by Неизвестный
Charlotte concentrated hard, just as she did when reading German novels. Concentrated hard, anxious not to miss the slightest nuance. She imagined her bedroom after midnight. They would both be naked, young debutante and kneeling youth. He would be begging to kiss her breasts, belly and below. She, like La Belle Dame Sans Merci in the book in her father’s library, would only deign to allow him to lick and lap at her feet. Whimpering softly, he would obey, his hot, wet tongue busy at her toes. After a strict spell of this delicious homage, she would turn languidly and offer her bare buttocks to his eager, upturned face. Further homage would then be paid, his flushed face buried between her soft, rippling cheeks.
Her sovereignty established, they would enter into the night of discipline and domination. She would select a silken stocking to bind her kneeling slave, bind his ankles together into burning helplessness. Another silken stocking would visit his wrists and render them useless and immobile above his naked buttocks. Whimpering with fearful anticipation, he would writhe. Stern and silent, she would motion to him to be still, and out of pity allow him to peep as she donned a crisp white basque. His eyes would widen in wonder as she drew the laces tightly, squeezing her breasts until they bulged. Smoothing her belly and thighs, she would gaze down, smiling contemptuously at his thickening manhood raised in a smart salute. Capturing it between her knees, she would squeeze it as tightly as the satin at her bosom squeezed her ripe flesh. She would feel the warmth throbbing between her controlling flesh.
The train clattered over a set of points, jolting Charlotte out of her vivid reverie. Opposite her, her gloved right hand scrabbling fitfully at the silk dress stretched across her lap, Edwina dozed. Charlotte watched the gloved fingers suddenly splay out like a starfish as Edwina, in her turbulent dreams, palmed her inner thighs.
Charlotte studied her younger sister’s face. The mouth was slightly open, the lips moist, the pink tongue-tip protruding as it would to lick at the ripeness of an oozing plum. Edwina was clearly enjoying a very wicked dream. Charlotte closed her glittering green eyes and returned to hers.
She revisited her boudoir in Strachayle Castle, where her naked slave-lover would beg for his pain. As he became both loud and impatient, she would have to kneel down before him and silence his pleading whine. Charlotte clenched her small paw-fists twice and purred as she anticipated finger-forcing her slightly soiled cami-knickers into his mouth. Further dark joy would flow from the binding of his imploring eyes with calico. Silenced, and denied sight, he would be all hers – the green-eyed cat had captured her quivering little mouse. Let the tantalising teasing and exquisite torments commence.
With a gloved hand, of black velvet and stretching tightly up to her elbow, she would finger her captive intimately: rubbing, stroking and then probing as she explored all the secrets of the naked male so far denied to a well-bred debutante. Fear and excitement would bead the temples of her willing victim. The only sounds audible would be her panting breath and the soft creaking of her crisp basque. Utter wickedness. She would then experience the forbidden delight of his hot erection nestling against the soft curves of her bosoms and then, guided by her gloved fist, his twitching length between her satin buttocks. Would she dare to press the glistening tip of his captive shaft into that hot little hole buried deep between her cheeks? Squirming in her carriage seat as the train sped on, Charlotte grunted thickly. In her imagination, her night of perverse pleasures in Strachayle Castle was yet young.
Pain. That was what she desired to delight in – punishment and pain. The punishment and pain of a submissive male. She anticipated every single moment of her impending dominance. After undoing his blindfold to gaze down into his fear-clouded eyes, she would show him the instrument of chastisement. With neither crop nor cane to hand, it would have to be her silver-backed hairbrush, stiffly bristled and glinting with the promise of pain. Then she would slowly bind a pink ribbon around the knout of his erection to stem and stay his spurt of vital juices elicited by the severe strokes of brush on bottom.
Forcing his head down into a cushion, and pinning him firmly as his gagged mouth mutely kissed the velvet, she would palm his upturned buttocks with her gloved hand. The sweep of the controlling hand would grow firmer. She would pause, briefly, to finger-stroke his cleft. As his sac swung gently between his splayed thighs, the time would come for the gloved fingers to close around the handle of the silver-backed hairbrush, grip it tightly and raise it aloft. The chastisement would commence: again, and again, the polished surface would crack down mercilessly across his punished buttocks. Her bound slave would writhe before buckling under the savage onslaught but, helpless in her thrall, he would not be able to escape her vicious tenderness.
After nine strokes, she would quickly invert the bristled face of the brush to tap the ribboned knout of his pulsing cock. The dancing pink ribbon would signal his desperate need for release but, cruel mistress that she was, Charlotte would deny him his desire and revisit his suffering cheeks to blister them harshly with the spanking brush. As his bottom reddened to an almost unbearable shade of pain, she would thrill to the knowledge that her own camiknickers were silencing his howls of anguish.
And when the prinked fingers of her velvet-gloved hand released the ribbon? What then? Charlotte had as yet no direct knowledge of the erect male organ exploding and ejaculating. Forbidden texts in her father’s library had prepared her but she enjoyed only a vague notion of how her punished slave would respond. The pink ribbon, dancing excitedly at the end of the twitching erection. With her dominant gaze quelling his submissive eyes, she would talon his hair and force him to worship her as her gloved hand slowly teased the ribbon loose.
Candle wax. Hot, sticky and quicksilverish. That was what it would be like. A squirt-splash of his seed up on to the swell of her bosom. Perhaps a pitter-pat upon her face. Would she dare to tongue-tip catch a pearl of his liquid devotion? It would be warm and creamy and waxy to the touch. The forbidden books had prepared Charlotte for the wet excitement of a whipped man. But no book yet printed, she acknowledged, could ever prepare her for the muffled scream of agony torn from her punished worshipper’s gagged lips.
With a long, unbroken screech of its whistle, the shuddering train plunged into a long, dark tunnel. Charlotte gasped and sat bolt upright, blinked then twisted her face towards the black carriage window. Her green eyes glimpsed their own cruel reflection in the darkened glass. The eyes of a cat, hungry for her mouse.
The pony-cart trundled up along the mud track slowly. Shivering in the back, exposed to the chill mist, the Godolphin girls suffered the delights of a rough shoot. Heavy tartan rugs around their knees failed to keep them warm. Soon the moorland rose up too steeply for the labouring pony. Dismounting – cursing softly as they slipped and shivered – the sisters trudged the final mile to where the guns had assembled. Higher up, where the mist was thicker and more penetrating, the men stood in a ragged line, muffled in tweeds and frequently sipping from hip flasks.
On the crest of the rolling moor, beaters appeared, advancing slowly down towards the guns. They were shouting and waving sacking and thrashing the heather with long sticks. Rabbits bolted down into the bark and blaze of the guns. The beaters advanced, fanning out to cover the hillside. Small, fat grouse whirred up from the wet cover. Another salvo reverberated across the moor, bringing the dead birds down into the heather.
It was a dreary, dull sport for the girls. They shrank back from the noise of the guns and the reek of acrid cordite. They soon grew numb from both the boredom and the cold. They recoiled delicately from the sight of blood-spattered grouse being bundled and trussed as the game was bagged – and shuddered as rabbits were held aloft to have their necks stretched and their full bladders squeezed dry. The interminable Saturday shoot had not been a sparkling success. The Godolphin sisters bumped back in the cart to Strachayle Castle in the chill of an autumn dusk.
* * *
‘Shall I run a bath, ma’am?’ Heather enquired, helping Edwina out of her
mud-spattered attire. ‘Or would you prefer to wash and dress your hair before dinner?’
‘I think I had better bathe, please.’
Please. Heather’s eyes widened a fraction at the word. It told her that the young lady she was briskly disrobing was not the customary assured daughter of the aristocracy. Haughty young debs never used ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ to their maid. This girl, Heather mused, unlacing the strings of the corset and allowing the trapped breasts within its strict confines their freedom, was a shy little thing. The maid smiled as she stripped her mistress bare. Her shy, somewhat submissive mistress.
Edwina, her soft buttocks joggling as she trod the carpet, murmured a shy question to the maid.
‘Oh, no, ma’am,’ Heather replied emphatically. ‘You’ll not be seeing any of the gentlemen this weekend. Most strict about that, Lady Alice is, ma’am. Gentlemen dine separately, then retire to their port and cigars. It’s billiards for them, ma’am. The ladies read religious texts or sew their pretty samplers.’
‘Oh.’ Edwina’s sigh could not conceal the deep note of disappointment. ‘Any particular gentleman, was there, ma’am?’ Heather prompted.
Edwina replied guardedly that she had hoped for some instruction from Sir Julian Fox, one of the weekend guests.
‘Instruction, ma’am?’ Heather echoed, retreating to the bathroom. She shivered as she remembered the old roué’s consummate skill with the cane during a brief visit earlier in the year.
‘Yes,’ Edwina replied, hurriedly explaining, ‘I need to be schooled. I remain such a novice and he is surely a man of rich experience.’
‘Bath’s ready, ma’am. Look sharp. Mustn’t be late to table.’
The maid assisted her mistress into the bath tub and, unrequested but not refused, used the soap flannel vigorously. Edwina surrendered to the deft, capable hands of the busy maid, submitting her soft, pink nakedness to the soaped yellow sponge. Heather exchanged the sponge for a loofah. Edwina gasped aloud as it raked her shoulders and spine. Heather grew bolder with the loofah, using it at first in the cleavage between the wet, shining breasts and then angling it down to nuzzle the dark patch of pubic hair beneath the curdling soap suds. Edwina, grinding her buttocks into the dimpled rubber bath mat, shyly opened her thighs to receive the rasping length.
The snout of the loofah teased her labial fleshfolds as the eyes of the naked mistress met those of her attendant maid. Heather saw in Edwina the disappointment and the yearning. Reaching down, she caressed the bather’s naked thigh as she insinuated her hand to wrench up the plug.
‘Up,’ she ordered, her tone crisply polite.
Edwina rose up as instructed, the creamy suds anointing her breasts and belly.
‘I’ll rinse you then dry you.’
The ‘ma’am’ had been dropped. The maid was now in control of her mistress.
‘Turn around.’ The curt command brought a slight flush to Edwina’s cheeks. Her shining buttocks wobbled as she obeyed.
‘Close your eyes.’ Heather mounted a small foot stool and emptied the ewer of ice-cold water in a sluicing cascade over the nude.
Edwina gasped and squealed, hugging and squeezing her breasts protectively. The cold water raised her thick nipples up instantly.
‘Stop that silly noise.’ Spank. Heather slapped the wet bottom sharply. ‘Hurry up and get out.’
Edwina half turned towards the maid, her lips parted in wonder. Her left hand was at her spanked buttock, soothing the reddening cheek.
‘Leave that alone or there’ll be another,’ Heather snapped.
Edwina dropped her hands, exposing her bare bottom to the whim of the maid’s spanking hand – the maid who was now utterly in command of her mistress shivering before her.
Roughly towelled dry, during which operation her breasts suffered cruelly, Edwina trembled eagerly as she waited for the fine sprinkle of dusting powder to be applied. Heather guided the nude girl to the bed in the adjoining chamber and arranged her captive face-down upon the bedspread. Cupping her right hand, she sprinkled the rose-scented powder until her palm was pale. Applying the dusting powder gently at first, Heather’s touch became increasingly dominant as it swept down the dimpled spine and firmly caressed the proffered buttocks. Moaning into the pillow, Edwina inched her hips and thighs up so that her bare bottom could enjoy the delicious sensation of the sleek palm at her swollen curves. Spank. The sudden blow caused her heavy cheeks to wobble. Edwina hissed her pleasure – the necessary signal for the punishment to begin in earnest.
Heather mounted the bed, dimpling the bedspread as she knelt, using her left hand to pin her naked mistress down by the nape of the neck while her right hand cupped and squeezed the buttocks beneath its controlling touch. Edwina wriggled and squirmed in a token show of resistance, rubbing her nipples and pussy-lips into the rasp of the bedspread. Four harsh spanks rang out, the small, firm hand cracking down across the helpless cheeks. Edwina writhed in delicious pain, her sinuous jerking and sensuous wriggling immediately inflaming the hand into a furious, blistering staccato. The quickened hand caused the pink cheeks to redden as the crimson flush of pain spread across their delicious curves. Tiny red blotches betrayed the harsh imprint of the spanking hand’s fingertips along the outer buttock’s swell.
Squealing loudly, Edwina tried in vain to twist out of the maid’s pinioning grip.
‘Be still,’ Heather commanded. ‘I know when.’
Slumping down in submission, the mistress moaned as the maid ravished the bare buttocks with her spanking hand. Curving her hot palm, Heather shuffled her knees a fraction and stretched across to reach the outer cheek. Edwina writhed as the unblemished flesh burned pink then as uniformly crimson as its already punished twin. Satisfied, the maid addressed the soft sweep of the lower buttocks at the point where they melted into the swell of the upper thighs. Her angled hand swept up into the helpless flesh, causing her victim to scream.
‘Silence.’
Obediently, Edwina bit the pillow to muffle her moans. In a swift test of her sovereignty, Heather relaxed her grip, releasing the spanked nude from her thrall. Edwina remained prone and still, squeezing her reddened cheeks spasmodically. Whimpering softly, she gestured for the return of her punisher’s controlling hands. Smiling, the maid cupped and sharply squeezed both of the crimson buttocks then, lowering her face down into their inviting swell, licked and softly bit the chastised bottom.
Edwina’s fists pummelled the bedspread. She jerked her nakedness against its rough weave, rasping her pussy so that the juicy outer lips splayed wide and her tingling inner fleshfolds raked the fabric deliciously.
‘No. Stop that,’ Heather warned, tapping the naked bottom with an admonishing forefinger. ‘Not now. You must not be late for dinner. Tonight,’ she murmured, fingering Edwina’s sticky cleft lightly before scratching at the hot sphincter within, ‘I will come to you. And I will bring something special. Something special for your naughty, bare bottom.’
Dinner was dispiriting. Lady Alice’s fare was in itself quite acceptable – oyster soup, turbot, a baron of beef, a baked, spiced ham, Orkney cheese and fruits from the hothouse – but the company was dull and the conversation duller. The men dined separately. From time to time, gusts of coarse laughter bellowed from their secluded lair. Later, they would withdraw for cigars, brandy and ribaldry behind firmly closed doors. Lady Alice conducted her table with crisp propriety. Tomorrow, she informed her female guests, there would be a bracing walk to the kirk with religious texts and samplers to sew after lunch.
Edwina, her bottom still stinging after the severe spanking, squirmed and squashed her hot cheeks into the hard seat of her wooden chair. To her delight and shame, her belly tightened and her juices flowed freely as the baked, spiced ham was brought to the table. Its pinkness was just like that of a freshly chastised bottom; as the succulent meat surrendered to the carving knife, she felt her inner muscles spasm and implode.
Between the removal of the Orkney cheese and the arrival o
f the fruit, Lady Alice saw fit to complete her young guests’ social education, launching into an interminable disquisition on the etiquette of rough shooting. Edwina fiddled with her ivory-handled fruit fork. Would midnight never come?
‘It’s a tawse. For your backside. Like I promised.’
Edwina shrank a little from the brutal length of leather. Her sudden movement caused the candle flame to flicker.
‘Touch it,’ Heather urged, offering the supple tawse to the young lady in the bed.
Edwina stretched out a curious finger and traced it along the shining hide. Emboldened, she accepted it across the palm of her upturned hand. Feeling its weight, she shivered.
‘Smell it.’ The maid’s tone was curt. Only her eyes betrayed her fierce excitement.
Edwina obediently sniffed.
‘Taste.’
Her flickering tongue-tip darted forth, retreating instantly from the haunting tang.
‘Face down. I’ll take the pillows,’ Heather grunted softly as she gathered them up, ‘and put them here.’
Edwina, turning over in the bed, felt the pillows between her naked hips and the cool linen sheet beneath. She nestled her pussy into their softness.
‘Makes your bum nice and big and round,’ the maid remarked, dragging the top sheet and blanket down to the end of the narrow bed. ‘Hands up to the bedstead.’
Edwina’s fingers blindly sought and found the brass-work at once. She gripped the dull metal tightly.