Under a Stern Reign

by Raymond Wilde

  ‘Don’t open your eyes,’ she warned, then something touched the insides of Emelie’s thighs, switching back and forth. It was the tip of the riding-crop, skilfully stinging her legs. It slithered upward to her clitoris, tickled the lips of her pussy, then moved away again.

  It came back, beneath her torso and stroked her nipples, circling them. The tip whipped her nipples softly but menacingly, alternating between them, then went away again.

  Emelie’s heart raced and secretly her pussy yearned for attention. Quite frankly, she admitted shamefully to herself, she wanted Elise to fuck her.

  Nothing touched her for a while, their only contact being the stout leather column that bridge the tiny space between Elise’s cunt and Emelie’s flushed face and speared into her throat. Then she shivered, for something was tickling along her spine and tracing the contours of her buttocks. It was the riding-crop returned, but then it lifted again and she heard it being dropped to the floor.

  The phallus was pulled slowly from her mouth, its ribs running off her tongue, and she sighed as her jaw was able to relax.

  ‘Lie down.’ Elise was standing and her foot was on her shoulder, pushing her to the floor, so she meekly lay flat on her front, her cheek resting on her folded forearms.

  There was a tense pause. She shivered in the silence and dared to open her eyes just a little. Elise was doing something, she could just see her feet, and there was a lewd snigger of approval from the bed.

  Hands lifted her midriff a little and a pillow was stuffed between her and the carpet, raising her smooth buttocks, and as she wondered what on earth was intended her feet were nudged wide apart and someone - Elise, she knew - was covering her, her soft breasts moulding to her back, her sweet breath wafting around her ear and shoulder, fingers entwining in her hair and tugging painfully while others clamped to her buttock and prised it away from its twin... And then Emelie cried out in utter shock and dismay as something large and bulbous nosed into her virgin anus, paused while she caught her breath and absorbed the enormity and shame of what was happening to her, and then sank with one inexorably slow lunge to utterly invade her tight rear passage.

  Once Elise’s pubic curls were nestled against the deliciously soft buttocks of the lovely girl sandwiched submissively beneath her she rested for a few moments, enjoying her triumph, and then slowly began to fuck her arse with the huge leather cock, while Madame Coubette watched the splendidly erotic performance from amongst the silk pillows on her bed.

  Penetrated in such a demeaning manner, Emelie felt totally defeated, although the shameful stirrings of an orgasm were beginning, seeping from her core, filling her insides. It was uncharted but wickedly delicious territory. She sighed uncontrollably, rolling her hips to Elise’s tormenting rhythm, and Elise smiled.

  ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ she gloated, whispering into the vanquished girl’s ear, and despite herself Emelie sighed again, lifting her buttocks higher to meet Elise’s thrusts. The young mistress knew everything about her, and there was nothing she could do to resist.

  For ten nights Elise and Madame Coubette had slept together and feasted on her and each other - but never anything quite like this had occurred between them...

  It was after those ten days and ten nights when Elise told Emelie that she needed to take her away. They were to go on a journey. It would be safe and all she would have to do would be to act naturally and to remember to say a few certain things. She wanted her to meet her old friend Genevieve, and just perhaps, Elise could find a way for them all to be reunited and to live happily back in France...

  Chapter Eleven

  After dinner Genevieve went to bed with a melancholy weariness. Her hosts were being as kind as could be, she knew, offering her their home and shelter without really knowing her or very much about her.

  Her temporary sanctuary - for that was all it could every really be; her home and life was in France - was a cool and fresh one. She gazed out of her bedroom window, the stars in the night sky large and sparkling bright - even more so than in France, she was sure.

  Below, in the darkness, she could just make out a strange and unworldly panorama of stony buildings, all slightly differing in gothic and Moorish blend, scattered over peaks and wooded hills.

  She closed the two large shutters, then cast off her clothes and stretched out naked on the bed. She enjoyed the sensuality of the warm air on her uncovered flesh, the moonlight creeping through two cracks in the shutters, and its beam falling across the lower half of her slender, virginal body, her golden pubic hair glistening in the silvery light.

  After a moment she bent her legs, raised herself onto her elbows and let her head loll back loosely. She shook her hair and felt it sweep the bed, then glanced at the closed bedroom door.

  For a moment she closed her eyes and pictured Elise, smiling at her, burying her face between her legs, looking up at her capriciously as she held her artful tongue lingeringly and tantalisingly on that certain exquisite spot. And she recalled how she had in turn kissed Elise’s wet lips between her smooth, fragrantly scented thighs.

  She recalled how Elise had spanked her, her clitoris rubbing over her thigh. She remembered those spankings from Elise, and the beatings from Count de Tranville.

  And each time it had happened. Somewhere amidst her shame, her incapacity to resist, something began awakening, and as it awakened it took control of her. And she had chased it, all the while trying to convince herself that she was at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

  And then her thoughts moved to Emelie. Where was the sweet girl now? How lovely she was, but would they ever meet again?

  Genevieve shrugged off the sadness thoughts of the girl threatened to enshroud her in, and remembered the night the count copulated with Elise on the dinner table, grunting, thrusting, and leering at her like an animal, and despite her abhorrence at the memory a strange and compelling tightness churned in her stomach. It was nice and she wanted more, so she lay back and slipped a hand between her parted thighs, her knowing fingers caressing the damp lips of her pussy in the peace of the moonlit room

  Feeling naughty, she then lifted her fingertips to her tongue, moistened them, and began tracing circles over her eager clitoris, her pussy getting increasingly wet. She rubbed more quickly, losing herself in pleasure, placing both hands between her legs and stroking.

  She felt a sigh of joy ready to burst from her but suppressed it, not wanting anyone to hear her, and then she relaxed and let herself drift, slowly falling asleep.

  Genevieve awoke fairly late the next day, and by the time she got downstairs the two men had already left. She went into the breakfast room to find the table not fully cleared, and three maids stood looking out of the window, chatting idly to each other, but they span round when they heard her enter.

  They were all pretty young things. Two were about her height, with olive skin and black hair tied into buns. They had a playfulness in their expressions, and she remembered being told the evening before that their names were Flavia and Fulvia.

  The third girl, who she thought was called Ana, also had healthy olive skin. She was slightly shorter than Genevieve, she too had a saucy face, but her eyes were sea-green and she had light brown hair.

  Her figure attracted attention too, for she had large breasts and full hips, sensually voluptuous without quite being plump. She appeared to be the most confident of them, and greeted Genevieve in broken French while the other two giggled shyly and hurriedly cleared what remained of the breakfast table.

  She told them what she wanted to eat, and as soon as they left she wandered to the window, surprised to see Rodolfo outside sitting astride a horse. So he hadn’t yet left for Lisbon. Instead he’d been out for a morning ride.

  His horse was still sprightly so he decided to exercise it further, taking it back and forth over a white dry stone wall, the graceful beast clearing it gracefully each time.
Rodolfo looked dashing, straight-backed and vigorous, and the maids no doubt had a crush on him, Genevieve realised.

  He was heading for the stables and looked up, noticed her and waved. She waved back, and about ten minutes later he appeared in the breakfast room just as her food was being served.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said breezily. ‘It’s a fine day. How are you feeling?’

  ‘A little more relaxed, thank you,’ she told him.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go to the river with me?’ he continued cheerfully. ‘You’d love it there, I know you would.’

  Genevieve remained silent for a moment, and then gazed into his eyes. They were clear and unassuming. ‘No,’ she said finally, ‘thank you.’

  He stared at her quizzically, but she avoided his look. ‘There are many things here I’d love to show you,’ he told her. ‘The forests are more beautiful than those in France, or anywhere else. A lot of painters and poets drift around here. We could then head west to Cabo da Roca and Collares.’

  ‘I’d like to,’ she admitted, ‘but there is still much I need to think about, and I need time to do that.’

  Rodolfo smiled and shrugged.

  ‘If you care for me, as you profess to, you will understand,’ she added.

  ‘As you wish,’ he acknowledged. ‘But sometimes it is best not to think too much.’

  She looked into his eyes again and suddenly felt he was right, and she wanted him to embrace and kiss her.

  ‘I’m leaving, then,’ he announced, still smiling good-humouredly. ‘I’ll be gone for a week. I hope you manage to relax and do the thinking you need. You should take walks; it is very pretty around here.’

  He bade her goodbye, and it was as he turned to leave that a wave of emotions suddenly erupted in Genevieve which immediately surprised her and which she later regretted. ‘Wait!’ she blurted. ‘Tell me, are the brothels in Lisbon as entertaining as those in Paris?’

  Rodolfo turned back to her slowly, his brow furrowed. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, ‘I’ve been away for a long time. Why, do you wish to go to a brothel?’

  ‘Perhaps, to see just how you entertain yourself whilst in Lisbon,’ she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

  He gazed at her silently. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked.

  Genevieve stared sulkily down at the table. ‘As I said, I need to be on my own and I need time to think,’ she said firmly, realising she had perhaps overstepped the mark, that perhaps he didn’t deserve to be spoken to in such a disrespectful manner. He had, after all was said and done, rescued her on that fateful night when the revolutionaries stormed Count de Tranvilles home, and he had subsequently proposed to her.

  ‘Please take your time doing what you feel you must do,’ Rodolfo said, ‘but don’t spend it judging me.’ With that he turned and left the room, as Genevieve did nothing but watch him go.

  Genevieve’s glum mood lasted through breakfast, until two of the maids came to clear it away. They smiled at her as they appeared, but when they saw the sullenness of her pretty face and the intensity of her eyes, their smiles quickly faded.

  ‘Mademoiselle is not well?’ one enquired in heavily accented French.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Genevieve replied curtly.

  ‘Mademoiselle is still tired?’ the other maid added.

  ‘How is it that you know French so well?’ Genevieve asked.

  ‘The artist,’ Ana said, for she had entered without Genevieve noticing. ‘The artist is French.’

  ‘The artist?’ said Genevieve.

  ‘Oui, the young artist is French,’ Ana went on. ‘He is very nice. He writes poems, and paints, and teaches us too. He is a little crazy, and all the time he wants to...’

  Both the other maids looked at Ana sharply, and she instantly covered her mouth with her hands. But Genevieve was not really interested in the apparent secret that Ana had almost uncovered, for her anger was simmering again as she imagined Rodolfo making love to the three of them somewhere in the house during the night while she slept.

  Genevieve had excused herself early from dinner. Having earlier returned from Sintra, Conde de Agora chatted with her politely and warmly but she was not up to the conversation. She did not care to talk about the revolution, nor did she have strong views on the current political situation in Europe.

  As far as she was concerned, the revolution had swept away her family and she hated it. After that the foremost issue on her mind were her confused feelings towards Rodolfo. She struggled to return her host’s pleasantries before excusing herself and complaining of a headache. He advised her to rest immediately and said he would send someone up later with a warm drink.

  An early night was exactly what she wanted. She longed to undress in the warm evening air of her room again, just as she had the night before, and to ride in the moonlight on the feelings she had aroused with her own touch.

  As soon as she reached her bedchamber she threw off her clothes as before, lay naked on the bed and spread her legs. She trembled in the darkness, stroking her flat tummy and pussy lips. But this time the sweet sensations did not awaken quite as readily as before.

  In vain she toyed with herself impatiently, stroking with both hands, placing a cushion between her legs to angle her hips and make herself more accessible to her fingers. Eventually, with her eyes shut fast, her hands rubbing furiously over her pussy and pubis she could feel herself stirring - but then there was a knock at the door.

  She exhaled heavily in frustration and scrambled under the sheets, calling for whomever it was to enter. Ana appeared with a cup of warm milk, her eyes sparkling knowingly as they met the French girl’s.

  Genevieve blushed red and took the cup from the girl. It was clear that she wore nothing beneath the sheets, and from the rosy heat in her cheeks and her breathlessness, the maid could draw fairly accurate conclusions about the girl’s activities without too much difficulty.

  Conde de Agora had breakfasted early again the next day, and once more Genevieve found herself dining alone. Her frustrations toward Rodolfo from the previous day had faded, and now she felt a mixture of loneliness and tension. Had Ana seen enough to suspect what shameful things she’d been up to? Had she gossiped about it to the others, making Genevieve an object of ridicule among the servants?

  Fortunately Ana was not serving at breakfast, so Genevieve was relieved to not have to face her. Only one girl was in attendance, one she had not seen before, a fresh-faced girl with blue-black her and dark eyes. Silently and with a shy smile she served and cleared Genevieve’s breakfast, and none of the others were to be seen.

  Afterwards Genevieve wondered what to do. She had spent the previous day alone in the house, and so she wanted to go out for a walk. It was a bright, cloudless day and the warmth and solitude were already beginning to soothe her.

  The clothes she wore were a strange mixture of items pulled together from around the house and placed in her wardrobe, and because the household had lacked a mistress for so many years, few of them were actually for a woman. So that morning Genevieve wore a tight pair of boy’s breeches that must have belonged to Rodolfo or one of his brothers when they were much younger, and a white shirt that also clearly once belonged to a young man. She had to roll up the cuffs to uncover her hands.

  Although unusual for a beautiful girl from good stock to wear, the outfit made her feel comfortable and strangely excited. Her hair was washed and smelled fresh, and shone lustrously that morning when she stepped out into the bright Portuguese sunshine, adding exuberance to her rosy cheeks at a time when she was feeling less than secure. She was a combination of flattering contradictions, her fresh face and appearance so feminine and so at odds with her clothes that she seemed more enigmatically alluring than ever.

  Wearing a pair of cork-soled sandals she decided it was time for her to venture out and explore the verdant valley that spread b
efore her bedroom window. So her wandering started at the old wall where Rodolfo had been exercising his horse. It seemed to be built of a different stone to the rest of the house, and looked as if it might have been far older.

  From there she spotted a footpath winding downwards towards a series of groves, from where a strong fresh scent drifted upward. It was eucalyptus, an odour that was as new to her as it was enchanting, and she walked through a patch of the eucalyptus trees as if in a languid trance.

  From there her senses were further filled with new smells as she wandered through lemon trees, heading downwards sharply until she reached the start of rich leafy woods.

  It seemed intimidating to her at first, despite its vivid green beauty. But with little reason to yet return to the house she continued through softly shaded foliage, gradually becoming darker as she strolled deeper into the woods. Now the sunlight only flickered through crossed branches and fell in moving shafts on thick red trunks.

  She stopped by one large tree for a moment, in awe of a creature she saw staring down at her. It was a tiny snakelike thing with beady, roving eyes, and as soon as she stepped closer it scurried off on four legs.

  The undergrowth bristled with life. Birds seemed to twitter from every branch, and the downward descent continued with the same steepness. Occasionally she would come to a clearing from which she could still view the other hills around her, sand-coloured rocks and peaks.

  After another ten minutes or so she heard the distinct murmur of water and immediately thought of the river Rodolfo had mentioned. She wanted to reach it, that would be her goal for the day, she told herself, realising that the upward return would not be as easy going as her journey so far.

  But as she continued her descent the ground levelled out, and soon she came to a break in the woods and faced a wall of bushes. The water could still be heard and she wanted to press on, and was relieved when she saw that the path continued very narrowly through a break in the bushes to her right. She made her way excitedly through the gap and after a few minutes she was suddenly delighted to see the glistening light of water, flashing downwards from a rocky waterfall some four metres above ground level.