Under a Stern Reign

by Raymond Wilde

But how could Madame Coubette know of this? Women’s intuition, he concluded. But could other people also sense Elise’s dark nature? And what sort of gossip might his mistress be spreading? It was her insinuations that there was something between him and Elise that worried him most, however... and now between him and Genevieve, too. It was hard enough resisting the temptation of the two youthful beauties, without having to listen to intimations from the fiercely jealous woman. Anger mixed with disdain as he gazed down at her bare posterior. He would need to get a maid to fix her skirt before she went home.

  Madame Coubette was still an attractive woman, but she was becoming an increasing irritant. The sensuous woman who had enchanted him a year before was fading, and a frightful shrew was replacing her.

  Of course he might enjoy other women in Portugal, or wherever, but what did it have to do with her? He mentally admonished himself for allowing the married whore to feel she could be something akin to his wife. It was not wise. Should he have invited her on the trip with him? Probably not. No, definitely not, he decided. In fact, it was probably time to get rid of her.

  Madame Coubette stirred and stood up, somewhat unsteadily. ‘Put this on and then go up to Elise’s room and find something to wear so I can get it repaired,’ he suggested, passing her the damaged skirt. ‘It is too damaged to go home in. Tell Elise you had an accident of some kind. I’m sure she’ll find you something of hers to wear, and I can then get someone to mend it.’

  ‘I can’t come to Portugal, you know that, don’t you?’ she said firmly, putting on and fastening the skirt. ‘And if you do go, we probably won’t see each other again.’

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he said determinedly. ‘Once this madness is over, I will return.’

  ‘Don’t make idle promises. You’ll never keep them.’

  ‘We’re living in terrible times. Times that call for sacrifices of one kind or another. I’ve asked you to come with me. I will already be sacrificing my home and country because I have no choice. You have a choice and it’s best that you consider it well.’

  ‘I have given you over a year of my life. You have given me nothing in return and now you take leave of me as if I were?’

  ‘Just consider my predicament and consider my offer,’ the count interrupted, losing his patience.

  ‘No,’ his mistress hissed back, surprising him with her vehemence, ‘you consider my offer. You will stay here in France and there will be no more mention of leaving. If you go there will be trouble. I’ll get you arrested before you leave.’

  Genevieve still tingled all over. Though feeling shy, she felt a warm delight in her near nakedness. She felt so vulnerable and yet so free, too. She wanted Elise to touch her again, to repeat what she had just done.

  But Elise was now beside the bed, holding the curtain cords. ‘Stand up,’ she ordered. ‘It’s time for your next lesson.’

  Without thinking Genevieve obeyed again, a feeling of lightness permeating her body. Elise made her turn her back, stroked the girl’s long blonde hair, and then pulled her arms behind her.

  ‘Lovers play games, Genevieve,’ she whispered. ‘And a man’s game is essentially that of power.’

  Genevieve trembled a little, feeling the thick cord being wound and knotted tightly around her wrists. What was her friend up to now?

  ‘Wuh-what are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘As I said, it is time for your next lesson. A lesson in power and control.’ Elise lifted the second cord. ‘Now open your mouth,’ she ordered.

  Partly in fear, partly in fascination, Genevieve complied and felt the cord passing over her lips and lodging between her teeth. Elise tied it behind her head, forming a gag. ‘Now get on your knees,’ she commanded, pushing her to the floor.

  Genevieve did as she was told, but Elise pushed her further so that her head sank forward and rested on the soft bed. She fidgeted apprehensively, a sudden panic gripping her, aware of her exposure and complete vulnerability.

  ‘Relax,’ Elise murmured, her hand following the delicious shape of Genevieve’s bottom. ‘Now, power is a man’s favourite thing, and learning to submit to the whims of others is part of the lesson you must learn. Men love whores and slaves, and you must learn to become a whore and a slave if you want to win their affections.’

  The hand withdrew, and then suddenly slapped Genevieve sharply on her buttocks. She swallowed the shriek of shock and pain that tried to force itself through the gag. Heat surged through her bottom as if she’d been scalded.

  ‘What a man’s pleasures are might not always be understandable to you, but learning to enjoy them is the challenge,’ Elise said, stroking Genevieve’s bottom again, but just as the kneeling girl felt the pain subsiding a second swipe fizzed through the air, the slap landing on her right buttock. It scorched more than the first, sending a raging heat over the surface of her skin and resonating deeply.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She pulled at the cord in vain, but along with the pain, she realised, came the pleasurable throbbing Elise’s tongue had only just partially abated. Her pussy was tingling again, warming and dampening. The pain in her buttocks mingled with it, inflaming it like a fan. She spread her knees discreetly wider, preparing to receive the next slap.

  A zing resounded with the slap of a taut palm against the lower curve of her buttocks, making her writhe once more. The scalding sensation spread further. Something was welling up inside amid the pain and humiliation.

  Elise noted the surreptitious movement of the lovely girl’s knees, and sniggered. ‘So, now the mare is hungry to be fucked,’ she goaded. ‘But not yet.’

  Taking Genevieve by the shoulders she lifted her so that she was once more upright on her knees. She loosened the gag so that it slipped down around her neck and stepped before the girl. Her cool hands cupped Genevieve’s flushed face, and she sat on the warm spot just vacated by the kneeling girl. ‘That was the second part of today’s lesson,’ she told her plaything. ‘And now for the third.’

  Elise brushed aside the blonde fringe from Genevieve’s damp brow, and the kneeling girl gazed at Elise’s taut stomach and the dark triangle of curls nestled between her parted thighs. The sitting girl rubbed the glistening lips hiding there, and without a word she slowly parted them, her fingertips locating her clitoris.

  ‘You have now seen the toy men have between their legs,’ she said huskily, her free hand stroking Genevieve’s hair. ‘This is ours, and it needs to be kissed and adored. Kiss it for me, my dear Genevieve.’

  Genevieve looked up into her friend’s eyes, and then down to the moist, beckoning pussy before her. She closed her eyes and moved her face tentatively to the moist lips. Nervously she ran her tongue over the damp and fragrant flesh, but instantly felt her face being pressed deeper, urged by the hands of her friend. She felt wetness spreading over her lips, nose, and cheeks. Elise moaned. ‘That’s it,’ she encouraged dreamily. ‘That’s it.’ She took Genevieve’s head in her hands and guided her mouth over her clitoris. With fingers urgently entwined in Genevieve’s hair she bared her pleasure button to the girl with the other hand. Genevieve tongued it obediently, conscious now of the extent of the pleasure Elise was experiencing...

  A noise suddenly startled them both. Genevieve tried to withdraw, to see what was happening, but a fierce swat and intense pain erupted on her bottom once more and she yelped loudly. Tears blurred her vision. Elise had not moved, but shock was etched on her face.

  ‘I told you so!’ Madame Coubette gloated.

  ‘Silence!’ the count thundered, his glazed eyes giving him the countenance of a madman. ‘This is not Elise’s doing,’ he growled at his mistress in defence of his stepdaughter, with a display of bullish conviction he didn’t actually believe. ‘It can’t be.’ He glared at Genevieve. ‘What on earth are you doing to my stepdaughter? Both of you will be punished tomorrow morning,’ he went on to Elise before poor Genevieve could even think
of a response, let alone impart one, ‘giving you time between now and then to dwell on your disgraceful behaviour. Bring her at ten o’clock sharp. You know where!’

  Elise stood and hastily untied the cord around Genevieve’s wrists. He watched them for a moment, and then left with Madame Coubette in his trail, who looked back at Elise and smiled...

  Chapter Three

  Genevieve’s legs were trembling as she followed Elise into the library. She had never been in there before. It was the count’s preserve and out of bounds. Her eyes flitted over the book-lined walls of the austere room, alighting on a portrait hanging over the large fireplace of a beautiful dark-haired woman.

  The fire was lit, and the count paced to and fro before it, his hands behind his back. To the left of the fireplace was his writing desk and chair, and to the right was a leather armchair.

  Elise seemed very composed, surprising Genevieve. Perhaps there was nothing much to fear, after all.

  The count turned to face them, and Elise stopped just in front of him. She stood proudly, mirroring his stance, her hands behind her back, her shoulders set proudly. Genevieve took her place beside her, and on the armchair she noticed a leather riding-crop with a loop at the tip.

  The count wore no wig, and she observed his short greying hair and brown eyes, seeking some trace of compassion. But there was none to be found, his stare cold with determination.

  Genevieve stole a sideways glance at Elise, who still seemed to be in perfect control of her emotions. How could she be so calm and collected?

  ‘I find it hard to believe that one of the de Montvert stock could turn out to be such a depraved little hussy,’ the count said to Genevieve. ‘You have brought depravity to my home and corrupted the girl I have raised as my own for seven years.’

  Genevieve couldn’t believe the unjust severity of the charge. Her heart began thumping as she vainly sought some way of explaining what the count had witnessed without blaming Elise. But her guardian turned away from her and addressed his stepdaughter.

  ‘You know what to expect,’ he said.

  Genevieve heard a rustle and looked at Elise, shocked as the girl unbuttoned her bodice and removed her clothes.

  ‘You should be ashamed of yourself for allowing this wretch to corrupt you in such a way,’ he went on. ‘As you know, there is only one way to deal with this sort of disgraceful behaviour.’

  The count turned again to Genevieve. ‘Take off your clothes, too,’ he ordered, and a wave of panic flooded her, a hot flush colouring her cheeks. ‘And hurry up about it!’

  The poor girl reddened and anxiously began fumbling with the buttons of her bodice. Elise, meanwhile, was already naked, the fire dancing on her creamy thighs. Her proud breasts swayed firmly as she kicked her dress and underwear to one side, and moved to the armchair.

  Not wanting to incur the count’s wrath any more than she already had, Genevieve hastened to undress too. Despite the heat of the fire she shivered and crossed her arms over her breasts, her nipples hardening.

  The count manoeuvred the armchair to face the fireplace, and then the writing desk too.

  ‘Over the chair with you, Elise,’ he instructed, and his stepdaughter bent gracefully, her hands placed firmly on its arms as she bent over its back.

  Gazing at the shapely buttocks, Genevieve could make out the pink cleft of her sex, the same wet lips she had been introduced to the day before, causing all this trouble now. It glistened with moisture, inviting her...

  Count de Tranville held the crop. He lifted his arm, and then brought it down with a sharp sweep across Elise’s bottom. Genevieve’s heart jumped at the sound of the assault, and she watched as her friend’s lovely bottom twitched in a brief spasm at the impact. She looked in horror at a burning red line striping Elise’s poor buttocks. A second strike followed, sweeping down with the same ferocity. This time a faint yelp came from the bent girl as her buttocks quivered again.

  ‘Enough,’ the count panted after administering a third cruel swat.

  Elise raised herself slowly from her position. Her face glowed red and perspiration beaded her forehead.

  Genevieve gazed at the girl’s heaving breasts and then tried to cast a look of sympathy to her, but Elise’s shining eyes turned immediately to the count. He turned to face Genevieve.

  ‘Now you,’ he said. ‘Take her place over the armchair.’

  Genevieve felt her legs trembling almost uncontrollably, but the pulsing rhythm was between her thighs again. She couldn’t move.

  ‘I knew a little hussy like you would have problems taking her medicine,’ Count de Tranville said, then without warning he grabbed her wrist and as she squealed an incoherent protest he pressed her facedown across the desk instead.

  ‘No!’ Genevieve managed to shriek, shaking with chagrin, her cheeks aflame. Tears welled in her eyes and she struggled to raise herself, but a sharp push from the count pressed her back down on the desktop, and his hand remained between her shoulders, pinning her to the polished surface.

  ‘Hold her hands,’ Count de Tranville ordered Elise, and she obediently grasped Genevieve’s wrists and pulled them to the desk’s edge. Speechlessly Genevieve searched her friend’s eyes for some empathy, and was shocked to find none. Her buttocks, exposed to the count, suddenly felt chilly and unbearably vulnerable. What was he doing behind her...?

  The vicious leather crop whistled through the air and sank into Genevieve’s buttocks, making her howl as it scorched a path across them and made her squirm frantically against the hands holding her. She had never been punished so severely in her young life before, but the pain in her bottom, far from being unbearable, was fanning the delicious heat already simmering there.

  Chapter Four

  When Elise told Genevieve that Rodolfo was a man who could not be content with just one woman, she could hardly have been more right, and he would have been the first to confess this. Nature had bestowed Rodolfo with gifts that many men would envy. He was rich, handsome, and possessed an athletic frame. He was also very well endowed.

  But, while Rodolfo was a man to delight many a woman in bed, he had also grown difficult to satisfy. He had enjoyed sleeping with so many in Portugal, Spain and France, that at the age of twenty-five an ennui began to affect him. So to rectify this he had taken to experimenting with other practices.

  Wild parties in Paris took his fancy for a while, but he eventually grew tired of them. And while from time to time even men offered themselves to his curiosity, he never really felt much interest in such a departure. So currently he found contentment sleeping with a number of pretty women at the same time, usually in the better Parisian brothels.

  It was for these reasons that when Rodolfo awoke in his apartment in Paris, naked beneath his goose feather quilt, he was not startled to feel the warmth and weight of two soft bodies moulding against him. He threw back the quilt and stared at the two girls sprawled beside him, and it took a moment to recall their names - Claudine and Juliette, that was it.

  Both were blonde, and whilst Claudine was naked Juliette slept in her black corset. Claudine, the slighter of the two, rested her head on his stomach, while Juliette nestled in the crook of his arm.

  Claudine and Juliette, he mused... the young and destitute former mistresses of an executed aristocrat. He had found them in a Paris brothel, and taken by the beauty of the fallen pair, so totally at odds with the shabby den in which they resided, he took them home with him.

  It was strange how similar the two were. They had almost the same shade of blonde hair; their skin had a similar olive hue, and there was not that much difference in their shape or size.

  It was lucky for them that he found them only recently after they started working in the seedy brothel, before the delicacy of their beauty had been completely erased by their labours among the grubby hands and lusty loins of countless miserly commoners.

  W
hat a state France was in, he contemplated, and then his thoughts drifted to his visit to the Count de Tranville.

  At first deep reluctance had filled him when he received his father’s instruction to assist the count in fleeing the country. But the sight of the man’s two beautiful charges quickly changed his mind. What was there to keep him in Paris, anyway?

  And what a treat Elise had turned out to be! And Genevieve... he was sure he had never seen such a beautiful girl before. Thoughts of the two made him stir, and he looked at the two sleeping girls beside him. What was he to do with them? When they were not making love, the two were the best servants he’d ever had. Neither complained of anything, and both did whatever they were told.

  Then it occurred to him to take them with him. But what would he tell Count de Tranville and his father? Why, he would introduce them as yet more imperilled aristocrats whom he was gallantly rescuing. Claudine could be the countess of somewhere, Juliette the baroness of somewhere else. Splendid!

  Having made the decision he relaxed into his pillows and smiled. Yes, it would be too great a shame to leave France without them.

  After the thrashing received from the count, Genevieve fled to her bedchamber in tears. The punishment left her perplexed and at a loss to understand her own feelings. She felt fury at her guardian for being so unfair and so brutal, but at the same time she acknowledged the pleasure the blows had awoken.

  Her feelings toward Elise similarly confused her. On the one hand she resented the assistance she’d given him in the administration of the punishment - a punishment far more protracted than the one Elise had to endure, and a punishment for which Elise had been responsible in the first place - but on the other hand the memories of the pleasures she’d experienced earlier at her hand remained.

  The following day Elise complained of a headache and asked for her meals to be brought to her bedroom. She also issued instructions that she was not to be disturbed by anyone, including Genevieve.