by Robin Bond
At last she stopped. She put her hand between her legs again. She was wetter than ever, her cunt drooling, some of it even trickling down the inside of her thigh. On an impulse she crossed to the kitchen table, placing herself at one corner. Gingerly she pushed up against it, feeling the hard edge of the wood press into her. She started moving backwards and forwards, each time nudging her cunt against the wood, until she was banging herself cruelly, the corner of the table digging into her mercilessly, finding her clit (which she scarcely knew existed) and making it ache. The more she hurt herself the wetter she got, and the more pain she thought she deserved. Then, quite unexpectedly, her body began to quiver and shake. Her breath was taken away by the shudder which shook her and the intense sensation between her legs, a sensation of pleasure that was too much, much too much. Gradually it subsided.
Clara didn’t know such things could happen. She sat down on a chair, getting her breath back. Was this normal? Did other girls have this experience? Why had no one told her? She felt unclean now, in her body and in her mind. She went and took a shower, washing off all that wetness between her legs. She put on a clean pair of white cotton knickers, had a quick cup of tea, then went to the library, her mind still in a whirl.
It was still in a whirl when she went to bed. Her cunt was sore and she put her hand there to soothe it, but that made it tingle, and before she knew what was happening she was rubbing herself. That thing happened again, the shuddering, the almost unbearable pleasure; surely anything as good as this must be wicked, she thought, She really needed to be punished again. But she was too tired. Tomorrow, perhaps.
Miss Flora came looking for her again the next day. She introduced her to two nice girls, who asked her friendly questions about herself, about where she came from and about her family. Then one of them asked her if she had a boyfriend. Clara saw her glance at Miss Flora as she did so. Had she been told to ask such a question? Clara blushed and replied that she did not.
“Have you ever had one?” another girl asked.
Clara shook her head.
“Well, nor have I,” said the first girl.
“You’ve made up for it with girls, though,” said the second girl, and they both giggled. Clara looked at Miss Flora. She didn’t like to talk about boys. They were rough and noisy and hairy and she couldn’t bring herself to think about that thing they had between their legs. How could any girl want that inside her?
They were all having lunch and afterwards Miss Flora took Clare back to her room. Clara was wearing shorts this time, which showed off her long legs. Images came into Flora’s mind of Clara with her shorts around her ankles, or off altogether, her legs splayed. Flora was sure she would have an untended little bush, a knot of blonde hair, even a thick one.
Clara had been very quiet, as if she was hiding something. Flora asked if anything was troubling her. Clara had an irresistible urge to unburden herself.
“Is it bad to like girls, Miss Flora? Is it wrong to let them touch me? Or touch them? I don’t remember the bible says anything about that.”
Flora was amused, but refrained from showing it. “Some girls like boys, and some girls prefer other girls. They are more civilised. And their bodies are more graceful, softer, smoother.”
“Is that what you prefer, Miss Flora?”
“Yes, Clara, that is what I prefer,” Flora answered.
“I’m very conflicted, Miss Flora. I feel it’s wrong to like girls, and yet I’m starting to think I have these feelings too. What should I do?”
“Let me ask you, Clara, have you ever done anything with a girl or a boy? You know what I mean.”
“No, Miss Flora,” Clara said. “I’m afraid I am very backward. What should I do?” she said again.
Flora thought it time to take the plunge. “You can’t know if you really like girls, in that way I mean, unless you have tried it. If after that you don’t feel girls are right for you after all, then perhaps you could try a boy.”
Clara turned up her nose. “I don’t think I could do that,” she said firmly. “If I find I don’t like girls, I think I will give up that side of life altogether.”
That would be a waste of such a pretty little thing, Flora thought. Now was the time for action. “Come here, Clara,” Flora said. Clara approached warily. Flora put out a hand and stroked her cheek. “You are a very pretty girl,” she said. “Let me show you what pleasures there are to be found in the arms of another woman.” She put her arm around Clara’s neck and gently pulled her closer, then she planted her lips on Clara’s mouth, not hard but firmly. She moved her lips slightly, so that Clara could feel the life and energy in them. Flora was glad to be answered by a movement of Clara’s lips too. Flora opened her mouth just wide enough for her tongue to sneak out. It slid into Clara’s mouth. For a moment she resisted, trying to pull away, but Flora held her firmly and soon Clara relaxed and let Flora’s tongue explore her. After a while she even began to reciprocate, sucking on Flora’s tongue, sticking her own tongue into Flora’s mouth. It was nice, this kissing. Why hadn’t anyone told her?
Flora pulled her head back slightly, then moved her mouth around to Clara’s ear. She licked it, then tried to slide the tip of her tongue inside. Clara moaned. This was too much. Something was happening down below, and she wanted to be touched there, she didn’t care if it was wicked or not.
“Come with me,” Flora whispered in Clara’s ear. The girl let herself be led towards the bed and put into a sitting position. Flora sat beside her. She resumed kissing, a little rougher now, forcing her tongue into Clara’s mouth as far as it would go. She moved a hand up to Clara’s chest and felt the girl stiffen. Clara was wearing the shirt that Flora had given her, and Flora began to undo the buttons. This time Clara was wearing a bra, the sort a schoolgirl might wear, in white cotton. Flora slipped a finger inside it and found a nipple. She put her finger on the end of it and moved it round and round. Soon the nipple was hard, then harder still. Clara’s breath was coming more quickly now. Flora knew the girl could not have stopped if she had tried. But she wasn’t trying. When Flora took a hand away from her nipple and began to slide it up her thigh, Clara did not even try to stop her. The skin on the inside of her thigh was wonderfully soft and smooth. Flora stroked it, all the while getting higher and higher. Soon she touched Clara’s knickers, which Flora was sure would match the white cotton bra. She stroked the outside of them for a while, feeing how warm they were, and damp already. Flora slyly worked a finger inside her knickers and Clara sighed. Her eyes were closed.
“Do what you like, Miss Flora,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
Flora pushed her gently back so that she was lying on the bed but with her feet on the floor. Flora got down on her knees, between Clara’s legs. She began to kiss Clara’s thighs on the inside, first one leg then the other. Without even being aware of what she was doing, Clara put a hand on Flora’s head, as if to guide her. Flora slowly moved up the thighs. She pressed her hand against Clara’s crotch, feeling the springy bush inside. Then she undid her shorts and pulled them down, with the knickers too. This was surely the point of no return. Clara held her breath. Flora pressed her mouth to Clara’s cunt, kissing the soft pink lips, then licking, up and down, at first on the outside, then parting the lips with her tongue, tasting the juices that now flowed copiously. She could feel Clara’s clit with her tongue and she licked it, round and round. Clara groaned.
Flora lifted her head, and Clara sighed with disappointment. Now it had started, she wanted more. Lots more. Flora ran her fingers through the tight little knot of pubic hair surrounding Clara’s cunt. That would have to come off, of course; it was Miss Bridget’s iron rule that all her girls were shaved. Until then, however, Flora found it pleasurable to play with the blonde bush.
Flora bent her head and resumed her work on Clara’s cunt. It was glistening now, made moist by Flora’s saliva and Clara’s own juices. Flora sucked on it, nibbled at it, put one then two fingers up inside and began to address Clara
’s clit with more intent. Her tongue circled, lapping at the swollen little bud, then Flora sucked on it, before resuming licking. All at once Clara began to shake. She clenched her legs together, almost choking. For a while her slender body shuddered.
When the convulsions stopped, Flora held her and stroked her gently, kissing her face, her mouth, her nose, her eyelids. “Do you think this is wrong?” she whispered.
Clara opened her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, “but if it is I don’t care.” She smiled.
In her bed that night Clara made herself come over and over again as she relived the experiences of the afternoon. She tried to remember every kiss, every caress. Would Miss Flora want to do it to her again?
Chapter Four
“How did you come by your name?” Miss Bridget asked. “It’s a little unusual, is it not?”
Purity smiled. “It can be embarrassing sometimes, but I’ve grown to like it. My mother comes from a long line of Puritans; she claims one came over on the Mayflower, though I don’t know if that’s true. Anyway, lots of them had names like Steadfast and Perseverance. One was even called Chastity. At least I avoided that.”
“In name and nature, I believe,” said Miss Bridget.
Purity spread her hands and smiled. “Well,” she said. “Actually, I believe chastity and purity are more a matter of what’s in the mind than what the body does.”
“You may have a point,” Miss Bridget said. “But you’re not a puritan, are you?”
“No, Miss Bridget. Certainly not. Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.”
“And what is that, the opposite?”
“A hedonist, I suppose. A sybarite. An epicurean. Perhaps.”
“Or a slut?” Miss Bridget said.
“That too,” said Purity.
“Have you ever had sex with a boy?” Miss Bridget asked.
“I tried it once.” Purity turned up her pretty little nose. “It wasn’t very nice. I especially didn’t like that stuff that comes out at the end. I decided not to bother again. Girls are much prettier, don’t you think?”
“Indeed I do,” Miss Bridget answered. “So if you were to join our little group, what sort of clients do you think you would prefer?”
“Rich ones,” said Purity.
Miss Bridget laughed. “None of our clients are short of means,” she said. “We prefer to maintain a certain exclusivity.”
“I am glad to hear it, Miss Bridget,” said Purity, who was not above a little snobbery.
“What I meant was,” said Miss Bridget, “what sort of sex do you like? Are you at all masochistic?”
“I rather think I am, Miss Bridget. I haven’t had much experience, but when I was younger I used to tie myself up. With a rope between my legs, very tight.”
“I see,” said Miss Bridget, making a note on her computer. “And have you been spanked?”
Purity thought for a moment. “There was a girl I used to fool around with, and once she said I had been very naughty and put me over my knee and spanked me. She pulled down my knickers. It was very embarrassing. But afterwards, thinking about it, I put my hand in my knickers and, well, you know.”
“Yes,” said Miss Bridget. She did indeed know about what girls got up to when left alone. “So, I’d like to try some things to see how you get on.”
“Very well, Miss Bridget,” said Purity expectantly.
“Stand up, turn around and lift your skirt up to your waist,” Miss Bridget said. Purity obeyed. Miss Bridget looked at Purity’s bottom for a while, in its modest navy-blue cotton knickers.
“Go over to the couch and kneel on it, facing the wall, with your skirt still up,” Miss Bridget said.
Purity felt Miss Bridget pull her knickers down as far as her knees, and then feel her bottom, digging her fingers quite hard into the soft, white roundness. She smacked Purity’s bottom with her hand, several times, hard enough to sting. Purity went quiet, but something tingled between her legs.
From a drawer in her desk Miss Bridget fetched a heavy leather strap “You’ll find this stings quite a bit, though not as badly as some of the other things in my drawer. The secret to managing pain, I have found, is not to fight it. Do not brace yourself; that only tightens the muscles and makes them hurt more. Do not resist the pain, but try to absorb it, let it come to you, accept it. Try to go under it, as it were, not to get on top of it.”
This may have been good advice, but Purity found it hard to follow. It was almost impossible not to brace her bottom against the strapping that followed. Even if she had managed to relax, the first stroke would have made her body go rigid. It was delivered full across both cheeks of Purity’s bottom. She wriggled from one knee to the other, trying to dissipate the awful stinging, but before that happened a second stroke followed, in an identical spot. Purity squealed.
“No unnecessary noise, please,” said Miss Bridget.
The third stroke landed on top of the first two; Miss Bridget was evidently an accomplished spanker. Already Purity’s bottom was changing colour, the white marked red where the strap had fallen. Purity had an almost overwhelming urge to put her hands behind her to protect herself. But she so much wanted to impress Miss Bridget, and she knew that would be unacceptable.
She gritted her teeth. She was a brave girl and an earnest one, determined to measure up to Miss Bridget’s high standards. Hitherto, although she had rejected boys, her experience with girls had been sketchy. She put it down to lack of opportunity; she simply had not come across many lesbians. But St Swithin’s seemed to be teeming with them. She intended to make the most of it and have as many girlfriends as possible; but Purity was of a lofty turn of mind, and she was also drawn to the idea of making her lesbianism a noble calling, and a force for good. From what she had heard about the Circle, it would be an ideal way to expand her experience, gain a great deal of pleasure, and still do something for others.
Miss Bridget continued to ply the strap. The force of the blows was steady, growing neither harder not softer. The pain was just this side of unbearable, but Purity knew she would enjoy the beating more once it was over, and the agonising, scorching sting of the strap was replaced by a warm glow, and a pleasant tingle between her legs.
At last Miss Bridget set the strap down. “Don’t move,” she said. Purity felt Miss Bridget’s hand stroking her bottom, soothing. And then her fingers slid between Purity’s legs. Purity knew she was wet; she blushed a little at the thought that Miss Bridget would discover this, as indeed she did, her finger slipping up inside Purity’s cunt and moving around gently. Whatever her embarrassment, it was a delicious feeling. Miss Bridget’s finger slid over Purity’s clit and she tensed. But it seemed that this would not be sustained. Instead. Miss Bridget forced three (or was it four?) fingers into her and began to finger-fuck her vigorously. Purity moaned. She hadn’t been fucked for what seemed like an eternity, and this was so exactly what she wanted. Miss Bridget fucked her harder and harder, and then with a cry Purity came, clenching her cunt around Miss Bridget’s intrusive fingers as they thrust so deep into her.
Miss Bridget withdrew her hand and wiped it fastidiously on a tissue. “My, you are very wet, my dear. Despite the pain. I think the strap got through to you, did it not?”
“I think it did, Miss Bridget,” Purity said.
“Stand up and readjust your clothing,” Miss Bridget ordered. “This has been the first stage in your training. There will be several more, depending on how far we pursue it. You will attend me at the same time tomorrow, when I shall introduce you to the cane.”
“Yes, Miss Bridget,” said Purity dutifully. Tomorrow? So soon? Surely her bottom would still be sore. But she said nothing, simply smiled sweetly as she made her exit. She was in a hurry now; a girl she had met earlier in the day was coming round to her room for a cup of tea…
Chapter Five
Flora had greatly enjoyed her session in bed with Clara. She would have liked to repeat it, several times perhaps, but she had so much on her plate. It
was still the beginning of the year and Miss Brigitte had reminded her that they needed to recruit more girls. The service had grown more popular, with word getting around the community of well-to-do older women who resided in the better part of town. Demand was in danger of exceeding supply. Accordingly, Miss Bridget had told Flora that while she was the best person to groom new girls, especially those uncertain about the nature of their sexuality, she could surely deputise one or two of the more experienced of existing members of the Circle to develop and refine the new girls’ burgeoning sexuality.
“What we especially need,” Miss Bridget said, “are more girls who can provide bdsm services. They seem to be increasingly in demand, and not all of our girls are suited to that work.”
Flora made a mental note of those girls she had befriended who might be encouraged to take up this speciality. One of them was Clara. The girl had developed with surprising speed from a shy virgin into someone with real potential as a provider of services to the Circle’s clientele. Indeed, she had said to Flora that now she had been introduced to girl on girl sex she was keen to extend her experience. It was true that nothing Clara had said or done during their encounter had suggested that she might be inclined towards submission, but Flora, with her acute antennae, suspected that it might be so all the same.
Flora thought that the girl best placed to explore Clara’s sexual preferences further might be Verity, who was now in her second year in the Circle, and had built a reputation as someone who was willing to take a great deal of punishment from ladies who had a real enthusiasm for handing out beatings and other forms of domination.
Accordingly Flora summoned Verity to her room one afternoon. She inquired after the girl’s recent experiences, and Verity gave her a graphic account of an afternoon spent with a certain Mrs Rattigan. “She’s new to us, had never had one of our girls before,” Verity said, “So I did not quite know what to expect, except that she had requested a strong girl with powers of endurance. She turned out to be a holy terror with a whip in her hand. She had several kinds: floggers, martinets, a bullwhip. She was so hard on me that to my shame I had to beg for mercy; I felt in danger of being damaged, of having permanent scars on my bottom.”
