Helena, who had been watching the proceedings with great interest, stripped off her uniform and knelt beside Olivia, taking her master's organ and joining in.
'Take his balls in your mouth,' she instructed Olivia as she closed her own lips over the shining, throbbing plum.
Olivia angled her head into his groin and carefully coaxed them into her mouth. They were much larger than she anticipated, and filled her cheeks to capacity.
'We'll take it in turns,' Helena suggested, 'and then he can have us both.'
He's not having me at all, thought Olivia, manipulating his swollen fruits from one side of her mouth to the other.
As she went on rolling them over her tongue, Helena put her hand between Olivia's legs and started rubbing her mound until it was wet enough to slip her fingers inside the excited slit. Olivia jolted, expelling the fruits and sitting upright.
'Why have you stopped?' said the photographer, leaving the album open at the place he wanted and staring hard at Olivia.
'Because she's doing it to me,' she protested.
He had been close to shooting his bolt when Olivia had drawn back, and that made him angry. What ought to have fired into Helena's hot and willing mouth now remained churning in the shaft. The maid popped the plum from her lips and sank back on her haunches, giving Olivia a bewildered stare.
The photographer glanced at the album and then at Olivia. He was certain that his instincts were right, but had to be sure before he declared himself.
'You see this picture,' he exclaimed, hauling Olivia up by the hair.
Olivia looked at it. A woman was kneeling on the floor, her arms above her head suspended with chains, her knees were wide spread and held open with an iron rod between them. Around the woman's neck was a collar from whence came a length of chain held by another woman, who was in the act of beating her with a birch. The chained woman's head was in profile, mouth open in agony as the whipper prepared to land another stroke on her already bruised bottom.
'Yes, I see it,' Olivia remarked dryly.
'Then you know what is demanded of you.'
In the very same studio Olivia obediently knelt and raised her arms while Helena fastened her wrists to the customary chains hanging from the ceiling. She pulled on them until Olivia's knees lifted just clear of the floor, then she fetched a broad leather collar and fitted it around her neck. When she pulled on the chain, Olivia's head was jerked backwards at a side angle, imitating the woman in the photograph.
'Are you proposing to take my picture?' Olivia asked, wincing from the pain in her wrists and arms.
'Certainly. And at the point where your suffering is greatest. Lay on the stripes, Helena, on her bottom, if you please. You know what you have to do with that chain.'
Olivia summoned all her resolve as Helena tugged on the chain again, arching her head, neck and back, sending fresh spasms of pain down her spine.
The birch hummed through the air and burned into her taut buttocks like a shower of hot coals. For a rather slim and slightly built girl, Helena's strength was prodigious. Olivia's suspended body shot forward accompanied by a howl of agony. A vicious tug on the chain brought her back again, swaying her knees to and fro, chaffing her toes and feet as they bore the whole weight of her body.
Olivia quickly understood the method of this particular punishment. She had a choice to either remain still from the heavy blows and endure the searing pain in her whipped buttocks, or to jolt naturally forward and run the terrible risk of having her neck snapped.
'How much more of this am I to suffer?' she choked, as Helena whistled the twigs into her bottom.
It was impossible to avoid the sudden jolt of her back, evading the excruciating tide of pain that rose through her soft flesh. Helena had whipped her buttocks to perfection, landing each stroke just above and below the other, until the cheeks were a mass of throbbing welts.
The photographer eyed Olivia's blazing rear through the lens and nodded appreciatively. 'You will suffer it until I am ready, miss,' he said, fiddling with a lever on the side of the camera.
With steady deliberation Helena went on whipping her, now slowly working her way towards her shoulders. The higher she went the more Olivia's hips twisted and the more severe the pull of the chain. Her head hung forward, no longer in profile as the photographer instructed, but gazing numbly at the floor.
'Turn her head back again,' he said, now ready to take the desired picture.
Helena took Olivia's head in her hands and twisted it sideways.
'Now stay there,' she said impatiently.
Knowing that her agonies were almost at an end, Olivia steeled herself to remain still while Helena commenced whipping the backs of her thighs. This she did with greater vehemence than that which had seared Olivia's bottom. She started at the top, just beneath the crescents of her bottom-cheeks, and was not a quarter way down when a bright flash filled the room.
'Have you finished?' Olivia sobbed.
The photographer slid a plate from the camera. 'Oh, indeed. But as it will take a little while to develop, I suggest that Helena continue with her whipping until I return.'
Helena curtsied and took up where she had left off, thrashing the backs of Olivia's thighs. When she had finished she would have filled in the time by starting on her front, but the sudden and excited entry of her master spared Olivia further pain. He ordered her release and had her brought back into the drawing room, where he placed the photograph he had just taken next to the one in the album.
Olivia, despite the pain in her whipped flesh, could not help but wonder at the remarkable likeness between the images. It was as if she appeared in both, so similar were the profiles, the contours of the bodies, the shapes of buttocks and thighs.
'I had to be certain,' said the photographer, 'which is why I had you chained and whipped exactly as the woman in the original. She was my sister-in-law and my favourite model, as well as my lover. She died shortly after this picture was taken, my brother having already deserted her for a whore in the town where she lived. What became of her daughter I know not, except that she was taken into care by the parish.'
'What was your sister-in-law's name, sir?' Olivia asked, ashen-faced.
'Judith Holland.'
'And I am Olivia Holland, brought up in a workhouse, and latterly a penniless beggar.'
His hand went around her back and lovingly patted her bottom. The other fondly squeezed her breast. Then he kissed her aroused nipple.
'Welcome home,' he said, patting her other cheek. 'Welcome home, my long lost niece.'
Chapter Eleven
The very same night that Olivia was recognised by her uncle and invited to remain under his roof until such time as she found a suitable husband, there travelled by train to London two persons with whom Olivia had already become acquainted.
Henry Reynolds, deciding that after all the undertaking profession brought little reward, settled himself in the corner of a first-class compartment and lit a cheroot, eagerly awaiting his new adventures in the great metropolis.
Charlotte had dutifully followed her lord and master and was ensconced in the open trucks of the third class. Beside her was the heavy baggage that she had lovingly borne on her sweltering back across the meadows, following, more or less, the same path that Olivia had taken. In her purse were the contents of the safe that she had robbed on Henry's behalf, and which he had left with her for safekeeping.
Her bosom had swelled with pride when she had clambered into the draughty, wind swept truck, the gold laden purse secured in her drawers. But there was method in his madness; if they had been pursued and caught crossing the meadows, the money would have been found on her, which would leave him free to assert his innocence, and escape ten years in gaol. Charlotte, who was too dim-witted to work this out for herself, lovingly agreed to offer her services to any fellow passengers who might further enhance their store. But alas there were none, and so as soon as they trudged off through the grimy back-alleys of Paddington, Henry set her to work at
once, walking the streets while he awaited her return, lazing in an armchair and smoking a cigar.
It was just on the stroke of midnight when Charlotte returned dishevelled, and her clothes in tatters. She staggered through the door and collapsed sobbing on the hearthrug.
Henry regarded her with some amazement.
'I've been whipped!' she blurted. 'Cruelly whipped about my person!'
'Were you paid?' he replied suspiciously.
Charlotte handed over a half-crown and resumed her sobbing.
'Well, tell me what happened,' said Henry, pocketing the coin.
'I was walking up and down the street, like you told me to, and asking gentlemen if they fancied a bit of slap 'n' tickle, and then all of a sudden a carriage draws up and a man leans out and asks me if I wanted a ride. So in I gets and there's three other men in there, and being as there's no room, I sits on the knee of the man nearest the winder, and off we goes.
'Afore long they took off all my clothes...'
'Everything?' asked Henry, leaning forward with considerable interest.
'They made me strip naked and threw my drawers and corset in a heap. Then I was made to bend over the knee of the man I had been sitting on and they took turns in slapping my bottom, and they didn't stop slapping me until we reached a big house by the river, and in we all went.'
'You were still naked?'
'I was, but they moved so fast I was through the door in no time and found myself in a drawing room. There was a woman there, the like of which I've never seen.'
'Describe her.'
'A tall woman as black as coal and built like a navvy. You wouldn't believe the size of her tits, big as pumpkins, and thighs that could crush a man to pulp.'
Henry felt his palms go sweaty and poured himself a large tumbler of whiskey.
'Then what happened, with the men and you and the black woman?'
'I was made to stand in the middle of the room, with my legs open and hands behind me. The black woman fetched a pair of handcuffs and put them on my wrists. While she was fastening them, the men started feeling me all over, putting their fingers in me and squeezing my breasts, pinching my bum and my thighs, like I was a piece of meat. Then the black woman joined in, and she was worse than the men, biting my nipples and kneeling in front of me, burying her 'ead in my bush and sucking me.
'In no time I was as wet as could be. Her tongue went right up inside, licking places I never thought were there. She didn't stop until I nearly swooned, then I was dragged to the floor and someone fetched a whip. There was nothing I could do but lie there groaning, twisting and shrieking, begging them to stop. But they kept on whipping me and rolling me over and over, not stopping until my poor bottom and thighs were covered with lashes, and my fork drenched.
'While all this was going on, the black woman sometimes sat on my face, moving her mighty bum to and fro until she too was all wet. The smell from her fork was overwhelming, as was the juice that ran from her.
'"Lick me out, you dirty bitch" she says, riding her bottom faster and faster, and moaning and groaning all the while.
'I had no choice but to do her bidding, and while the men went on thrashing me I went on licking and sucking in her slit, swallowing the thick juices that poured from her hot, steamy lips.
'After I had performed that disgusting task and she had rolled off me, rubbing herself between her sweating thighs, she knelt at my head holding me still with her thighs, and her hands on my chest.'
'And the men, what were they doing?' Henry asked, leaning ever closer.
'I was coming to that. To begin with, nothing more harmful than sitting on me and making me suck their cocks.'
'Did they make you swallow it?'
'Just as I felt it about to shoot they whipped it out and spurted all over the black woman's thighs and breasts, and kept on doing it until she was soaked. It was running off her in streams and I heard her panting and snorting behind me like a horse. Then when that was done she got off me and made me lick her clean, all the while slapping my back and bottom.
'I hadn't been properly taken as yet and thought that was all they wanted me for, just to lick their stuff from the black woman's body. Never was I more mistook.'
'They took you then, after you finished cleaning up the woman.'
'No they did not. I was up on my feet and the chains taken from my wrists. I stood there rubbing away the pain and feeling where they'd whipped me, when the black woman announced that the entertainment was about to begin and that the men should seat themselves on the sofas.
'I thought they'd had enough entertainment for one night, what with whipping and fondling me and such, but the black woman had other ideas. There we were, both naked, facing each other, while one of the men who had not yet taken his place fetched some more chains. I watched in horror while he knelt at her feet and fastened a pair or iron rings to her ankles, with just enough length of chain between them so she could move her legs freely. Then I was shackled in the like manner.
'The next set of rings went around our left wrists with another length of chain between them, so we was bounded together with our right arms still free.
'"Now fetch the crops", the black woman says, and into our free hands were placed a riding crop apiece. Still baffled by all this I wondered what was coming next, when the bitch sent hers lashing into my bottom.
'I screamed and leapt into the air, and was as quickly pulled back again by a pull on the wrist chain. She circled round me like a huge cat, smacking her lips and flexing the muscles of her thighs and arms. I watched them ripple in the lamplight and saw how her teats had gone all hard, and she was wet again between her legs.'
'It was a contest then?' Henry suggested. 'You had to whip each other while you were still chained?'
'I soon worked that out, and I thought I'd give her the same as she was about to give me.'
'And did you?'
'To begin with, yes. I caught her unawares and landed my crop on the side of her flanks, and then another on her arse. She howled and snorted, much to the delight of the men, who were partly on my side as I was new to all this. Then she pulled on the chain and I fell forward, and as I did so she whipped the tops of my thighs, six strokes in all, one after the other. I was hopping about all over the place, and then she caught me across my teats, a real swinger. Now it was my turn to yell, and didn't I just.
'I was furious, and returned another stroke on her back, and then I caught her on her teats. I couldn't really miss 'cos of the size of them. Her big black tits wobbled to and fro, and she clutched one of them and rolled it round and round under her hand. The men loved that, and then I realised the true nature of this contest. One look in her eyes told me that she enjoyed being whipped as much as she enjoyed whipping me. So I gave her another, an upward cut that sliced into her fork and had her hopping about like a rabbit.
'She let go of her tit and came charging towards me, eyes rolling and tits shaking. I saw the way she was dripping between her legs and knew I'd found her weak spot. If I could but lash her there I might win the contest. But she was as agile as a panther, and somehow got behind me and started lashing the backs of my legs, making them buckle at the knees and burn at the thighs. My bare bum was all ablaze she hit me so much.
'But her keenness to cripple me was her undoing, 'cos while I stood there shrieking and yelling, I worked out a plan to cripple her. I spun round and tugged on the chain, and with a cry she tripped and fell, dragging me after her.'
'You fell on top of her?'
'I landed between her open legs, and quick as a flash her powerful thighs went round my back.'
Henry mopped the sweat from his brow and adjusted the organ prodding at his breeches. He could just imagine the effect all of this must have had on the men watching from the sofas; two naked women, their bodies drenched in sweat, slithering about like a pair of eels, reeking of the odour that only women seem to produce.
'It was over then, I presume.'
'It certainly was not. H
er heels locked and her thighs closed in like a great sweaty vice. I felt my ribs crack and my mouth go dry. Then to my utter amazement she kissed me, a long slobbering kiss that went on for ages.'
'Good God. And what did you do?'
'Kissed her in return. What else could I do, held as I was between those solid walls of muscle threatening to crush the life out of me? Our tongues went right into our mouths, wiggling into our cheeks and to the backs of our throats. Our breath was so hot after all that leaping and whipping, as were our slits. Our breasts and teats were swollen and gleaming, striped with dozens of welts that made it worse. Suddenly I was panting and snorting too, and the men, seeing the state we were in, suddenly leapt off the sofas and dived on us all at once.'
'Did they separate you from your chains?'
Charlotte paused to search her memory and take a swig from the whiskey bottle.
'They did, but instead of letting us get up they took us right there, side by side, our knees up to our chests, thighs and shoulders touching. Can you imagine that?'
'Easily. Go on.'
'The dirty devils took turns on us. Each of their cocks was still wet from the other when they plunged back in. Imagine how I felt, knowing her juices were mingling with mine. They rode the pair of us for ages, changing from one to the next as was their will. Those who'd just shot their bolts in one dripping slit shoved their cocks into the mouth of the other of us, so as well as having her juices in my tunnel, I was obliged to swallow them into the bargain.'
'Just as you did when she sat on your face.'
'I suppose so,' she said grudgingly. 'When they'd rogered themselves dry and we were sore and aching, they dragged us to our feet, although she wasn't nearly as exhausted as I was and seemed ready for any amount more. But seeing the state I was in they took pity on me and took to thrashing our backsides instead.
'I think it was another contest to see which of us would expire first, and I was determined to prove my worth. After I'd taken a full score of welts from the crop I was turned over, as was the black woman, and saw to my dismay they had all gone hard again, from the thrill of lashing us, I suppose.
The Instruction of Olivia Page 16