Four nights later, Adèle, again acting under strict orders from Lady Carstairs, sat at her secluded table in a darkened corner of the Dreadnought Club. As the famous crooner finished his late spot, Adèle peered across the smoke-filled room and watched as Sapphire picked up her purse and rose from her table. At a discreet distance, Adèle followed Sapphire backstage. Outside the singer’s dressing-room door, the maid knelt, listening. Listening and peeping.
Inside, Bobby Kensington was kneeling down before the green-eyed beauty, his taloning hands clutching her buttocks up and around which her evening gown had been dragged. His lips were kissing the pinioned girl’s pubis fiercely. At the key hole, Adèle watched the girl’s red lips widen into a silent scream as, below, the mouth at her pussy sucked hard.
Sapphire drew her hands to her breasts but Bobby Kensington intercepted them, snatching up at the thin wrists and, rising up from his knees, positioning the captive hands at a coat-peg affixed to the dressing-room wall. Sapphire wriggled but her lover was masterfully firm, soon using his silver and gold tie to bind the wrists to the coat-peg.
Adèle gazed at the helpless hands in their bondage. Hot quicksilver spilled from her pouting pussy. She pressed her body against the dressing-room door, gasping softly as she saw the singer produce a small, glinting clasp knife. Thumbing out the blade, he brought the point between Sapphire’s swollen breasts, probing the last inch of steel down into the dark warmth of her cleavage. A soft snarling, tearing sound followed. Sapphire’s clothing fell away as the blade swept down her body – slicing through her evening gown, bra, suspender belt and oyster silk cami-knickers.
Bobby pocketed his knife and stood back to impudently peruse the result. Sapphire mewed aloud. The squirming nude, wide-eyed and helpless in her impromptu bondage, clamped her stockinged thighs together. Her bared breasts were proud in the unfettered freedom, each nipple pink and eagerly erect. Below, the white belly was tensed. The thighs trembled, causing the darker bands of her stocking tops to rasp together. Adèle saw the blonde fringe of Sapphire’s pubic snatch, and the parted labia where the man’s mouth had wakened the glistening lips.
Adèle watched intently. Bobby was brutal with his captive nude, taking his pleasures roughly then spinning Sapphire face towards the wall to which she was suspended in bondage. Her breasts squashed into the smooth plaster, her nipples crushed into its firmness as Bobby gripped her outer buttocks, spreading the softness of each cheek painfully apart with his controlling hands.
Adèle swallowed as she saw the tiny dark sphincter gleam. She shuddered as she watched him guide his thick cock’s snout between the splayed cheeks – then plunge it deep into the warmth of the anal whorl.
The opulent cars which had brought the guests to Carstairs Towers had been garaged carefully by the gardener, Mrs Bebbington-Booth’s Hispano joining Bobby Kensington’s lemon Bentley in the converted stables.
Julia and Sapphire were taking tea together in the Japanese garden while, upstairs in her boudoir, Lady Carstairs and Mrs Bebbington-Booth listened attentively as Adèle gave evidence. No explicit detail was spared as the enormity of Bobby Kensington’s duplicity was laid bare. Lady Carstairs sat grim-faced and silent. Her guest grew pale then purple as her shock succumbed to rage.
‘And then he spanked her bare bottom –’ Adèle was reporting conscientiously.
‘The ’ound. The ’orrible little ’ound,’ Mrs Bebbington-Booth cried, her careful diction finally collapsing under her wrath.
Adèle completed her report, then withdrew from the boudoir.
‘The question is,’ Lady Carstairs murmured softly, ‘how do we tell our girls? We will have to be careful. Glamorising him could make him all the more attractive.’
Mrs Bebbington-Booth, partially recovering from her shock, nodded vehemently. ‘Sapphire can be so mule-headed.’
‘I am afraid Julia is the same. Our exposure of him may merely make him all the more desirable to one or both of our daughters. But there is a way –’
The other woman looked up sharply. ‘There is?’
‘What if the girls were to discover his infidelity for themselves?’
‘I don’t see ’ow –’
‘I have spoken to my maid, Adèle. All is arranged. The minx is most competent and, fortunately, perfectly willing to oblige. Shall we join our daughters?’
Lady Carstairs was showing her guests the gallery in the east wing. Julia, bored, tagged along.
‘And that,’ the hostess announced, indicating a gaunt Victorian face executed in dark oils, ‘was my late husband’s Uncle Sebastian –’ she broke off from the guided tour, frowning.
They were outside the billiards room. Muffled groans and smothered moans were just audible from beyond the closed door. Lady Carstairs raised her finger up to her lips for silence.
‘Julia,’ she whispered, ‘open the door very gently, will you, and take a look.’
Julia obeyed – then shrank back from the open door and collapsed against the wall. She started to sob, softly. Sapphire, driven by curiosity, sprang to the door, peered briefly in, gasped and then joined Julia against the wall. Both wept openly.
‘What the ’ell –?’ Mrs Bebbington-Booth fumed. She strode into the billiards room. There, blindfolded and kneeling, was Bobby Kensington. Semi-naked, with her maid’s uniform scattered on the billiard table, Adèle clutched the crooner’s face and held it to her pussy. The wet-faced songster was lapping deeply, unaware of his audience.
Bobby Kensington was humming a couple of bars of his latest song as he sauntered into the drawing room for the rubber of bridge his hostess had suggested. The tune froze on his open lips as he saw Sapphire and Julia sitting together, leafing through an album. When he saw the two girls’ mothers sitting together at the green baize-topped card table, he became flustered. Stammering something inaudible, he turned to go.
‘Stay exactly where you are, Mr Kensington,’ Lady Carstairs thundered. ‘You were promised a game but I am very much afraid that there will be no bridge tonight. We shall,’ she continued, her voice dropping to a velvet purr, ‘be putting all our cards down on the table, however. Do take a seat. No,’ she rasped, ‘the sofa, I think.’
He sat down sullenly, obedient to her stern command. His face was pale, his eyes wary.
Adèle entered the drawing room, carrying an assortment of canes and cruel little riding crops and, closing the door behind her with a bump of her bottom, turned the key to lock it.
‘Before we punish you –’ Lady Carstairs announced.
Bobby Kensington half rose, his hands trembling as they pawed the velvet sofa for support. ‘P-punish?’ he echoed.
‘Before we thrash you mercilessly, if you prefer to deal plainly, Mr Kensington, we will first hear evidence of your outrageous philandering from my maid, Adèle.’
‘Now, your ladyship?’ the pert minx murmured.
‘Now, girl. Speak up and spare no detail, no matter how intimate it may be.’
‘How do I begin, please, your ladyship?’
‘Please give an exact account of what you saw taking place in Mr Kensington’s rooms on the evening of the sixteenth –’
‘No, mamma, please,’ Julia yipped, blushing deeply, her cheeks as red as those Bobby Kensington had so soundly spanked that night.
‘Very well. Adèle, kindly proceed to the dressing room of Mr Kensington. Tell us in detail exactly what took place backstage in the Dreadnought Club on the night of the twentieth –’
‘Oh, please, Lady Carstairs,’ Sapphire shrieked.
‘I think I have made my point. Very well,’ their hostess continued. ‘Be good enough to disclose what took place this afternoon in the billiard room –’
Adèle briefly outlined how Bobby Kensington had, for the payment of a ten-shilling note (which Adèle produced disdainfully), purchased erotic excitation.
‘He made me blindfold him then he knelt down, nice and submissive and obedient, milady, and begged for my pussy.’
‘Knelt
, did he? Begged, you say? Submissive and obedient. Well, I think we can provide Mr Kensington with a little diversion this evening which will meet his self-confessed needs.’
Julia and Sapphire, who had been standing together by the piano, exchanged significant glances and, hand in hand, approached the sofa. He lowered his gaze as they stood together before him, wagging their fingers in apparent mock-severity. Sensing, but misjudging, their mood to be one of stern playfulness, he brightened, patting the empty spaces on the sofa beside him with complacent palms.
They sat, snuggling into him gently – Sapphire ruffling his hair, Julia fingering his tie suggestively. He beamed, an oily smirk revealing carefully whitened teeth. His eyes sparkled with cocksure pride. This was all a charade. Parlour games played out by decadent aristocrats. Even the little maid was all part of the perverse sport. Bobby Kensington surveyed what he took to be his doting fans. If he played his hand carefully, he’d ride the two mothers as well.
Julia’s fingers snaked around the knot of his tie, then tugged gently. Sapphire tousled his hair. He laughed. They giggled. Bobby Kensington tossed his head back and brayed aloud – forgetting in his sudden rush of relief the presence and the purpose of the assortment of crops and canes Adèle had carried into the drawing room minutes before. Loosening his tie, Julia took it between her lips, then bit into the silk. It fell down over his wrists. Her fingers followed its slithering descent, clutching it and insinuating it around his wrists – as Sapphire’s grip on his taloned hair increased.
A flicker of fear clouded his sparkling eyes. He opened his mouth. Julia tightened the threaded tie. He struggled. Adèle skipped across to the sofa and pinned his shoulders down from behind. Too late: the knot was drawn tight, binding his hands into helplessness down at his belly.
The three younger women stripped him in seconds while the two maturer women looked on appreciatively, Mrs Bebbington-Booth’s eyes widening as his cock sprung into view. Adèle fished out and used the clasp knife to cut away his sharply tailored suit, silk shirt and underwear. As they dragged his socks from his threshing feet, he pleaded aloud, raw fear curdling his rising shouts of protest.
Adèle scooped up the crops and canes and carried them across to the sofa, spreading them down on the carpet at the naked man’s feet. His toes stubbed them. He glanced down. Bobby Kensington began to beg aloud for mercy.
‘Gag him,’ Lady Carstairs commanded, rising up from the green baize-topped card table.
Adèle supplied her starched maid’s apron for the purpose. Julia wound the white tapes around his face four times before tying them tightly. Above the white gag, the silenced crooner’s eyes bulged in terror.
‘Across the sofa with him, please. That’s right,’ Lady Carstairs murmured approvingly as they positioned him face down, bare bottom up, for his impending punishment and pain.
‘Now take a crop apiece, my dears. No, not you, Adèle. Come over here by me and watch. Julia, Sapphire, his bottom is entirely yours. You may do with him whatever you wish. But –’ she paused, rubbing her hands together in a gesture of anticipatory pleasure ‘– be sure to punish him most severely.’
‘Give it to ’im ’ot and ’ard,’ Mrs Bebbington-Booth bellowed, throwing polite pronunciation to the winds. ‘Make the bleeder ’owl.’
The two young girls were quite shy, at first. Neither of them had ever punished a naked bottom before. Betraying her breeding and exquisite manners, Julia offered the bare buttocks to Sapphire, tapping the rounded cheeks dominantly with the little loop at the tip of her quivering crop.
‘After you, Sapphire, dear.’
Not to be outdone, and in keeping with the liver pill fortune lavished on her finishing school, Sapphire protested.
‘Oh, no. You first. I insist.’
Julia accepted gracefully. Rolling the satin sleeve of her evening gown up to her elbow, she gripped her riding crop hard. Her knuckles showed white – as white as Bobby Kensington’s toes straining as they dug into the carpet.
Julia admonished the naked man witheringly, teasing his clenched cheeks with her hovering crop and playing the little leather loop along the length of his tightly creased cleft. Her victim squirmed beneath the scalding sluice of her scornful contempt. The harsh rebuke concluded with some ripe epithets – then Julia, glowing becomingly after her chagrin, raised her crop up aloft.
In a final, desperate bid to escape, her naked victim rolled over, presenting his cock to her cruel gaze. She took one pace forwards towards the sofa and slowly guided the crop up between his trembling thighs. With the little loop of leather tap-tapping at his balls, she spoke briskly, her tone severe.
‘If you want me to whip you there, Mr Kensington, I am perfectly prepared to do so. The choice, such as it is, is entirely yours.’
Whimpering through his gag, he rolled back, belly down, and slumped over the sofa.
‘Bottom up, as it was a moment ago,’ Julia prompted, flicking the cheeks with her crop.
He buried his toes into the carpet and strained obediently to present his bare buttocks up in the prescribed posture.
‘Not good enough, Mr Kensington.’ She flicked the crop against his proffered cheeks, the little leather loop leaving a second scarlet mark. ‘More. I want your bottom right across the back of the sofa, Mr Kensington. Big and round and ready for my crop –’
‘Thrash ’im –’ Mrs Bebbington-Booth, for whom the tension proved too much, shouted.
‘Mother,’ Sapphire murmured reproachfully. ‘Julia is perfectly right. Once Mr Kensington’s bottom is positioned perfectly, then he will feel our displeasure.’
They all heard the bound, naked man moan. Adèle giggled, her thumbs stroking her little black skirt at the spot usually covered by her starched white apron.
Swish, crack. Adèle’s thumbs became a blur as a thin pink line appeared instantly across the pale buttocks as Julia’s crop lashed down.
‘A capital stroke,’ hissed Lady Carstairs. ‘Well done, my girl. Again, if you will.’
Ever the dutiful daughter, Julia cracked the leather-sheathed crop down twice more in succession. Bobby Kensington’s knees dug into the back of the sofa as he screamed silently into his tight gag. Swish, crack. The strokes were measured, the aim vehemently accurate. The whipped buttocks jerked and writhed as the crop bit into them, seething the helpless cheeks with blistering heat. Swishing the crop down again, and then again, Julia administered a blitz of vicious strokes that lashed down across his rounded cheeks with savage venom, each swipe of leathered cane bequeathing a reddening weal in its wake. Already, the opening strokes were changing colour, each earlier stripe now deepening into a pale purple shade of pain.
Julia whipped him with controlled fury for a full six minutes; then, placing the crop down on the carpet before slowly rolling the sleeve of her evening gown back down to her wrist, she strode around the sofa to confront her whimpering victim. Kneeling down in front of him, she reached out and cupped his tear-stained face. Cradling him dominantly, she brought her lips to his tear-filled eyes and kissed them slowly.
‘Goodbye, Mr Kensington. It was a pleasure whipping you,’ she whispered.
Adèle grunted as she came, her stockinged legs aquiver. Lady Carstairs glanced at the maid, her aristocratic eyes sharp with impatient severity.
Sapphire, crop in hand, was more savage with the bare bottom before her. Her veneer of drawing-room decorum which had been expensively schooled into her was stripped away by her outrage. In a flurry of fury, she lashed his jerking buttocks fifteen times in blistering succession until the crop dropped from her grip. Her aching arm hung lifeless down by her side as she stood, panting, her breasts heaving with both anger and arousal.
‘That it?’ Mrs Bebbington-Booth demanded, clearly disappointed in her daughter’s display of discipline. ‘’E’s due more, darling. Much more.’
Biting her lip, Sapphire snatched up the crop, then suddenly burst into tears. Tossing it aside, she ran from the drawing-room, sobbing.
&n
bsp; ‘Julia,’ Lady Carstairs whispered. ‘Go and see to her.’
Julia scurried after the weeping girl.
‘Remember your daughter’s tears as you select a cane, Mrs Bebbington-Booth,’ Lady Carstairs remarked, scooping up her own choice of whippy yellow bamboo. ‘There is unfinished business here for us to complete. Are you game, my dear?’
‘Let me at ’im,’ the liver pill magnate’s widow cried, thrumming the air with a couple of practice strokes.
Bending down and capturing his sweat-wet hair in her taloned hand, Lady Carstairs addressed the singer’s gagged lips with the tip of her quivering cane.
‘Going to take the gag off, Mr Kensington. It will be instructive to hear you sing to a different tune.’
She ungagged him and was instantly rewarded with his broken sobs. The outraged, cheated mothers stood face to face above his crimson-striped buttocks, canes crossed in a guard-of-honour above as if a groom were passing through below.
‘One moment,’ Lady Carstairs hissed. ‘My sofa.’
Palming his whipped cheeks dominantly, she rolled Bobby Kensington over, revealing his thickening cock. ‘Look at that,’ she remarked, prodding the engorged shaft with her cane-tip. ‘Adèle.’
‘Milady?’ the minx responded.
‘Interpose yourself between Mr Kensington and my Belgian sofa, girl. I will not have it ruined when he ejaculates, and,’ she explained to Mrs Bebbington-Booth, ‘I fear the antimaccassar will not take up the soak.’
Lowering their canes, the two women held him away from the sofa as Adèle hitched up her uniformed skirt above her bottom and yanked down her cami-knickers to her knees – then sidled in between the singer and the sofa.
‘A little treat for the girl. She has been so obliging throughout this wretched affair.’
‘Waste not, want not,’ Mrs Bebbington-Booth agreed, voicing the maxim that had made her late husband a very rich man.
Brought to Heel Page 23
