With this, Christine abandoned all idea of spending the night mourning for Arabella. She comforted herself with the thought that no matter what she and Emily did or did not do, it would not help Arabella. Soon, the only sounds were the soft ones of kisses and girlish sighs of delight.
Emily had been wanting to try her tongue in Christine’s slot ever since the Princess had pleasured her that way the night before, and Christine had a great urge to stimulate Emily again in the same fashion. After a false start or two, they were able to get their chains out of the way, and by positioning themselves head-to-foot (or more precisely, head-to-crotch) to apply their mouths to their lover’s sex at the same time.
The new position was a great success. If Christine had been prepared to die and go to Heaven after the previous night’s lovemaking, being able to drive her partner wild with excitement while having the softest, most delightful tongue in the universe caressing her love knob made her believe, when she climaxed, that she literally was in Heaven. When she opened her eyes after a few too short moments of indescribable ecstasy, she expected to see clouds, angels playing harps, and a celestial choir as they sang their unending praises to the Lord enthroned.
One look around the dimly lit cave in which she was confined brought her back to cruel reality. She was so disappointed that she began to cry.
Hearing her, Emily quickly moved back lie face to face with Christine, her face tight with fear that she had done something wrong. “What is it, Christine?” she asked. She cradled the Princess’ head in her arms. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no,” Christine said, forcing herself to smile. She reached up to touch Emily’s cheek. “You were wonderful, my love. You are the only thing in the world that is right. All else is wrong. I think God has forsaken us.”
This statement shocked Emily to the very depth of her soul. “You must not say such things, Christine!” She looked around as if she suspected God was eavesdropping in the dungeon, and in a low tone, presumably to keep God from overhearing said, “The Lord is our only hope. Nothing happens that He does not know, not the least thing. We must keep faith with Him.”
“If He knows of our suffering, and Arabella’s too for the matter of that, why does He allow Casimir to prolong it?” Christine demanded. “We who love Him, and have been always true, are naked slaves in a living Hell, whilst the vile Count laughs at His sacred laws and torments the innocent for his pleasure. Methinks Count Casimir has God’s favor, and despises us. God has rewarded my trust in Him with this…” she gestured at the cavernous dungeon, making her chains rattle, “ …and no more will I put my faith in one so faithless as He. Emily, from this day hence, I shall worship God no more!”
There followed a long silence. The final words had come out without conscious thought by Christine, and she was nearly as stunned by them as Emily.
“You spoke in great anger, Christine,” Emily whispered, “and you meant it not. Please say that you meant not those words.”
Christine thought about it, and then answered. “You spoke truly, Emily. I was angry, and for good cause.” She looked up, addressing her words to Heaven. “And yet, I would take back not a single word.”
Emily looked at her mournfully. “I will pray for you, Christine.” She embraced the Princess again, pulling her close. The remainder of the night the only words spoken by either girl were endearments whispered in the course of lovemaking.
* * * * *
The next day began with breakfast followed by enemas and ice-cold baths administered by Harkness. Lady Emily managed to get through the latter two ordeals without giving Harkness reason to whip her, which pleased Christine. The executioner prepared them for Count Casimir, and then took his leave when his master arrived.
“Your lesson today shall be in the art that the Lady Arabella showed you yesterday. However, you have seen only the merest beginnings of what can be done,” the Count told them. “It will be your great privilege to learn from a master…” he cocked a thumb at himself, “…all there is to be known of pleasing a man in this wise.”
For the lesson, Christine and Emily had been bound side by side, with their heads and both hands locked in a pillory, three feet above the floor. To keep them in the proper position, they were bent at the waist over a horizontal metal railing, which was six inches higher than the pillories. Their legs were spread a yard apart, with their ankles tied to the usual eyebolts sunk in the stone floor. They were utterly defenseless, their buttocks raised at an angle which begged for attention, their sexes and rear entries available for whatever use or misuse the Count wished to put them. The mouths of both girls were stuffed full with rags tied in place with straps, and there were hoods drawn over their heads, rendering them both mute and blind.
Emily was the first to receive the Count’s attention. “Females may be trained to respond in any manner a man chooses,” Casimir said. His hand was on Emily’s sex, his fingers busy. Quite unintentionally, she confirmed this statement as her arousal quickly grew. “The first lesson is to control your climax,” he continued. “You shall learn that you may partake of your pleasure solely when your master permits, and at no other time.”
Emily was by now making sinuous motions with her hips under the stimulus provided by Casimir’s knowing touch. “Are you about to peak, My Lady?” he asked.
Emily nodded vigorously to indicate that her crisis was near.
Casimir took his hand away and Emily gasped in disappointment. He held a heavy wooden paddle in his hand. He used the paddle on the twin globes before him, delivering one stroke with each word. “Do… not… come… without… permission,” he said. Each blow made a loud smack like the flat of a mishandled oar striking the water, and each left behind a white rectangle on Emily’s ass cheeks, which slowly turned pink then red as blood flowed back into the tissue.
Bound as she was, Emily could do no more than wiggle her fingers and toes, and fling her head about in reaction to the sunburst of pain in her rear. She was not even allowed the relief of screaming, as the gag swallowed up even her loudest vocalizations. She wept, and tried to tell Count Casimir that she wouldn’t come, that she promised to wait for his permission, if he would but withhold that terrible instrument.
Casimir resumed his manipulations until Emily was frantic, wagging her reddened bottom back and forth like a mad thing. “Do not come without permission, My Lady,” he warned again, as he continued to toy with her.
“But the way you touch me, I cannot help it!” Emily tried to protest. The cloth in her mouth reduced this to an indistinct “Mmmmm!”. She struggled mightily to control her body’s demand for release, but the more she fought, the more ardently Casimir caressed her sex. Eventually, Emily could contain herself no longer. Her orgasm burst forth with twice the power of any she had before experienced, because it had been so long pent up. She wiggled vigorously on Casimir hand, her whole body writhing.
The moment the climax passed, Emily began to shake her head and shout, “No, no, it was not my fault!” (which came out as a soft, meaningless buzz). Then she heard the swish of something cutting through the air. An instant later, she felt the impact of a riding crop on her already inflamed buttocks. The crop felt as if a hot knife was carving her flesh.
“You must not come without permission,” Casimir repeated, as he flailed Emily’s fine hemispheres. Although the twin targets of his wrath joggled wildly under the strokes of the stiff crop, Casimir’s aim was not thrown off. He striped Emily’s rotundities with a neat series of parallel welts from the top of her buttocks to where the undercurves met her thighs.
“You may not come without permission,” he said, after he ended the chastisement. “Do you understand, My Lady?”
The words took a moment to penetrate the haze of pain surrounding Emily’s brain, but when they did, she nodded emphatically, and again attempted to tell the Count that she would cooperate to the best of her ability.
“Good, then we begin anew,” he said.
Emily’s bottom was still t
hrobbing in agony, and she did not believe that even an operator as skillful as the Count could excite her again. She soon found that she had been mistaken. Casimir first applied his tongue, using tricks that Christine had never dreamed of. After the first signs of new arousal were apparent, he resumed manual stimulation, squeezing, stroking, rubbing and, most maddening of all, flicking with the sharp edge of his fingernail. Each time the Count’s nail nipped at her, a bolt of carnal sensation so strong that Emily could scarcely distinguish it from pain, made her twist crazily in her bonds.
It was not very long before Casimir’s fiendishly clever methods had brought the young Duchess once again to the very brink. This time, however, Emily drew inspiration from the pain that still throbbed from her bruised buttocks, and withheld the explosion.
Casimir noticed her efforts, and remarked, “You are learning, My Lady.” After teasing Emily until she thought she would take leave of her reason, he varied the routine. Withdrawing his fingers from her, he moved them to her rear and without any preamble he drove two slippery fingers knuckle-deep into her. Emily tried to twist away from this unexpected and even less welcome invasion, but stretched and confined as she was, all her efforts to escape came to nothing.
Casimir pumped his digits in and out, rotating and spreading them at the same time. “How does this suit you, My Lady?” he inquired mockingly. “I trust it meets with your approval.” He jammed in a third finger and her entire body jerked.
Emily turned her hooded head back as though she was trying to see her tormentor. She shrieked with all her might for him to stop, producing a squeak that might have been made by a half-dead mouse.
And then, with just as little warning as there had been when he had started, he stopped, popping his fingers free and reinserting them in her womanly cleft. “Do not come without permission,” he warned Emily for at least the tenth time.
Once again he brought Emily to the edge, amusing himself by directing her hips in circles by the tugs of his fingers. Emily bit down on her lower lip so hard that she drew blood, although she felt nothing at the time. Somehow, she repressed the nearly uncontrollable urge to give in to the mindless demands of her body. She had begun to tell herself that the riding crop was not so bad after all, and was weighing whether to let herself go when Casimir again pulled his hand away from her womanhood. Emily was torn between relief that she had escaped what she was certain would be an even worse whipping, and frustration at being denied the climax she so badly needed yet another time.
“Are you ready to come now, My Lady Emily?” he asked. She bobbed her head so rapidly that it put Casimir in mind of a woodpecker drilling a tree. He restrained a chortle at the thought, and continued, “Your time will be soon; this I promise.”
He untied the laces of his breeches, and sighed with relief as his turgid organ was released from an uncomfortable captivity. The sight of Emily writhing under paddle and the crop and her frenzied response to his handling had given Count Casimir a mighty stand. The lovely blonde Duchess was not the only one in sore need of relief.
He took the shaft of his manhood in hand, rubbing the tip up and down the crease between Emily’s welted hillocks, pressing down a little more with each pass. “Prepare yourself, My Lady,” he said.
At first, the Duchess’ tight muscle resisted the intruder, but Casimir was not discouraged. This was not the first such that he had claimed in a long career, nor the twenty-first, and never yet had he failed to capture the prize in the end. He shifted his weight forward, increasing the pressure on Emily’s defense. Although at first she stretched only a fraction of an inch, this was enough to give Casimir a lodgment. Then, like a castle whose gate has fallen after a long siege allowing the invaders to pour in, Emily’s defenses gave way all at once, and in the twinkling of an eye, impossible as it might seem that such a large object could pass through such a small entry, he was fully inside.
Emily had imagined that she had been at least partially prepared for this moment when Casimir had so used her so crudely with his fingers, but once again she had miscalculated. This felt nothing like the fingers had. To Emily, it seemed as if he had wedged his entire arm into her.
Almost as bad as the tearing agony was the horrible fullness she felt, a sensation that only increased as progressed deeper. The feeling made her internal muscles grasp at him as if attempting to expel the foreign object, while the tight ring of muscle went into spasms around him. These automatic reactions of Emily’s body did not interfere with Casimir’s enjoyment as he ravished her; on the contrary, they heightened his pleasure immensely.
“Ah! You are a quick study, Lady Emily,” Casimir said. He paused to enjoy his conquest. “By Christ’s wounds, you grip me as tightly as the fanciest whore in Vienna! You shall have your reward, for you have well earned it.”
He reached down to the junction of her thighs, took hold of her and tugged and twirled. Almost instantly, to her shock, Emily was again teetering on the brink of a colossal orgasm. She squealed, rocking beneath him.
“Now, Lady Emily,” Count Casimir said. He pinched gently with his fingernails. “Now you may come.”
Emily went into furious motion, swiveling and bucking like a unbroken filly, bouncing crazily, rotating back and forth on him, erupting like a volcano.
“By St. Peter’s balls! You are a most excellent fuck, My Lady!” Casimir exclaimed, as he energetically stroked her heaving form. “If yon Princess can better you, I may survive not the experience.” As a connoisseur of suffering, the Count prided himself on his ability to last up to an hour, but in this instance, even his iron self-control was no match for the wild ride she had given him. Long before he wished, Casimir exploded in a mighty orgasm.
He was breathing hard when he finished, his hands resting on Emily’s sweating back helping to support him. “A most excellent fuck, indeed,” he repeated. “Master Harkness told me that Her Highness was the one with the noteworthy capacity for dalliance, but meseems he discovered not all your secrets, Lady Emily.” He pulled up a stool and lowered himself on it. “I am obliged perforce ask your leave, Princess Christine,” Casimir said, sounding genuinely apologetic, “but I must needs refresh myself before we commence your lesson.”
Christine would have told the Count that he need not trouble himself on her behalf, and that for her part she was more than willing to forgo the lesson altogether. However, she was unable to communicate any of these thoughts, stifled as she was by a mouth filled with rags. Casimir chose to interpret the sounds that escaped her gag to be her gracious consent, for which he duly thanked her.
Christine had been able to see none of what had transpired during the lesson, having only the Count’s words and the sounds of what she guessed was Emily being chastened with some unknown instrument to go by. She was able to determine that Casimir had made Emily climax more than once, and she was reasonably certain the Count’s instructional program had involved taking her in the rear. She was not looking forward to her own lesson.
Chapter Eleven
All too soon, Christine heard that now-familiar, hateful voice coming from close behind. “I have a great yen to see for myself the prodigies of lust of which I have been told you are capable, Princess,” Casimir said. An instant later, his hand was stroking between her legs and his fingers probing and fondling.
“I will show you naught!” Christine retorted defiantly, which sounded less impressive than she would have liked, emerging from her mouth as a weak “Mmm-nnn”. It was probably just as well, for her traitorous body, as ever, paid not the slightest heed to her wishes. Almost from the moment his palm touched her, her nipples stiffened and her heart began to race. She could feel the heat growing in her belly, and she understood with despairing certainty that of all women, she would be the least able to thwart the Count’s designs.
“So? You are a bitch in heat, Princess,” Casimir commented as he watched the way her body moved as he stroked her. “Thus far, you fulfill Harkness’ extravagant praise. But now you shall learn the ski
ll the Lady Emily has begun to master: you must not come without permission. Do you understand, Your Highness?”
“I understand full well, O vile offspring of an unwed sow!” Christine shouted. This well considered insult was, of course, wasted, as she produced nothing more than a few muffled, meaningless noises.
The trouble was, as she knew full well, she could not contain her orgasms, not if he threatened her with the most horrific tortures imaginable. There was nothing she could do about it, and she was certain he would make her suffer severely for her “disobedience”.
In just a few minutes of stroking, Christine was on the crest of an orgasm. No! her mind screamed, don’t, don’t! As she had foreseen, when it came to sex, her body was not her own to command. She came violently, sawing her crotch back and forth over Casimir’s hand, her fingers and toes curling as a low animal sound of pleasure vibrated in her throat.
Casimir seemed at a loss for a moment. “What? Do you mock me, slut?” he demanded. He evidently believed Christine had climaxed as quickly as possible in a demonstration of disobedience. “I warn you, I tolerate not disrespect.”
To Train A Queen Page 9
