by AnonYMous
With a groan he was entered.
“Slowly—slowly,” Katherine breathed. An eagle perched, she gazed upon the conquest—the curl-fringed lips that rolled in succulence, parting to the charger's crest. Arabella's thighs quivered in their grip. Hands scooped her bottom, the strength of him lifting her.
Inklings of surrender I sensed even as the veined shaft sank within. Inklings. It is a pretty word. Small notes of sound spattered with ink. The acquiescence of her bottom stirred me. It shifted little on his cupping palms once she was shafted to the full.
My instincts were shared, it seemed. Of a sudden, Katherine dismounted from the nubile beauty who held the cock full-clenched within her now. Puffed of cheeks that were sheened with moisture, Arabella stirred but faintly. His belly pressed upon hers. Their pubic hairs mingled. I could feel his throbbing as within myself—the gently ticking impulse of desire.
Arabella succumbed. Elegant in their fullness, her stockinged legs slid down from his loosing grasp. The heels of her boots stirred upon the velvet of the couch. Her legs trembled and straightened. Her large breasts, tumbled out of her opened dress, gave her a perfect aspect of voluptuousness.
His breeches slid farther down. He whispered, as I thought, something in her ear. Her face was deeply flushed. Her lips moved. Her hands clasped timourously at his shirt.
“Your tongue,” he husked, “your tongue now, Arabella.”
Her breath scooped in audibly as if drawn by some inward suction in her throat.
“You must not come! Oh! You must not come!”
The couch jolted, stirred. The pleasure train of pleasure had begun.
Her tongue protruded, thrust within his mouth. Their mouths gobbled. Glistening, his shaft emerged—sank in again. Rocking, creaking. His pace quickened. Her knees bent as if shyly at first. Her calves lifted, uncertain in their seeking. In a moment, his cock pounding her with virile force, they were knotted about his loins. A squelching. Their tongues worked. Moaning they squirmed their loins.
The maid who lay at my feet stirred. She had not the vision of them in her eyes. Awkwardly she struggled to her knees.
Katherine, whose absorption in the lustful scene was as my own, even so swung her head around.
“No!” she snapped. “Stand by the door—your back to us.”
The girl obeyed. Out of the corners of her eyes as she passed the couch she watched the threshings of desire. He was long at his task—longer than I had deemed he could hold in his excitement. Then at last his rattling cry—a swift tightening of Arabella's legs. Her breasts were at pillage. He sucked upon them greedily in his coming, his outspurting. Judders, quivers, a last tight clenching of her cuntlips. Then was stillness.
Arabella's head lay back, her eyes and mouth open. Her legs slackened, fell. Her entire body seemed to quiver at the withdrawal of his cock which left a snail's trail of sperm down her thigh. Her face held a look of vacant surprise. Made to rise at last, her dress caught up, she leaned against him foolishly.
“Tonight again,” he said. He patted her bottom. Her eyes would not look at my eyes. Turning away she patted haplessly at her hair and then covered herself. I knew her wetness.
“In your silences shall you be saved, Beatrice,” Katherine murmured to me. There was approval in her look. Releasing me, she fussed about my tidiness like a nurse.
The maid, ignored, was left to her own devices. Sedately we descended, walking quietly as people entering a theatre after the curtain has risen. In the drawing room the lady we had encountered above sat drinking wine. A maid entered and filled the glasses that awaited us on a sideboard.
“Arabella—you dropped your crochet on the floor,” the lady said. Her tone was reproachful. Rupert had not followed us into the room, I noticed. His orgasm must have been excessive on their first such bout.
“I am sorry,” Arabella replied in a muted voice. She picked it up from where it lay and took it upon her lap again. There was a flush on her cheeks but otherwise she appeared composed again.
We sat drinking our wine and spoke of mundane things.
FOURTEEN
“AH!, how she was fucked!” Katherine said as we entered the hansom again.
I had never heard such coarseness. I stared at her. Her eyes had a light in them I had not seen before.
“Should not he have fucked her—spilled his semen within her richness? When he buggered her, over the table—ah, how we had to hold her—his cock disappearing within her cleft. Come, kiss me, Beatrice!”
Her arm enfolded my shoulders. Our lips met in a haze of sweetness. Deep her long tongue delved within my mouth. The jolting of the carriage added to the excitement of our embrace. I felt her hand pass up beneath my skirt. I parted my thighs to her seeking. Her thumb brushed the lips of my slit. I choked my little gasps within her mouth.
“Seven years—seven years it has taken him to bring her to that—yet she obeys us now. He will fuck her again tonight. How timid she will be at first, how flushed! His tongue will lick at her nipples, stir her being. Her thighs will move awkwardly, seeking to be opened and yet not. Their tongues will meet. Falteringly her hand will find his cock. She adores bottom fucking now, though he has had her that way but thrice, each time held down. She will come to the strap and birch more easily now, knowing her reward—the slug of flesh within her bottom gripped. Do you hear me, Beatrice?”
I could not hear. I knew not her wording. My slit creamed, bubbled, spurting. Sliding from the carriage seat, I all but fell on the floor. My dignity, my being, lay scattered about me like dying petals. I clasped her, in my falling clasped.
“I love you,” I said.
Katherine laughed and pushed me roughly into the corner. Her fingers glistened. Would she lick them?
“Did you not like my litany?” she asked.
I nodded. The words had been thrown at me out of a box. I had caught them yet I needs must arrange them. A sullenness crossed my features. I wanted to cry. I sought greater fulfilment. Cock. He had lain upon her and given her his cock. I hated the crudities. I shuttered them off in my mind. They tapped at the shutters. I ignored them.
Katherine's eyes were mocking. “You did not like it?” she asked.
Was I under test? I shook my head. “I do not know,” I said.
Katherine laughed. “You fool. There are clues. You have not found them yet, Beatrice. Be silent now. Await the teaching.”
Dinner that evening was formal. Caroline sat quiet, attentive. She had been a good girl, my aunt said. Amanda, it seemed, was caged upstairs, her meal taken to her. I wore black, the wool clinging as tightly as ever. There was a new serving maid, a woman of about thirty, comely and plump. The dull black dress and white apron suited her. During the whole meal she was not required to say a word. I wondered if she had eaten and drunk before us. Such things engage my mind sometimes. It is a kindness. Father told me once that it was my old-fashioned way.
We took coffee in the lounge, then turned to liqueurs. There was a festive air. I could feel it. We lounged at our ease. The shackles were cast. Caroline laughed occasionally with Uncle. We were tamed.
When the maid brought in the Cointreau, Katherine took her wrist.
“Drink with us,” she said.
“M'am?” The maid's cheeks coloured.
“Drink with us—sit with us—here at my feet—take a glass.” Katherine's words were pellets. They stung against my skin. The woman skimmed a nervous look around where we sat in a circle.
“Look, I will hold your glass while you sit,” Aunt Maude told her.
The maid obeyed at last, discomforted in her sitting on the floor. Her legs coiled under her. I liked the shape of her calves. Her ankles were slender. Slender ankles and plump thighs often betoken sensuousness to some degree.
“Lean back and be comfortable,” Aunt Maude said. She dropped a cushion onto the carpet for the maid to lean upon. She looked like a houri—an odalisque. Uncle was whispering to Caroline. What were they saying?
“Attract
ive women often sit on the floor,” Katherine remarked. The maid looked at her and did not know whether to smile or not. Katherine's smile was a cat's smile. With a flip of her toes she kicked off one of the gold Turkish slippers she was wearing and, to the woman's startlement, laid her toes on her thigh. Her toes curled.
“It is nice,” Katherine said. Her foot moved upwards along the maid's hip and felt its curving. “Drink your drink,” she said sharply. The woman obeyed. My aunt eased a shoe off in turn. Sitting obliquely behind the maid she lifted her leg, eased her stockinged foot beneath the woman's chin and lifted it.
“Lie down—down!” my aunt said.
The maid's arm made a querulous seeking gesture, but she obeyed. The cushion squeezed itself from under her. Katherine circled her leg and moved the sole of her foot lightly over the woman's prominent breasts. She started and would have sat up if Aunt Maude's foot had not then moved with a twist of ankle to the front of her neck.
The maid's eyes bulged.
“M'am—I don't want to,” she whined.
“Oh, be quiet!” Katherine said impatiently. Her foot slid back down. Her toes hooked in the hem of the maid's skirt and drew it up above her stocking tops. Plump thighs gleamed. The simple garters she wore bit tightly into her flesh.
“No, please, M'am.”
Neither listened. Aunt Maude's toes were caressing her neck and up behind her ear. Katherine's toes delved upwards beneath the hang of the upflipped skirt. The woman's hands scrabbled on the carpet. My aunt's toes soothed over her mouth. A choking little cry and the maid's back arched. The delicate searching movements of Katherine's toes up between her thighs made the black material ripple. The maid's cheeks were pink. Her lips parted beneath the sole of my aunt's foot which rubbed suavely, skimming her mouth. Katherine's toes projected up into the skirt. Her heel was rubbing now.
The maid moaned and closed her eyes. Beside me, Caroline puffed out her breath. The maid's eyes closed. Her bottom worked slightly. She drew up one knee. My uncle's eyes were strangely incurious. Aunt Maude slipped down on to her knees beside the maid and began unbuttoning the front of her dress. The ripe gourds of her breasts came into view. Her nipples were stark and thick in their conical rising.
Katherine slid down onto her knees in turn. Her hands swept the skirt of the maid's dress up to her waist. A bulge of pubic hairs sprouted thickly. The maid covered her face and made little cries.
“Open your legs properly!” Katherine told her sharply. Still with her eyes covered the maid began to edge her ankles apart. It would be her first such pleasuring, perhaps, though female servants who shared bedrooms frequently fingered one another.
Uncle loomed up before me. He smiled, drew my hand towards him.
“We shall go upstairs,” he said. I was bereft. Caroline would see. I would not see. We entered the hall and ascended. I did not want to go in the cage. But the room was empty and the cages were empty. “Go to the bar—raise your dress,” my uncle said.
I wanted to see what would happen to the maid. Would she be ripe in her desiring? I did not want Katherine to kiss her. But I obeyed. A bulbous symphony in black and white. I gripped the lower bar, my bottom bared to him. He knew me in his seeing now. The door reopened but I did not look. Footsteps quiet. Tapering fingers, coated with warm oil, massaged the groove of my pumpkin. At my rose, my O, the finger lingered, soothing. High heels clicked again and our visitor was gone.
Strained in my posture I kept my thighs, my heels together. The purse of my love-longing peeped its figlike shape beneath my cheeks. I waited.
At the first crack of the leather I cried out my small cry, my head hung. The stinging of the strap assailed me three, four, five, six times. I clenched my nether cheeks, their plumpness hot. Tears oozed.
The quiver-cry that burst next from me was at the first biting of three dozen thongs. My whip had come—it lived—it sang. I hated, loved it.
“Uncle, don't!”
My little wail, the dying cry. I choked in my choking sobs. The tips of the thongs sought me, burnished the blossoming of my cheeks and sought the crevices. Rain of fire, down-showering of sparks. My hips squirmed, my heels squeaked on the floor. Master of my arching beauty now, he stung me deeper till my sobs came louder. My shoulders lifted, fell. My hands slipped on the bar and gripped anew.
At the dropping of the whip at last—betraying clatter on the floor—I made to rise. My hand reached back and sought my upcast dress.
“No, Beatrice, stay!”
“No more!”
My bottom scorched, my wail beseeched. Hands at my hips. They gripped like steel.
“Down, Beatrice, down!”
The cheeks of my bottom held, parted, spread. My rose exposed. “No-ooooh!” The last cry of my frailty fluttered, fell. I felt the flare of body heat, his cock. The knob-cock of him, oozing in. Breath whistling from my throat, I made to rise. “Down, Beatrice—down, girl, down!”
I blubbered, squirmed. I wanted, did not want. The rubbery ring of my anus yielded to invasion—the swollen plum, indriving of his prick. Quarter inch by quarter inch the veined shaft entered. My mouth gaped. The thick peg throbbed, its urging urged within. Then with a groan he sheathed it to the full, my brazen cheeks a butterball of heat to his belly.
Within me now it stirred, pulsed, throbbed. His balls nestled under my slit. Then he withdrew—the slow unsheathing I both feared and sought. A faint uncorking sound. Freed to the air his knob thrummed at my cheeks.
“Go to your room,” my uncle said.
I did not look. I feared to look. I had received. I rose, legs shaking, scuffling down my dress. My bottom sucked in air and closed. Finding the door I ran down to my room.
No one came.
In my sobbing I fell asleep clothed, squeezing my bottom cheeks until oblivion came.
FIFTEEN
THE days of strangeness closed in upon us further. We were stripped and taken to the cages “to meditate,” my aunt said. In my aloneness she asked me my dreams. I knelt while I told her, my face bowed. During my speaking she would allow me to raise her skirt and kiss her thighs. In such moments I was truly her slave. I buried my lips against the smooth skin above her stocking tops and licked.
“You are naturally wicked by, nature,” she said to me once when I had recounted a particularly vivid dream.
Maria—the maid with whom she and Katherine had toyed—stayed on. On the morning after her pleasuring she became more acquiescent and submissive to commands. Her skirts were hemmed excessively short. Whenever my uncle looked at her thighs she blushed.
One afternoon we had what my aunt called “an amusement.” At lunch Maria had been complimented upon her serving of the wine and food. She looked foolishly pleased. On our retirement to the drawing room I was intrigued to see a large camera of mahogany and brass standing upon a stout tripod. Its lens faced inwards from the windows, no doubt to gather light. Before it was placed a simple wooden chair. Other furniture had been pressed back against the walls.
Upon Maria's bringing-in of the liqueurs, my aunt said to her, “Maria, we shall take your portrait today—your likeness. Will that not please you?”
Maria smiled and curtsied. “As it please you, M'am,” she replied. As I learned afterwards, my uncle had rooted her with his cock the evening before, over the dining room table. She had not struggled unduly, it seemed. Katherine enlivened us by playing on the piano. It was an old melody, sad and wistful. Jenny—who had not lunched with us, having been attending to Amanda upstairs—-came and joined us.
“Bring the manservant,” Katherine told her.
Jenny disappeared and reappeared. There was a clattering from the distant kitchen while Maria tidied up. Once again Frederick was naked, led by his collar and chain. A blue bow was tied about the root of his penis which hung limp. Jenny led him to the chair and turned him to stand beside it, facing the camera.
Aunt Maude wiped her lips with a lace hanky and went out. A sound of scuffling came—a slap—then a silence. In
a minute or two my aunt entered with Maria who wore now open-net stockings, knee boots, a tiny black corset which left her breasts and navel uncovered, and a large feathered hat such as one might see at Ascot. Her face was well adorned with powder and rouge. Her eyes were heavy-lidded.
At the sight of Frederick she started back. A loud smack on her naked bottom quickly corrected her.
“Go and sit in the chair—act as a lady—this is a formal portrait,” my aunt told her. My uncle sat with his arms crossed. The wobbling of Marie's large bottom cheeks as she obeyed absorbed him. Her bush was dark—thick and luxuriant. Hot-cheeked she sat and faced us.
“Cross your legs, Maria—how dare you show yourself!” my aunt snapped at her.
Katherine lit a cigarette. The smoke coiled about us like incense.
Aunt Maude moved to the camera and bent behind it, casting a large black velvet cloth over her head and shoulders, as over the back of the camera itself. Her hand sought forward and focussed the big brass lens. Marie's eyes had a sullen look. Aunt Maude took one slide of the pair, cautioning them to be still for a full minute. Then my uncle rose and assisted her in changing the glass plates.
“Raise your right hand, Maria, and let his prick lie on your palm!” Katherine said.
There was hesitation. Imperceptibly Frederick's prick stirred and thickened as it lay on Marie's warm, moist hand. Maria would have bitten her lip in dismay if my aunt had not told her sharply to keep her expression fixed in a smile.
With small variations Aunt Maude continued photographing. The light was excellent, she observed. By the fourth attempt Frederick's prick stemmed fully upright, the flesh swelling around and above the neat blue bow. Maria was forced to hold it now. Her face had a dull, vapid took.
“It is done,” Aunt Maude said at last. She collected the heavy glass plates together. They would be framed in gilt, she said.
“I will take them now,” Katherine said. Walking across to Frederick whose penis had not lost its fine erection, she took hold of his chain. “Get up,” she said quietly to Maria. She smiled across at me. Did she know I wanted her?