New Erotica 6

by Various

  ‘Stockings.’

  They fluttered towards her simultaneously and she snatched at them, missing one, having to stoop to pick it up, the too-short skirt riding up high over her thighs, her breasts bulging provocatively beneath the too-small shirt. She put the right one on first, hopping on her left foot, then the left one, hopping on her right foot. White stockings, reaching above her knees. Stockings on a schoolgirl, socks for Anna. Even for Anna.

  ‘Now boots, Anna.’

  He was holding out a pair of shin-boots by their tops. White leather shin-boots. Too small. Even for Anna. As Anna herself saw.

  ‘Master …’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘They’re too small, master.’

  ‘No. Not too small. As you will see. Beth and Gwen will help you.’

  He left go of them and they fell to the floor, landing upright on their soles with a simultaneous clap, the white leather too stiff to bend. The bastard. They were brand-new. Never worn. Too small even for Anna.

  ‘Come on. Beth and Gwen, help her into them. Anna, sit on the floor.’

  Anna sat down on the floor, looking miserable. Poor bitch. Beth walked over to the boots and picked one of them up. The left one. It was light but stiff. Brand-new, as she’d thought. Oddly smooth leather. Oddly light.

  ‘Hold up your left foot, Anna. Straighten the toes.’

  Anna held up her left foot and she took hold of it and guided it into the boot. The first bit was easy enough, but the boot narrowed further down and Anna’s foot got stuck. Gwen took hold of the boot too, tugging, less careful of hurting Anna, who bit her lip and closed her eyes, lying back against the floor.

  ‘Gently, Gwen. Anna will be running quite a distance in them, so let’s not incapacitate her before she begins.’

  Anna wailed. The boot was sliding on inch by inch.

  ‘Help them, Anna. Don’t be so passive in the face of fate. It’s true that you can do nothing to forestall it but still, meet it with more spirit, girl.’

  Anna struggled to sit up and then took hold of the top of the boot between their fingers, tugging at it reluctantly, wincing as it slid further on, half-inch by half-inch now. Her foot was in the foot of the boot now, nearly fully in.

  ‘Nearly there. Stand up, Anna. Stamp it on.’

  Anna obeyed him, standing up, stamping the boot at the floor, working her foot finally and firmly into the toe, looking unhappier than ever.

  ‘Harder, Annalein. Harder. OK, good, that’s it. Now the right.’

  Anna sat down on the floor again, lifting her right foot into the air. Beth picked up the boot and guided Anna’s foot into it again, tugging the boot up. Anna took hold of it too, tugging with her and Gwen.

  ‘Good. You’re getting the hang of it. OK, stand up and stamp it on again. It’s nearly time for your run.’

  What was the point of this? she thought as Anna stood up and stamped the right boot on. Making the poor bitch get into boots that were too tight for her and then making her run in them? The sick bastard. Sick. Bastard.

  ‘Yes, you’re almost ready. Almost. Just one thing. A scarf for you. Do you see it, over there?’

  The cane flicked out, pointing behind them, to the hanging straps of the harnesses and the discarded trildo caught up in them. Looped around the arms of the trildo was a white, fluffy scarf.

  ‘Get it, Annalein. Put it on.’

  Anna walked cautiously over in the tight white boots and crouched to unloop the scarf. It seemed to come away endlessly, metre after metre, and when she stood up with it it was piled in her hands like a huge, loose snowball.

  ‘Put it on, Annalein. Wind it tight.’

  She began to wind it around her neck. Poor little bitch. She was going to swelter. Sweat like a pig. Sweat like a sow. A beautiful blonde sow. Even if she just stood there she would sweat, and Bärengelt had said she was going to run. Run, for fuck’s sake. Poor little bitch. But Beth was glad it wasn’t her.

  ‘Good girl. Now, come back over here. I want to check that everything is just right.’

  Anna walked back to him, tottering in her too tight, too small shin-boots, neck completely and shoulders almost completely hidden beneath the huge scarf, legs exposed absurdly beneath her tiny schoolgirl’s skirt, breasts straining at the buttons of her tiny schoolgirl’s shirt. She stopped in front of him and he bent to inspect her, tugging at the scarf, fingering the buttons of the shirt, tweaking at the hem of her skirt.

  ‘OK. Turn round.’

  Anna turned.

  ‘Bend over.’

  She bent over, the skirt riding up to expose her arse and the tiny triangle of her white knickers, the cloth cutting into her flesh, riding high into her gluft and arsecleft. Bärengelt flicked the hem of the skirt completely up with the cane, letting it lie on her back, and put a finger under the waistband of the knickers, tugging it up and letting it twang back into place. Anna gasped.

  ‘Too tight, Annalein?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Good. OK. Stand up. Turn round. Now, Annalein, tell me, how fast can you run?’

  ‘I, uh, I don’t know, master.’

  ‘Well, can you run quite fast? Or very fast? Or not-so fast?’

  ‘Uh, quite fast, master. I think.’

  ‘You think, do you? Well, really, that’s not good enough. I don’t want you to think, I want you to know.’

  His cane came up, pointing down the hothouse.

  ‘Do you see that orchid there? With the purple flowers? A fine specimen of Odontoglossum sapphica. I want one of those flowers. Bring me one. As quick as you can, on the word go. OK?’

  ‘OK, master.’

  Anna was nodding, but tears were starting to shine in her eyes again. The bastard.

  ‘OK, go. Go!’

  Anna set off, trying to run, obviously in pain after a few strides, the boots too tight and too small, clacking against the marble floor, sliding and squeaking as she ran and slid and skipped her way to the orchid Bärengelt had pointed out to her. She reached it and bent to pluck one of the flowers.

  ‘A good one, Annalein. Or I will send you back. Now, hurry back.’

  Anna straightened and started back, running, sliding, skipping, the pain of the boots visible in her face. One end of the scarf flew free, shaken loose by her exertions, and she nearly trod on it and tripped. She reached Bärengelt and stood to attention, gasping, face pink, sweat gleaming under the golden stubble of her scalp and starting to gather and trickle at her temples.

  ‘Here, master.’

  She held up a tiny purple flower.

  ‘Thank you, Annalein. But that was far too slow. I’m sure you can do much better than that. Can’t you? For me?’

  ‘I h– I hope so, master.’

  ‘You hope?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘No. You are sure. You are sure you can do better for me. Can’t you?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Good.’

  He took the flower from her and held it up.

  ‘A good specimen, but far from the best available.’

  He dropped it, waiting for it to fall to the floor, rotating like an empty little purple parachute, and then put the toe of his right boot on top of it, casually grinding the toe left right left right and then lifting the boot to reveal the flower ground to pulp against the floor. A purple smear of something organic, unidentifiable now from what it had been.

  ‘Get me another, Annalein. A better one. And let’s see if we can’t shave two seconds off your time, eh? On the word go. Ready?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Her breathing had scarcely slowed and the trickle of sweat at her temples had thickened.

  ‘OK. Then go. Go!’

  Anna was off again, moving faster, hopping and skipping, her gasps of pain and effort magnified between the walls of the hothouse. She reached the orchid and bent to it for the second time, skirt riding up to reveal her arse, the white triangle of her knickers lost against her white skin at this dis
tance, so it seemed as though she was naked beneath the skirt. Then she had straightened, turned, and was coming back, her gasps of effort interwoven with gasps and squeaks of pain.

  She stood to attention again in front of Bärengelt, gasping, trying to control her breathing.

  ‘Here, master.’

  She held up both hands this time, two flowers in one hand, a single flower in the other.

  ‘Oh, dear, Annalein. What is this?’

  ‘Flowers, master. Flowers for you.’

  ‘How many flowers, Annalein?’

  ‘Th- three, master.’

  ‘But did I ask for three?’

  Anna’s head dropped, chin sinking into the fluffy white folds of the scarf.

  ‘No, master.’

  ‘Head up when you are talking to me, Annalein. You are right, I did not ask for three. I asked for one. So why did you bring me three?’

  Anna drew a deep breath, still trying to control her breathing.

  ‘Bec– because I thought if I brought three, there was a better chance that one would be good enough, master. Good enough for you.’

  ‘Did you, Annalein? Did you think that? But you are not here to think, are you? You are here to obey. Give them to me.’

  She put them on to the outstretched palm of his left hand, vivid purple against the black leather. He turned his hand over and they fluttered to the floor. As they landed he put the toe of his right boot on to one and ground left right left right.

  ‘Do you understand, Anna?’

  He lifted the boot away and put it on to another of the flowers, grinding left right left right.

  ‘Yes, master.’

  He lifted the boot away and put it on top of the third flower, grinding left right left right.

  ‘Good, Annalein. Very good.’

  He lifted the boot away. Four smears of purple organicity on the floor, of organic purpurity. Beth looked away, then looked back. A pattern. Emerging in the smears of the orchid flowers.

  ‘Head up, Annalein. You have failed me twice: do not fail me again. Go and get me a single flower. Do you understand? A single flower. One flower. One perfect flower. That is all I ask. OK?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Tears were streaming silently down Anna’s face, riding across her lips, so that when she spoke she must have tasted salt. Warm salt. Beth felt her cunt shift and ripple. She wanted to kiss Anna. Kiss the tears. Bite into her briny lips.

  ‘Then go. Now! Go!’

  Anna set off with a sob, hopping, sliding, skidding, gasping.

  ‘Faster! Faster, you lazy bitch, or I’ll warm your arse for you when you get back. Faster!’

  Anna nearly tripped and fell as she tried to move faster. She was limping now, limping almost on both feet, proceeding by dot and carry, carry and dot. Poor bitch. Poor little bitch. She reached the orchid bush again and bent over.

  ‘Hurry up! Pick me one and get back over here.’

  Now she was on her way back, trying to move fast, limping again, tear-streaks glistening on her reddened face, her breath wheezing, bubbling, her blonde stubble wet and shining with sweat.

  ‘Master.’

  She could barely speak. Bärengelt held his hand out.

  ‘Give it me.’

  She put it on his hand. Silence, but for the gasp of Anna’s breath. Then:

  ‘Yes? Is that it?’

  ‘Yes’ – she choked, swallowed – ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘What did I ask for?’

  ‘A flower, master. A – a single perfect flower.’

  ‘And is this a single perfect flower?’

  ‘Y – yes, master. It is.’

  ‘Is it? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Then why are you speaking so uncertainly? Is it what you say it is or not?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Louder.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Silence again. Anna’s tears were gathering at the point of her small chin and dripping on to her scarf. Drip. Drip. Sparkling as they fell.

  ‘“Yes, master”?’ Bärengelt mimicked. ‘“Yes, master”? Is that all you have to say?’

  Anna tried to speak. A broken smile flickered on her face for a moment.

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Lou–’

  ‘Yes, master!’ she shouted, before Bärengelt had finished the command.

  ‘OK. You are right. This is a single perfect flower. You have chosen well and I am satisfied. Are you glad to hear that?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Then smile for me, Annalein. Smile to show how happy you are that I am satisfied and will not send you to fetch flowers for me again. Eh?’

  The cane came out and poked at Anna’s stomach, tickling at her. The broken smile returned, staying longer, brightening, and the rhythm of her low sobs broke, stuttered, and began to fade.

  ‘Good, Annalein. I am so pleased to see you happy that I am satisfied. But Beth is not. Not yet. She wants you to bring her a flower. Fetch her a flower. Don’t you, Beth? So choose one for your little sister. A flower for her to fetch.’

  ‘One of those, master.’

  She pointed.

  ‘Where? Those?’

  The black cane came up.

  ‘The white ones?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Too close, Betchen. Far too close. I see you have not entered into the spirit of our little game, so you are disqualified. What about you, Gwen? What flowers would you like Anna to bring you?’

  Gwen’s arm came up without hesitation, pointing far down the aisle to a point high on one wall.

  ‘One of those, master. The red ones.’

  ‘Ah, an excellent choice. A special variety of Paphiopedilum sanguineum. Do you see them, Anna? No, keep your mouth shut. I am sick of the sound of your whining voice. Just nod. Do you see them?’

  Anna nodded, fighting back renewed sobs. Bärengelt had played her so skilfully, pretending to take pity on her, then throwing her to Gwen, who never needed a second invitation to indulge in cruelty.

  ‘Good. Then fetch one for your big sister Gwen. Can you do that? And without mistakes? One perfect flower for your big sister? Fast as can be?’

  Anna didn’t move. Then she shook her head a little, uncertainly.

  ‘That was not a nod, Anna. Are you telling me you won’t fetch a flower for your big sister?’

  Anna shook her head again.

  ‘Then what is it? Tell me.’

  ‘I c–can’t, master. It’s not that I won’t, it’s because I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘M–my feet, master.’

  ‘Your feet, Annalein? But what on earth could be wrong with your feet?’

  ‘They’re blistered, master. Very badly.’

  ‘Oh dear. Blistered feet. Badly blistered feet. Very badly blistered feet. Little Anna has very badly blistered feet and she thinks that is enough for her to cry off from fetching a flower for her big sister. But what does that big sister herself think? Gwen?’

  ‘No, master. It’s not enough. I want one. Now.’

  ‘And quite right you are to want one too, Gwen. Your aesthetic sense cannot be faulted. But what of your moral sense? Anna has blistered feet. Still, whose fault is that?’

  ‘Hers, master. For wearing such ridiculous boots.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid you’re right, Gwen. It is her own fault. So, Anna, I’m afraid you will have to fetch your sister a flower regardless. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll take pity on you and allow you to take, oh, half as long again as I would otherwise have allowed you. Isn’t that good of me?’

  ‘Y–’ Anna started to say, then stopped and nodded her head.

  ‘Good. But you mustn’t blister those very badly blistered feet of yours any more, must you?’

  Anna nodded.

  ‘No, you mustn’t. So you can crawl, you snivelling little bitch. Get down on the floor, Annalein. Hands and knees. Hurry up. And on the word of command crawl to fetc
h your big sister one of the flowers she has chosen. The red ones, over there. OK?’

  Anna was on her hands and knees now, facing in the direction she would have to take. She nodded, sniffing, her tears dripping to the floor.

  ‘Good. You have fifty-six seconds to get there and fifty-five seconds to get back. So go, you idle little slut. Go! Go!’

  Anna was off, crawling fast towards the flowers Gwen had chosen, her knees slipping for a moment as she passed over the little puddle of her tears, the long scarf starting to unravel, trailing out behind her. And her skirt was constricting her: after a second or two she had to stop and tug it higher, exposing her thighs and the lower curve of her buttocks.

  ‘Hurry up, you idle little slut. Forget about flaunting your backside at us and get that flower. Quick.’

  She was already crawling again, leaving a trail of glistening tears behind her, little specks of light on the marble floor. Gwen watched her, eyes shining, face a little flushed. She was enjoying this. Enjoying the chance to dominate Anna, who had almost reached the hothouse wall below the red flowers Gwen had chosen.

  ‘Faster. Faster. You are a second behind schedule and still have to climb for what your big sister wants.’

  She reached the wall, stood up, and began to climb the wall, doll-like with distance, a little doll climbing a wall of orchids in white boots and tight clothing. She reached the flowers, hesitated for a moment, plucked one, began to climb down.

  ‘Three seconds behind schedule now, Anna. You’ll have to run back, despite your poor blistered feet. Otherwise I’ll have to punish you hard. Very hard.’

  Anna was still a long way up the wall, two or three metres up, but as Bärengelt’s voices rumbled out along the hothouse she jumped, landing hard, the clak of her boots hitting the floor reaching Beth’s ears with a fractional delay. She fell over, rolling on the floor for a moment, then she was up and running, limping, skipping.

  ‘Acht … sieben … sechs … fünf … vier … drei … zwei …’

  Anna was sprawling at his feet, holding up a single red flower. But it was imperfect, one of its red petals lolling brokenly, like a wounded limb or wing. She saw this as she held it up, and the eagerness in her face broke with disappointment and fear.

  ‘Just in time, Annalein. But you paid for your extra speed with the quality of your harvest. Look at it. A beautiful flower. Perfect a minute ago; a little less than perfect now. And alas, Gwen will not accept anything less than perfection. Will you, Gwenchen? Even for your little sister’s sake?’