by Robin Bond
Now it was impossible for her to touch her clit, which lay underneath the rope, squeezed hard. As Miss Price walked around, it pressed tighter still. And then, when she sat down, the pressure on her clit was so hard she thought for a moment she might pass out. She leaned back to try and relieve the pressure, but still it was strong.
Miss Price got dressed and had some dinner, then she went to bed. As she knelt to say her prayers, the pressure of the rope was insistent. She knew what state her clit was in now. If she took the rope off the temptation to touch herself might be irresistible.
She lay awake in bed for a while and then she dozed. In the middle of the night, after a lurid dream in which she was tied upside down with her legs apart, a team of sturdy young girls taking turns to whip her pussy, she woke up to find her whole body convulsing with the unmistakable sensations of an orgasm. She let it roll over her. When it was finished her pussy hummed with the afterglow. She lay for a while, musing on whether one could sin while asleep. And furthermore, would it be a sin to orgasm from tying her pussy too tight to be touched? These were subtle matters; she would need to ask her priest. If he declared that these were indeed sins, perhaps she would be chastised again by Sheba. At that thought, she put her hand between her legs and started to masturbate. She needed Sheba, needed her again so badly. And next time, because she had willfully sinned again, the chastisement would be even more severe.
Chapter Twenty Three
Mrs Gunther took Candida upstairs and into the bathroom.
“Clothes off,” said Mrs Gunther brusquely. Candida began to undress. First she undid the white blouse she wore, then unhooked her white cotton bra and laid it over an adjacent chair. She unhooked the waist of her navy-blue skirt and stepped out of it. Underneath she wore white cotton knickers to match her bra. She slid them down and let them fall at her feet. Lastly, she sat on the chair, kicked off her shoes and took off her white cotton knee-length socks. She stood up naked.
“Lie on the floor,” Mrs Gunther ordered.
The tiles on the floor were cold. Candida came out in goose bumps. Mrs Gunther stood over her. She raised her dress. Underneath Candida could see black silk knickers, with suspenders keeping up black stockings. Mrs Gunther squatted over Candida’s head. She pulled the knickers to one side.
“Kiss me,” she ordered.
Candida put her lips to Mrs Gunther’s pussy, which was just above her mouth, and kissed it. Mrs Gunther had a bush of thick blonde curls, which extended downwards towards her ass, and upwards across her mons. Some of the hairs got into Candida’s mouth, but she thought it would be rude to push them away. Mrs Gunther lowered herself still further, putting her weight onto Candida’s mouth, moving from side to side, grinding herself against Candida’s teeth and lips.
Mrs Gunther’s pussy had an odour, one that was not unpleasant. She lifted herself up a little and Candida explored with her tongue. “Open your mouth,” Mrs Gunther ordered. Suddenly, Mrs Gunther began to pee, straight into Candida’s mouth. Surprised, she tried to turn her head away, but Mrs Gunther reached back and grabbed her hair and forced her face into position, so that Candida’s mouth was immediately below the stream of piss. Her mouth was quickly filled.
“Swallow,” Mrs Gunther ordered. Candida tried to do so but the pee came faster than she could take it down. It overflowed onto her cheeks and chin. Still it kept coming. Candida tried to swallow as fast as she could, but much of it was running onto the floor. At last the flow slowed to a dribble, then stopped altogether.
“Lick it all off,” said Mrs Gunther.
Candida cleaned up Mrs Gunther’s pussy. Mrs Gunther got to her feet, covering her pussy again with her knickers and letting her skirt fall.
“Good,” said Mrs Gunther. She handed Candid a towel. “Clean yourself up a little. Then let’s go down and have some tea while I take a good look at you. I think I’ll want to fuck you.”
Mrs Gunther made the tea while Candida sat naked on the sofa in the drawing room, waiting. Mrs Gunther came in, sat down and poured tea.
“Lie down on the floor, on your back, your feet towards me,” said Mrs Gunther.
Candida did as she was told. Mrs Gunther told her to open her legs wide and bend them. She stared at Candida’s cunt. “Pull back the lips,” she said.
Feeling a little awkward, Candida took her labia between fingers and thumbs and pulled them apart. Mrs Gunther had a good look.
“Get into a kneeling position, bottom towards me,” Mrs Gunther said.
Candida wasn’t one of those girls who had a problem with nudity. She’d been at boarding school, where the girls showered together every morning and after sports. And once or twice Candida had engaged in a little extra-curricular activity with another of the girls. Furthermore, since coming to college, Candida had embarked on a programme of experiment in order to find out just how much she liked girls. It turned out that she liked them a lot, so that much of her time was spent in the close proximity of other female bodies. She’d seen quite a few girls naked by now, and they had seen her.
But it was a rather different matter to have this older woman, fully clothed, making a minute inspection of her as if she were an item of livestock she had just bought. Mrs Gunther ordered Candida to lie across her knee, face up. She took hold of one of her nipples, pinching it, pulling on it, squeezing.
“Have you ever had your nipples tortured?” Mrs Gunther enquired. “I mean, really tortured, not just pinched a bit?”
Candida could remember some pretty hard abuse of her nipples during training. Miss Flora had a taste for that sort of thing, whipping girls’ tits and so forth. And she had a large collection of clamps. But nothing that had happened to her so far would qualify as torture.
“Not really,” said Candida nervously.
“Something for next time, perhaps,” Mrs Gunther said. “I’ve already got today’s agenda worked out.”
She moved down to Candida’s cunt, pulling the lips wider apart than Candida had done herself. She put a finger on Candida’s clit and moved it slowly in circles. Candida whimpered. Then without warning Mrs Gunther slapped Candida between her legs, hard.
“Ouch,” Candida said.
“Hush,” said Mrs Gunther. “That’s nothing. There’s much worse to come.”
She slapped Candida again. Instinctively Candida closed her legs.
“If you do that again,” said Mrs Gunther, “the consequences will be severe. I wonder if you are quite able to imagine how nasty I can be. I eat little girls for you like breakfast, chew them up and spit them out.”
Gingerly Candida opened her legs again. Mrs Gunther slapped her once more, harder than ever. Gritting her teeth, Candida managed to keep her legs open.
“That’s better,” said Mrs Gunther. She continued her examination of Candida’s cunt, pulling and prodding, digging her fingers in. She took the lips of Candida’s cunt in her hand, squeezing fiercely. Candida gasped.
“I suppose you’ve never had your cunt tortured either,” Mrs Gunther said.
“No, Mrs Gunther.” Miss Bridget had abused it somewhat, finger-fucking her very hard. But it wasn’t torture.
“I think I shall have to have a serious conversation with Miss Bridget about just how far she will let me go. I know she doesn’t like her girls to be damaged, and she’s obviously not keen on having them put out of commission for any length of time.”
Candida wanted to please Miss Bridget and satisfy the clients she was sent to. But it sounded as if she was in for a severe test of her dedication to the cause and to Miss Bridget herself. Perhaps, she thought, before Mrs Gunther books me again she will find some other girl she likes better.
“Turn over,” Mrs Gunther ordered. She put her hands on Candida’s bottom and prised the cheeks apart, then studied the little pursed hole. Without bothering to lubricate it, she pushed a finger in, forcing it right up inside Candida’s anus. No one had ever penetrated her there before. She grunted. She didn’t want to object; she knew Mrs Gunther would
take a dim view of any failure to co-operate. But it was painful.
“A nice tight little asshole,” said Mrs Gunther. “Are you still a virgin there?”
Candida supposed she was. “Yes, Mrs Gunther,” she said.
“We’ll have to do something about that,” said Mrs Gunther. “It’s high time it was made available for use. Let’s go upstairs again.”
She went into her closet and opened a drawer. She came back out having undressed and holding a harness with a dildo attached.
Candida looked at Mrs Gunther’s body. Despite her age, it was firm, though perhaps a little thicker than it once was. She looked strong, and, with the harness strapped into place, intimidating.
“Kneel on the edge of the bed,” said Mrs Gunther. “Ass outwards, legs slightly apart.
Candida did as she was told. Without warning Mrs Gunther thrust straight into Candida’s cunt. Fortunately, Candida was wet enough for the dildo to slide in easily. Mrs Gunther began to fuck vigorously, holding Candida by the hips, pulling her onto the dildo at each thrust forward from her powerful hips. Candida grunted each time, in what she was sure was not a very ladylike manner, but she couldn’t help it. The dildo seemed to be going deep into her inside, pounding away at her very depths. Mrs Gunther kept this up for fifteen minutes or so, by which time Candida was close to getting sore.
Suddenly, again without warning. Mrs Gunther withdrew and then immediately thrust the dildo into Candida’s ass. This had no lubrication, and although the dildo remained a little wet, it wasn’t enough to prevent Candida suffering somewhat. Mrs Gunther’s pelvis thrust hard against Candida’s buttocks. Mrs Gunther put her hands on them, squeezing and slapping. Candida made small sounds of distress, which Mrs Gunther ignored. The ass-fucking went on. And on. Candida was finding it painful, and getting more so every minute. She was close to begging for it to stop, but sensed that this would not get a good reception from Mrs Gunther.
At last Mrs Gunther pulled out. “Don’t move,” she said.
She went back to her closet and pulled out a small whip, a single-braid made of thick pigskin. She stood behind Candida and flourished it.
“They tell me this one really hurts,” she said. “The other girls I’ve whipped, of course. There are quite a few, as you may imagine.”
She raised her arm and brought it down sharply The whip cracked across Candida’s bottom. It hurt like hell. Candida hadn’t really expected this level of abuse. She wished Miss Bridget had warned her. But then, what would she have done? Her role was to be the willing, or at least passive if not willing, object of Mrs Gunther’s lust for hurting girls. Miss Bridget looked dimly on those girls who showed reluctance for the tasks she set them. It was her girls’ duty to suffer for the cause. If sometimes the suffering was intense, then so be it. Girls rose or fell in Miss Bridget’s eyes according to the degree that they did as they were told. One of the girls, already a veteran, had told Candida that if you were very lucky and pleased her by the diligence and competence with which you suffered pain, Miss Bridget might reward you by taking you into her bed. This girl had never yet earned that privilege herself, but said that her friend had done so. “And how was it?” Candida had asked. “Worth it?” “She said it was the best fuck she had ever had,” said the girl.
So that was Candida’s aim, to earn the right to service Miss Bridget herself. It wasn’t so much the physical pleasure she craved but the honour and prestige once it was known that she had become one of the select members of the small circle whose body had been used by their leader. For this and this only she braced herself for another stroke of Mrs Gunther’s whip. Candida’s bottom was now lined with a series of red stripes. For a moment Mrs Gunter lowered her whip to contemplate them. She stroked Candida’s bottom lightly and sighed, pleased with her handiwork. Then she resumed, her energies and desire renewed.
By the time Candida left Mrs Gunther’s house she could hardly walk, so intense was the pain in her buttocks, lacerated by the whip and pounded several more times by Mrs Gunther’s dildo. At last she was allowed to get dressed and depart; at the door Mrs Gunther pinched one of her nipples through her blouse. “Remember, tits next time,” she said.
Chapter Twenty Four
Mrs Schmidt was the first client Violet had seen who not only had a full bush, but had hair under her arms as well. She was wearing a summer dress, which left her shoulders bare, and the tufts of black hair were one of the first things Violet noticed. Glancing down, Violet looked to see if Mrs Schmidt let the hair grow on her legs too. To Violet’s mind, that would have been a step too far. The natural look had its charm, indeed it was rather sexy, but for Violet hairy legs were associated with men, and therefore not things of beauty. Fortunately Mrs Schmidt’s legs were shaved smooth.
Mrs Schmidt’s bush became visible as soon as she removed her dress, which was shortly after Violet had been introduced into the drawing room by the maid. It was true it was a warm day, but undressing before they had scarcely begun was surely a little premature. However, Mrs Schmidt was certainly worth looking at. She was a tall woman, with a proud stature and a body that had natural curves to go with the natural hair. When she stripped off her dress Violet saw not only the thick dark bush between her legs (Mrs Schmidt apparently did not wear knickers on warm days), but also the full breasts, heavy but firm, with their dark brown aureoles and prominent nipples.
Violet, invited to strip off too, felt a little undernourished in comparison. Her body was slender, her breasts small and pointed, her bottom almost boyish. Mrs Schmidt called her over and sat on the sofa while Violet stood in front of her. She put her hand between Violet’s legs and began immediately to fondle Violet’s cunt. Her fingers worked busily, squeezing, tugging, probing. She seemed to like what she found, for she pulled Violet down so that she was lying across Mrs Schmidt’s lap, on her back.
“Open your legs, my dear,” said Mrs Schmidt. Violet was always a little nervous about a stranger’s first sight of her cunt. Sometimes she wished she had one of those tight little slits with everything tucked away, like a young girl. Instead, Violet’s cunt was full, even florid. Rather than the labia being hidden, they were in full view, folded back like a juicy fruit, or an orchid, with dark pink, almost purple outer lips, now parted under Mrs Schmidt’s handling, and inside another pair of lips, a lighter pink, more delicate. Though nervous of her reception, she had fortunately found that a surprising number of girls had expressed admiration, and then desire, for her cunt. Being clean shaven, it showed itself off to the full.
To her relief, Mrs Schmidt approved. “What a glorious Fotze, my dear. It is quite delicious,” she enthused. Violet hadn’t heard that word before. She assumed it was German. Did they make a distinction in German between pussy and cunt, as Miss Bridget did? Perhaps Frau Ledermann, the German professor, would know. In fact, perhaps Mrs Schmidt and Frau Ledermann ought to meet. They could converse in German while Mrs Schmidt did unspeakable things to the German cunt, as Miss Bridget always called her.
“I am really aroused by your delightful little poontang,” said Mrs Schmidt, using another word with which Violet was not familiar, though she had no trouble guessing. “I’m afraid I have the urge to use it rather hard. In fact, very hard. But then, that’s what you’re paid for, isn’t it.”
Up to a point, Violet thought. She was already a little nervous about Mrs Schmidt’s intentions. She was a powerful woman and could easily overwhelm Violet, if she took it in her mind to do so. But Violet trusted it would not come to violence. She hoped her strict training under Miss Bridget in the absorption of pain would see her in good stead. Miss Bridget had indeed taken a belt to her cunt once, and the pain was agonising, though afterwards Violet’s cunt tingled in the most pleasing way.
“Somehow I have the idea that this little cunt,” said Mrs Schmidt, at last using a word which Violet was familiar with, “is often rather naughty. I think it is often indulged, and indeed is even unruly at times. Am I right?”
Violet didn’t
know what to say. In one sense it was true, literally. Violet had a high sex drive. Only that morning she and her friend Bryony had stayed in bed for an hour giving each other one orgasm after another. By the time they had, reluctantly, been forced to leave off, for it was time for classes, Violet’s cunt was quite pink and even a little sore. On the other hand, admitting to this episode would be asking for trouble. She doubted Mrs Schmidt needed a real excuse to abuse Violet’s cunt; giving her one would make it worse. Yet some sort of reply was required.
“Perhaps I sometimes play with it a little, Mrs Schmidt,” Violet said.
“Is it not forbidden to you?” Mrs Schmidt said.
Miss Bridget knew that banning masturbation altogether was impossible among a group of girls whose every waking thought was about sex. Nor did Miss Bridget strictly outlaw girls playing with each other. But it was all to be done in moderation, because, as Miss Bridget said, their primary energies were to be saved for their work with clients. Girls who had exhausted themselves with lengthy bouts of masturbation were not in the best state to devote themselves to the pleasure of others.
“Miss Bridget keeps us strictly rationed,” said Violet, who hoped this remark might put an end to this line of questioning. But it did not.
“So when did you last caress your little chatte?” Mrs Schmidt demanded.
Here was another new word; were there really so many? But Violet understood the question well enough.
