Good God! “To allow myself to be tied with rope or secured by chains and my body forced into unnatural positions. To allow myself to be beaten across the buttocks and breasts with hand, strap, cane or whip. To serve your lust as if I were your p
roperty.” I say! “Should this offer be acceptable to you, send a simple note of reply and I will arrange a rendezvous. The price of my favours is ten thousand English pounds, either in gold or the new notes of promise.” Ten thousand pounds! Good God!’
Conrad finished the letter and collapsed back in his chair, then began to laugh. His laughter deepened and became louder, until he began to draw looks of disapprobation from those club members not privy to the joke.
‘Priceless!’ he managed when he had finally overcome his mirth. ‘This French piece certainly knows how to tease our friend! Imagine, promising the earth and then setting the price at ten thousand pounds! Superb!’
‘I am glad you find it amusing,’ Henry replied sourly. For a moment, he sank into a gloomy silence, only to rise and stride from the club without a word.
In a remote but well-appointed hunting lodge in the Perseigne Forest, Eloise de la Tour-Romain sat swaying to and fro on a swing. Her manner was pensive, yet a slight flush to her cheeks and the little nervous kicks with which she kept the swing in motion revealed both excitement and apprehension. Despite her surprise when the Englishman had accepted an offer that was primarily intended as a taunt, she had determined to go through with the assignation. She was unable to deny her interest in him, her pique at his effrontery being diluted by an erotic thrill at the memory of how he had seen her filling her chamber-pot.
On the not overly frequent occasions that she had prostituted herself for her amusement and the delight of controlling her eager lovers, she had always made the choices, and their lovemaking had been more typical of that of concerned suitors than of men taking their fill of a girl paid to surrender her favours. Henry Truscott, she imagined, would not be so gentle and over-eager. Firstly, she had made it clear that she was his to do with as he pleased, an offer she had been sure he was in no position to accept. Secondly, the way he had broken into her room, clearly deliberately, so as to catch her in a position not only of erotic display but deeply embarrassing to her, spoke of a distinct streak of malice. Still, she reflected, whatever he chose to put her through, she knew that the ultimate satisfaction would be hers.
Yet the possibilities of what he might choose to do were both intriguing and disturbing. For one thing, he might choose to whip her, inflicting on her the sort of punishment she so often meted out to her servants. Applying physical discipline to the exposed buttocks of her inferiors was a pleasure in which she took great delight, yet the thought of it being her bottom that ended up naked and sore filled her with both alarm and a curious feeling of need. Alternatively, he might make her dance nude or adopt lewd poses before having his way of her, a choice that, while less painful, would be equally humiliating.
A sharp rap on the door gave her a sudden start. Composing herself on the swing, she watched as the strapping footman she had brought along as a safeguard opened the door and Henry Truscott stepped through. If he felt unease at the presence of the footman, he managed to hide it, striding confidently into the room and bowing to Eloise with no more than a hint of mockery.
‘Good evening, Mademoiselle de la Tour-Romain. You look enchanting, if I may say so, yellow so suits your complexion. Watered silk, is it not?’
Eloise found herself blushing involuntarily at the compliment, taking an instant to absorb the sting in the tail of his remark.
‘Good evening to you, too, Mr Truscott, though I fear I cannot return the compliment. Yet I suppose being English excuses your taste, to some degree,’ she managed in return.
‘Touché.’ he replied, ‘but enough raillery. I have ordered my man to drive round to the stable, where I trust you will join me, in accordance with our agreement?’
‘The stable?’ Eloise replied with a pang of discomfiture. ‘Very well. Christian, the brazier.’
‘The brazier?’ Henry asked, only to meet a meaningful smile from Eloise.
They walked slowly to the stable, each pondering the other’s actions. By the stable door stood a servant of Henry’s, a tall, burly man who effectively neutralised Christian.
‘Todd Gurney,’ Henry stated, indicating the man, ‘is an ex-farrier Sergeant, and not a man to be trifled with. I say this purely to avoid any mistakes on the part of your own manservant.’
Eloise made no reply but glanced to the big man, who returned a knowing leer. Christian was big and by no means ill-formed, but Todd Gurney stood perhaps a hand’s breadth taller still and showed a decidedly solid musculature. Behind him loomed the dark bulk of a heavy wagon, its details impossible to make out in the faint moonlight. To the front stood a brass-bound chest, which Henry indicated with a flourish.
‘Is it your habit to travel by farmer’s dray?’ Eloise asked mockingly as she opened the chest to inspect the bundles of notes stacked carefully within.
‘I judge my mode of conveyance to suit the occasion,’ Henry replied casually. ‘At a ball, a smart gig. At the races, a carriage. Here . . .’
Eloise felt another brief rush of blood to her face but chose to ignore Henry’s remark, instead instructing Christian to light torches and heat the coals in the brazier until they glowed yellow.
‘You will find me quite faithful to my word, Mr Truscott,’ she addressed Henry. ‘Yet you must appreciate that there must be some limit on how long you may slake your bestial lust on my person. So, as we proceed, Christian will feed your bank notes on to the brazier. When the last bundle is consumed, we stop.’
‘You intend to burn ten thousand pounds?!’ Henry managed, his expression registering incredulity.
‘Why not? It seems as good a way of marking time as any.’
‘But . . . but . . . dash it, I mean, I had to put my estate up for security on that, at a ruinous rate of interest, I might add. You can’t just burn it!’
‘There is still time to cancel our agreement.’
‘No, but I mean . . . Oh, the hell with it, but by God I’ll take my money’s worth!’
Eloise gave a coy smile and signalled to her servant. Christian took a bundle of notes from the case and held it poised over the brazier.
‘Well if that’s the way of it, I think we shall begin by warming your pretty bottom,’ Henry announced, his air of distress gone as rapidly as it had risen. ‘Gurney, unload the wagon.’
Eloise took a step back, only to have Henry catch her arm and pull her roughly over to a stump that was used for wood-cutting. Holding her firmly, he made himself comfortable and then took her across his knee, making sure that she could see what his valet was up to while her bottom was spanked. With her head down and her bottom up, Eloise felt a lump rise in her throat from a sharp twinge of humiliation at her shameful position. This became quickly worse as she felt her skirts and petticoats lifted and the cool air on her bare thighs and rump. Her bottom was naked, showing not just to the lecherous Henry Truscott but also the two servants!
Henry began to caress her buttocks as she watched Gurney use a pitchfork to unload straw from the wagon. The servant seemed oblivious to the sight of her naked bottom, yet lying over Henry’s lap with it bare filled her with both an agonising shame and an excitement that was in itself equally shameful. Many a time she had put other girls in similar positions and had always been aware that her naked buttocks and cunny would look little different from those of the meanest serving girl. Yet no man had ever had the courage to spank her, and she had never anticipated being forced to adopt so undignified a position. Now, though, it was about to happen. Her buttocks were naked and her arm was twisted into the small of her back, rendering her helpless while he stroked and fondled her flesh. Now, whether she liked it or not, she was about to be spanked – to have her bare buttocks slapped up to a glowing pink, as if her rank and breeding were nothing – to be beaten like any common girl, with her skirts thrown up and not an ounce of modesty left to her.
As Henry tightened his grip, she wondered whether she would react like Natalie, wriggling and moaning as her cunny moistened with the rising pain. Determined not to make any such lewd display, partic
ularly with both Christian and Henry Truscott’s servant watching, she braced herself.
With her head bowed and the scene around her illuminated by the flickering orange torchlight, she waited for her punishment. Henry, however, seemed in little hurry, continuing to explore her bottom with the proprietorial thoroughness of somebody who has paid for a commodity and intends to make the best of it. She felt her cheeks pulled apart and knew that he was making an inspection of her bottom-hole and the rear of her vaginal pouch. As her anus tightened involuntarily, she gave a sob at the thought of her most intimate parts being so closely admired. A finger traced a slow line between her labia and back to her anus, making her shiver. An instant later, a hard smack caught her unawares. She gave a little cry and a gasped at the sudden sharp pain, his next smack catching her before she had time to regain her composure. Then it started in earnest, her first spanking, with a strong male hand smacking down on her bare bottom both as punishment for her and for his amusement.
As Henry warmed to his task, Eloise could feel her bottom bouncing rhythmically under his hand. He was whistling a tune as her flesh warmed and reddened, a casual act that somehow made the pain and indignity of being spanked worse still for her. Soon she had given up any attempt at the aloof composure she had intended to maintain and began to kick and squeal with no more restraint than any of the serving girls she had so frequently seen spanked, or indeed spanked herself. She knew that her motions made her thighs and buttocks part, displaying both vaginal and anal charms in an immodest show that filled her with shame. Yet her pain was too great for restraint; nor could she deny the gradual feeling of arousal that came from that very exposure and the feeling of being punished. It went on until her head was spinning and her bottom seemed to be a great, fat ball of hot pain, only for the punishment to stop as suddenly as it had begun, leaving Eloise panting over Henry’s knee, legs akimbo, without thought for the resulting lewd display of her rear view.
The Rake Page 2