by Неизвестный
Crack. The broad belt whistled down, searing the proffered cheeks viciously. The punished nude squealed and clenched her whipped cheeks in a reflex of sudden agony. A second, then a third sharp crack followed, the swift strokes lashing down harshly across the naked bottom. At the brasswork, the gripping fingers splayed in an ecstasy of anguish. The punisher’s grunts of exertion were drowned by the punished nude’s choking sobs of joy.
‘Silence,’ Heather warned, raising the tawse once more above the quivering buttocks. ‘Especially when you reach your satisfaction.’
Whimpering softly, Edwina tightened her grip on the brass bedstead and buried her face in the mattress.
The maid teased the hot buttocks of her mistress with the tip of the dangling tawse. Edwina jerked her whipped cheeks up and tried to capture it in her cleft. Heather grinned, snapped the leather aloft then swiftly cracked it down. The broad belt lashed the buttock’s rounded swell, briefly flattening the double crimson domes. Edwina shuddered in response.
She’ll be loud, this one, when she boils over. She’s simmering nicely now, Heather thought as she fingered the tawse. Simmering nicely. Another three’ll bring her to the seethe.
Crack. The leather barked. The nude jerked and squealed, her reddening cheeks wobbling deliciously.
Two more, Heather mused, and this little rabbit will be done to a turn. Flayed, skinned and all in a bubbling stew. Better let her bite the leather to silence her shrieking.
Eyes closed, her sphincter opening into a puckering crater, Edwina crushed her wet pussy into the pillows. The maid delayed the strokes. The mistress began to beg.
Strachayle Castle woke to a sharp frost. Lady Alice chivvied her guests to the kirk and back along the glittering lanes. After lunch in the draughty dining room, the women heard the men departing for more rough shooting. The Godolphin girls declined the invitation to sew samplers and retired to their respective rooms.
Edwina, claiming a headache, locked her door. She assured Lady Alice that all she required was a little rest. Listening to the retreating footsteps of her hostess, she started to loosen her bustle. Before the full-length looking glass, she raised her crinoline and petticoat and tucked them up at her waist. Slowly peeling down her camiknickers, she thrust her bottom pertly towards the glass. Over her shoulder, she glimpsed the angry weals. The red stripes where the tawse had kissed her so savagely were still vividly imprinted across her rounded cheeks. Staggering across to the bed – hampered by her partial state of undress – she buried her face into the pillow which had captured the soak of her wet heat the night before. Moaning softly as her fingers scrabbled at her pussy, she sniffed the white pillow case, then kissed it devotedly.
Fuelled by the delicious memory of the tawse across her upturned cheeks, Edwina arrowed her arms down to the base of her belly. Just as Heather the maid had shown her, she nipped her little pink love-thorn between her thumb-tips. Moments later, Edwina bit the pillow, tearing it open with her clenched white teeth.
‘Lady Alice wondered if there was anything you required, ma’am.’
Charlotte, bored and discontented, did not even bother to turn her gaze away from the window. Ignoring the maid, she shook her head.
‘Sure, ma’am?’
‘Nothing,’ Charlotte snapped.
Heather hesitated, reluctant to depart.
‘One moment, girl.’
‘Ma’am?’
‘Have all the men gone to the shoot?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Lady Alice insists that all the guns go out.’
‘Even young Hugh Lambton?’
‘The poet, ma’am? Most reluctant, he was, but Lady Alice was firm.’
Charlotte received and accepted the disappointment in silence, but the maid, perceptive and shrewd, suddenly understood. What else would a stern young beauty like Miss Charlotte want with a poor stick like that long-haired poet Hugh Lambton if not for an afternoon of games – games in which the rules were strict and the penalties severe?
Heather was anxious that Lady Alice did not discover this green-eyed young vixen entertaining her young poet after dark. Somehow, she would have to amuse the cruel blonde here and now.
‘Nothing I can do, ma’am? I’m here to serve.’
To serve. Charlotte whispered the words softly. ‘Tidy up my dressing table,’ she commanded.
Heather busied herself at the task, her mind less than half on her duties. Her knuckles swept a glass bottle on to its side. The room was instantly heavy with spilled perfume.
‘Be careful,’ Charlotte rasped, springing up and rushing to the dressing table. ‘Just look what you’ve done. I’ve a good mind –’
‘To punish me, ma’am?’
Silence, as suffocating as the sudden scent, filled the air. Heather bowed her head down and drew her hands together at her apron like a penitent schoolgirl before an angry Dame. Charlotte drew her left hand up to the pearl choker at her throat. Impossible possibilities flashed behind her green eyes. Could she punish this pert little minx? Bare her bottom and spank her hard? The desire to do so fluttered in her tightened throat.
‘Just be careful,’ she snapped, turning on her heel. ‘Get my green gown out for dinner this evening. You can help me dress.’
In the silence of the late afternoon, with two lamps lit against the gathering gloom, the obedient maid knelt and slowly removed the last vestiges of silk and satin. Charlotte, her fluffy blonde bush sparkling in the lamplight, stood naked above her kneeling maid, naked and imperious, with her head tossed back and her hands planted firmly upon her hips.
Heather gazed up, seeking permission from the hard, green eyes. The nude inclined her head and stared dominantly down at the servant shivering at her feet.
‘The perfume you spilt –’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, please –’
‘Be quiet. I am thinking of a fitting punishment.’
Heather closed her eyes and bowed her head. It was brought up instantly by Charlotte’s taloning hand. Heather’s face was drawn closer to the gleaming pubic mound.
‘Kiss me,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘Kiss me for not whipping you as I should.’
The maid’s eager little tongue licked at the curved inner thighs, rapidly working its way towards the golden pubic fern. With a soft crackle and a wet rustle, the tongue lapped the length of the pouting labial fleshfolds, then probed their salty interior. Charlotte snarled her pleasure and, gripping the maid’s hair with both fists, forced the upturned face into her aching heat. Heather whimpered, her protest smothered by the hot pussy filling her mouth, but submitted to the desires of her mistress.
‘Kiss,’ Charlotte commanded. ‘Do not lick or suck.’
Cradling the maid’s head against her flesh, Charlotte spread her legs wide, ready to accept the sweet kisses. Heather defied the stern instructions, and sucked and bit the slippery fleshfolds with savage tenderness. Moments later, Charlotte buckled and collapsed, screaming softly as she rode the upturned face between her quivering thighs.
As she staggered forwards and stumbled, Charlotte forced Heather down on to the carpet beneath her. Her hips jerking now in the sweet frenzy of her gathering climax, the naked mistress straddled then squatted on the maid’s face. Wriggling and burning her bottom on the carpet, Heather twisted her face to avoid the hot juices. The movement ravished the nude above. In her ecstasy, Charlotte squeezed her thighs, punishing the face below. In a spirited rebellion, Heather poked her short, thick tongue up in defiance, piercing the bitter sphincter. Choking on her lust, Charlotte savoured the ultimate submission and rose like a rocketing game bird into an explosion of delight.
* * *
‘Impudence. Such wicked impudence. How dare you use me so? I’ll show you who is the mistress –’
‘Oh, no, ma’am, please don’t –’
So far, both had played their parts to perfection: the outraged young aristocrat and the snivelling maid. But there was a touch of raw severity in Charlotte’s tone, and a trace of real fear in Heather
’s pleading.
‘How dare you put your tongue there?’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, please don’t –’
‘Silence. You must be taught a lesson, girl. A very painful lesson.’
Across the bed, her bottom bared – it had been soundly spanked – and her hands tied tightly together, the maid shivered beneath the menace of her mistress above.
‘Keep absolutely still or I’ll use the slipper on you.’
Heather whimpered. The wooden finger, smooth, straight and polished, approached her bottom an inch at a time. It grazed the curve of her left buttock. Heather spasmed, flinching as the finger briefly dimpled the soft swell.
‘Be still.’ Charlotte steadied the pearwood glove-stretcher then guided it directly into the shadowed cleft. Heather swayed her hips and, moaning softly, wriggled evasively.
‘If you struggle you will suffer.’
‘No, ma’am, don’t. I didn’t mean to –’
‘I told you to kiss me, not feed upon my flesh as if it were a breast of boiled fowl.’
‘But I thought –’
‘Thought?’ Charlotte echoed sardonically. ‘Don’t trouble your pretty little head with thoughts, girl. Just listen and obey.’
Heather squealed as the smooth finger nuzzled her wet anus. Her bound hands writhed helplessly as the glove-stretcher slid in between the soft mounds of her spanked cheeks.
Relishing her absolute dominance, Charlotte pinched her nipples and let her fingertips fall down to her prickling pussy. Stepping back from the bed, she grasped Heather’s small, naked foot and brought the soft instep up against the wet flesh between her thighs. The maid cried out in shame and outrage at this usage, sensing where her tiny foot had been placed and hating the notion. Staring down at the tightened cheeks clenching the wooden finger between them, Charlotte ground the soft instep into her pussy, and came loudly. On the bed, helpless and humiliated, Heather sobbed.
Thrilling to the maid’s sorrow-sobs – and the writhing bare bottom – Charlotte picked up the second glove-stretcher. Leaving the ivory kid leather glove impaled on the wooden finger, she knelt once more upon the bed and rested the tip in the hollow of the maid’s knee.
‘No –’ begged the sobbing maid. ‘Please. Not there –’
‘The greatest impudence of all,’ Charlotte purred, her green eyes dilated then sharply narrowed with lust, ‘was your attempt to humour me. Don’t deny it, girl. You dared to come to me and indulge my little whims.’
‘I only meant –’
‘You know what happens to a clever little maid who gets too big for her boots? Hm?’ On her bed, Heather sobbed brokenly. ‘She’s brought to heel, girl. Brought to heel.’ The little wet foot, sticky with Charlotte’s wet heat, curled up in a reflex of fear.
Charlotte stroked the stretched finger of the glove down along the naked leg. At the wet ankle, she tapped the straightened finger upon the shining flesh. ‘Brought to heel.’
‘Please, ma’am, I’ve learned my lesson –’
‘Not quite, girl,’ Charlotte whispered, inching the tip of the erect finger up the leg towards the maid’s wet pussy.
A week after the guests had departed from the rough shoot, Lady Alice sat at her desk in the estate office. The accounts books and green ledgers lay closed and set aside. She had more pressing business to attend to. Her right hand fiddled with a length of bamboo cane. It rattled on the polished surface of the desk.
‘A very gushing letter from Lady Edwina, with no less than five pounds sterling enclosed. A similar note from her sister, with a curious gift. A tiny pair of gloves fashioned in beaten gold. Explain this largesse to me, girl, if you will.’
Standing before the desk, Heather blushed but sought refuge in silence.
‘Speak up, girl, or my cane will soon quicken your tongue.’
‘I can’t say, ma’am, I’m sure.’
‘Cannot, or dare not? Don’t be pert with me, girl.’
Heather remained silent.
‘I can only conclude that you conspired with the wretched girls and procured for them forbidden assignations. What Lady Godolphin will say upon the matter of her daughters’ violation, I shudder to think. I’ll need the names of the men, of course.’
‘But it isn’t so, ma’am.’
‘These letters and generous gifts tell me otherwise. Across that chair. Bare-bottomed.’
‘But ma’am –’
‘This instant.’ Lady Alice rose from behind her desk, cane in hand. Striding across to the chair, she tap-tapped the seat impatiently with the tip of her quivering bamboo. ‘I am going to whip you until you confess all.’
Across the chair, her bare buttocks trembling beneath the hovering cane, the maid softly cursed her own willingness to serve.
GISELLE
Jean Aveline
Jean Aveline has written three novels for Nexus; in our opinion some of the finest SM novels written to date. The first two – Sisters of Severcy and Exposing Louisa, are original, highly arousing and strikingly well written. Her third, Giselle, continues that tradition. In this extract, Giselle is taken to the island for her sexual initiation.
As soon as Giselle was inside the old Land Rover, Thierry slipped his hand inside her shirt. She was in the back this time – another girl sat next to Xavier. Giscard watched from the corner of his eye as Giselle let Thierry explore her breasts. Any thought of protest was snuffed out by Xavier’s eyes in the driver’s mirror. It felt as if Thierry was the agent of his desires and, before they had travelled a kilometre, she was wet beneath her skirt.
The girl in the front seat turned to watch as they entered the pine woods. Her jet-black eyes sparkled.
‘I’m Joan,’ she said, holding out her hand. Giselle shook it self-consciously. The girl laughed when Thierry refused to let go of Giselle’s breasts.
‘Are you his?’ she asked.
‘No,’ replied Giselle quickly. The word was half strangled as Thierry ran his fingers in quick circles around her nipples.
‘He likes you, though,’ said the girl with a giggle, watching the hand beneath the shirt. With that, she turned in her seat again and whispered something in Xavier’s ear.
‘What is she saying?’ demanded Thierry.
‘She thinks that Giselle can’t be a virgin. She gets turned on too easily.’
Giselle blushed, partly because they must have been talking about her earlier, and partly because it embarrassed her how quickly Thierry – a boy that she hardly knew – could arouse her so. She glanced guiltily at Giscard. He shook his head in disapproval, but smiled.
‘Kiss me,’ she said, wanting still to be his.
He leaned across and she closed her eyes as his lips opened and pressed about hers.
When she opened her eyes, the Land Rover was slowing as it slid down the white beach to the lake. There was already a car parked on the sloping sand and the boat was half-full of people. Thierry undid the buttons of the shirt completely as Xavier parked. Her breasts were free as Thierry pulled her out of the door and led her down to the water’s edge. Billy and Paige waved from the boat. There were two other boys, boys that Giselle had never seen before. They looked at her with unconcealed interest.
Xavier and Giscard hauled some provisions out of the car in large cardboard boxes and carried them to the boat. It sank lower and lower as boxes and people filled it.
‘We’ll have to throw you out if we start to sink,’ Jean told her.
The others thought that he was joking but Giselle wasn’t so sure.
As soon as they reached the island, Paige slipped off her clothes. The boys whistled and she waved her naked behind at them. Giselle envied her naturalness. She left her shirt undone but didn’t have the courage to remove the little skirt of shiny silk. A boy would have to do that – if any boy wanted to when Paige was so beautiful and so easy.
They spent the afternoon swimming and sunbathing. Giscard fished from the rocks at the edge of the bay and caught a carp. He refused to gut it and
Jean was forced to, calling him a baby and throwing the intestines at him once it had been done.
Giselle helped Paige to prepare a barbecue. Fires were lit as the sun began to sink.
Night was the great transformer; night and fire. Thierry took Joan into the shadows and they heard her groaning. They heard his grunts as he came. Giselle was handing out plates of charcoal-grilled chicken when the girl came back on her own, naked but carrying her clothes. Giselle saw the languor in the girl’s tread and the brightness of her eyes.
Xavier had spent the afternoon reading, talking to no one. Now he was drinking from a bottle of cheap wine with Paige on his lap. He took the food from Giselle without even looking at her. It stung. She wanted to be noticed.
It was only later, after they had all eaten, that he called for her. Paige smiled from his lap as Giselle came to stand in front of them.
‘So, what do we have to enjoy from Giselle tonight?’ he asked.
Giscard looked up as if the question had been directed at him, but Xavier’s eyes were locked into Giselle’s. She shrugged self-consciously. Thierry appeared behind her, entering the light of the fire for the first time since he had taken Joan into the shadows. She caught the scent of girl mucus as his hand slipped inside her open shirt. His fingers twisted one of her nipples sharply and she jumped, but didn’t struggle. The feeling was too good to escape, the sharpness like cold water on a hot night.
‘Let’s see her,’ said Joan from her place by the fire.
Thierry slipped the shirt from Giselle’s shoulders. He licked the side of her neck obscenely, and she giggled. Now all that she wore was the short silk skirt – hardly a scrap about her waist. If Thierry had undone the little zip at the side it would have fallen to her feet.
‘Still a virgin?’ Xavier asked.
She nodded. Joan laughed, but Xavier silenced her with a quick glance.
‘Don’t you want Giscard?’
She couldn’t reply. She couldn’t say, ‘It’s you that I want,’ not with so many eyes on her. Perhaps he would read it in her face. She wanted him to see her desire. She wished that Thierry would undo the little zip and let the dress fall. It would make her seem less childish. It would make Xavier want her more.