The Instruction of Olivia

by Geoffrey Allen

  'She called me a liar.'

  'So you clocked her.'

  'If you mean I hit her, yes.'

  Effie wrapped a thought in a smile and dismissed Dora. 'I will not have my girls slapping each other,' she said seriously. 'Unless it happens to be under my direction, d'you hear?'

  'But they blamed me for it all.' Olivia exclaimed indignantly.

  'They were following my instructions. After this shambles, father was supposed to comfort you.' She cast a dull look at the man. 'But I see he has taken comfort with someone else.'

  'We can still go through with it,' he suggested, eyeing Olivia's naked body.

  'Will someone explain just what is going on?' Olivia asked, totally confused.

  Effie's patience snapped. The client that Olivia was supposed to visit was expecting her that very evening and had paid handsomely in advance, the price for deflowering a virgin being suddenly raised to twenty-five guineas. But if Olivia responded in the like manner in which she had just dealt with her companions he would more than likely demand a refund, and Erie's reputation as a supplier of fresh young virgins would be in ruins.

  'The explanation is a simple one,' Effie began, putting her arm around Olivia's shoulders and leading her out of earshot. 'You possess extraordinary talents, which I am most anxious to explore, and with a little cooperation on your part there can be no doubt of your rising to the top of your profession...'

  'As an actress?' Olivia beamed.

  'As an actress,' Effie repeated, wondering how the girl could possibly be so dim as not to grasp her meaning. 'Tonight, your hidden talents shall be explored in the arms of one of my most respected patrons. You have already proved your worth, and now it is time to go a little further, do you understand?'

  'I am to perform in my own right?' she replied, overjoyed at the prospect.

  'God, I hope so,' Effie muttered.

  'You may rest assured,' Olivia said, squaring her shoulders, 'that I shall not disappoint you, and that the gentleman will be most pleased. What do I have to do?'

  Effie wondered whether to explain it directly or leave everything to providence. Perhaps, after she had been plied with a generous imbibing of gin, she might drop both her drawers and her defences. If she did not, then she would have to be taken by force.

  'Do everything that the gentleman requires of you,' she said with a sigh.

  'I presume that entails doing everything that I have done before,' Olivia replied dryly, 'whilst I have to dress up like a little girl.'

  'Remember that in truth, under all those frills and bows, you are a big girl, and will be expected to act as one, so help us.'

  Olivia promised to remember that as she took the dress that Effie handed her. It was very similar to the red velvet one that had been shredded during the fracas, and Olivia gasped at what all this must cost. The acting profession, she decided, was definitely a lucrative one.

  The carriage set off away from the grimy streets and alleys of Paddington towards the more affluent areas of Grosvenor. Olivia reflected, as it passed through Hyde Park, that the only vehicles she had ever travelled in were prison vans or dog carts. This was the height of luxury. She sank back in the seat and adjusted the silk bows floating around her ample bosom. After all she had been through, acting like a young girl and pandering to some lonely old man would be easy. In her mind's eye she imagined having to sit on his knee and call him grandpapa, and every now and then break into fits of giggles and let him smother her with doting kisses. It would be nice to be pampered like that for a change.

  The equipage swung round Hyde Park Corner and along Piccadilly, gathering speed as it passed Green Park and into the Circus. It swung into Regent Street, where hordes of brightly painted women were patrolling the pavements and calling out lewd suggestions to passing coaches. If a coach stopped a whole gaggle rushed towards it, one of them would be invited in and the coach would set off again, rocking furiously on its axles. Olivia's driver followed one of them into Conduit Street, where it drew up outside a particularly splendid mansion.

  In the interlude while they waited behind the coach, she was sure there was something vaguely familiar about the ragged looking woman pacing up and down the pavement. How could she ever mistake that profile that had appeared in the prison dormitory and later had her mercilessly whipped?

  'Flora!' she called, but Flora could not have heard her, for the driver had pulled away and was thundering across New Bond Street and into Berkeley Square.

  Olivia didn't have time to wonder what she was doing there. The driver escorted her up a flight of steps and waited until the door had been answered; seeing her safely into the hallway, he vanished into the fog.

  'This way, miss,' said the maid, not at all surprised at Olivia's peculiar attire.

  The old gentleman was not as old as she had imagined. She put his age at mid to late forties, and curtsied low when he rose to greet her. He quickly dismissed the maid and motioned Olivia to a richly upholstered couch. Doing what she thought she was supposed to do, she sat upright, hands folded in her lap, knees close together, head bowed; a perfect picture of humility.

  'I am sorry to hear that my ward has been so disobedient,' the gentleman said, 'and that I have, yet again, cause to chastise you.'

  Olivia's knees shook. She had a sinking feeling that whatever he had in mind would not bring forth fits of giggles or doting kisses. Instinctively, she looked around the room for any signs of whips or birches, but there was nothing, just shelves full of books and a writing table with nothing more harmful on it than what appeared to be a ledger of some sort.

  'Your governess informs me,' he continued, folding his arms over his chest, 'that instead of paying attention to your lessons, you performed an act of gross indecency.'

  'I did?' Olivia replied nonplussed, wondering what to say next.

  'Do you deny that you went to that very window and displayed yourself to the son of my next door neighbour?'

  'No sir,' she said miserably, 'I do not deny it.'

  'Then what shall I do with you?' he said sadly, shaking his head, which Olivia had to admit was rather handsome, as was his strong physique.

  It was quite plain that all this was leading up to a thrashing, and that acting the part of a wilful young girl added to his thrill.

  Rising to the occasion she said sorrowfully, 'I deserve a beating, sir.' Her head bowed lower and she choked back a convincing sob.

  'A beating, indeed?' he said. 'But with what and where, I wonder?'

  'A strap across my bottom,' she replied.

  'Your bare bottom?' he said with emphasis.

  'My bare bottom,' she agreed.

  'But first, show me how you revealed yourself to the young master.'

  Olivia got off the couch and lifted her skirt, high enough to display her white silk pantaloons.

  'Is that all you did?' he asked speculatively.

  'I took them off,' she whispered.

  'And what else did you remove? Go on tell me, leave nothing out.'

  'I took off my drawers and my dress.'

  'You mean to say that you stood in that window naked?'

  'I had my stockings and shoes on,' she said.

  'But nothing else?'

  'Not a stitch,' she assured him.

  'Show me, let me see how you disgraced my good name.'

  Olivia slipped her fingers under the strings of her pantaloons and wriggled them over her bottom. Then with a graceful bending of her knees, she slid them down her calves and stepped out, one foot at a time. She reached behind her and untied the bow of her sash and let it float to the floor. The dress came off with awkward jerks of her shoulders and hips. She pulled it over her head and cast it away with a flourish, then curtsied.

  'This is how you were?' he asked licking his lower lip, and clutching the edge of the desk.

  'I was like this,' she confirmed, legs together and hands over her bushy triangle.

  'And why didn't you take off your stockings and shoes?'

 
; 'Because he told me to leave them on,' she said stupidly.

  'I don't believe you. I think you were naked. If you were prepared to go that far in your disgusting behaviour, I see no reason why you would have stopped there.'

  'I was naked,' she muttered, realizing that was how he wanted her.

  And without waiting for any further instruction she bent over and loosed the buckles. After discarding her shoes she rolled down her stockings, very slowly, revealing the contours of her calves an inch at a time. When they had drifted to the carpet she stood up with her hands behind her back, shoulders thrust backward, breasts pushed out.

  Under the subdued light of a solitary oil lamp he came tentatively towards her, eyes riveted on her body. His hand slipped around her waist and began feeling her bottom, exploring its curves and cleft, lifting the globes of her buttocks, testing their firmness and squeezing the taut flesh.

  'T'will be a pity to beat such a splendid piece of work such as this,' he conceded.

  'Is it necessary?' she whispered.

  'I'm afraid it is. There is nothing more gratifying on this earth than to whip the behind of a beautiful young female, and roger her afterwards. The way she squirms when her blazing bottom chaffs against the carpet brings a man off to perfection. Don't you agree?'

  'Oh, indeed,' Olivia replied. 'If the woman is disposed to be rogered.'

  'That we shall discover later,' he promised her, 'after your hinds have been well served. Shall we say, three dozen strokes?'

  'I deserve that,' Olivia agreed, 'for being such a naughty girl.'

  'And, I have no doubt, a very promiscuous one. If you were willing to bare your body, I am quite sure you are not slow in putting it to good use elsewhere.'

  The theme had been taken up again and Olivia responded. 'I have put it to good use,' she volunteered. 'And am anxious to please my master in that quarter.'

  Assuming that she had understood his meaning he went to the table and swiftly fetched over a belt, much stouter and thicker than any that Olivia had previously tasted.

  'Put your hands on your head,' he instructed her; 'and keep very still.'

  He moved behind her and ran his hand lightly over her buttocks, patting them as he did so. When he came round to her front, his eyes had a curious look in them; a flash of recognition.

  'I cannot but help but think that we have met before,' he said mysteriously.

  'I am your ward, sir.'

  He quickly recovered. 'Yes, of course, and a very naughty one at that. Three dozen on your bottom and a dozen across your breasts.'

  Olivia caught her breath. 'If you please, master.'

  He ordered her into the centre of the room and positioned her before a footstool beneath a bar, on either end of which hung two unlit lamps.

  'That ought to take your weight,' he mused. 'Reach up and catch hold of it.'

  Olivia stood on tiptoe on the footstool and grabbed the bar at the middle, where it was supported from the ceiling by a chain. It creaked under her weight but didn't give. She was right on the very tips of her toes when the belt came whistling into her bare bottom. The shock of the blow sent her feet flying forward, and as she clung on for dear life he hit her again, catching her on the return swing.

  'Do you have to strike so hard?' she wailed, recoiling under another lash that caught her across the front of her thighs. 'You said you deserved it,' he reminded her, lashing the small of her back.

  Olivia swayed gently to and fro, clinging by her fingertips, just managing to hold on. Her toes dragged across the velvet stool, bringing her to a halt.

  'Are your fingers hurting you?' he inquired thoughtfully.

  Olivia choked back a sob and nodded, whereupon he put his hand under her legs and lifted her up so that her hands went right around the bar. Her feet lifted a half-inch from the stool, swinging her clear.

  'Better?'

  'Much, thank you, sir.'

  The next blow was so violent her whole body twisted at the hips. She was sure something had cricked in her spine.

  'Keep still,' he advised her, 'or you may do yourself a permanent injury.'

  He stood slightly to her left and swung the belt upwards, smacking it into the lower part of her buttocks immediately above the crease of her thighs. A sharp bolt of pain shot through her legs and she screamed. Before he could deliver another blow into her bottom-cleft the maid came in bearing a tray of glasses and a decanter.

  'Put it on the table,' he directed her, 'and then come over here.'

  The maid set down the tray and padded dutifully across the room, standing behind Olivia but looking directly at her master.

  'Please take hold of my ward's legs and hold her still,' he said calmly, 'the wretch is leaping about like an ape.'

  'I am not an ape,' Olivia sobbed, over her shoulder.

  Master and maid ignored that and Olivia felt a pair of cold hands grab her ankles and hold them close together; a grip that would indeed have done credit to the creature that had been named in reference to herself.

  The maid ducked as the belt sailed across her head and cracked into Olivia's bottom. She visibly winced when the shock reverberated down Olivia's calves.

  'I think her arse has taken enough,' the master remarked, after reddening it with another dozen swings of his arm. 'Perhaps the backs of her thighs need a little chastisement, eh, Helena?'

  The maid nodded and ground the bones of Olivia's ankles harder together, knowing that when the belt landed there she would jerk and twist much more violently.

  She was correct in her assumption, for as soon as the first welt cut the flesh, Olivia's knees buckled with such force her ankles tore free from Helena's grip and compassed outwards.

  The master quickly responded by lashing between her legs, striking her twice before her knees and ankles cracked together.

  'You didn't say you were going to hit me there!' Olivia complained.

  'I shall strike where I please,' he replied, noticing that the blows had induced a trickle from her slit.

  He laid aside the belt and licked the inside of her thigh, savouring the sweet, earth taste of her juice. He licked her all the way up and into the join of her thighs, tracing it to its source. He was certain now that he and Olivia had met before.

  'Helena, part her legs,' he commanded, and the maid took hold of Olivia's knees and spread them outward, stretching her own arms wide.

  The belt could not but fail to lash into Olivia's slit, striking the outer lips, lashing the lower regions of her abdomen, making Olivia howl and squirm. He gave her a half-dozen, one on top of the other, deliberately punishing her mound, bringing forth a fresh outpouring, which he at once sucked noisily from her slit.

  He might have let it go at that, but not one to go back on his word, he ordered her down from the bar and told her to lie over the writing table, on her back, hands over her head, pulling her breasts taut and allowing the maid to seize her wrists.

  'We did agree that your breasts would be suitably punished, did we not?'

  Olivia nodded and threw her head back, awaiting the onslaught.

  'Her teats respond well,' Helena observed, watching the nipples rise up from the shock of the first blow.

  And in between the lashes, she left off holding Olivia's wrists and amused herself by pinching the dark, bruised nipples, rolling them under her fingers, squeezing hard to inflict as much pain as possible.

  'They do indeed,' the master replied, flicking the end of the belt hard on to the very tops of the teats, watching how they hardened and how the pimpled discs spread wider.

  'Have your teats always been as dark as this?' he asked suddenly.

  Olivia, released by the maid, struggled onto her elbows. Her breasts were covered with bright red blotches, the nipples standing proud and erect.

  'Ever since I can remember,' she answered, wondering why the colour should interest him so.

  'And your slit, has it always been so generous in dimension, even before you grew your fleece?'

  'So I be
lieve, sir. But in truth it has been my undoing, for every man I meet wishes to put his thing there, and although I am well versed in sucking them and having it up my bottom, I intend to remain a virgin until I am wed.'

  'Very commendable I'm sure, but how do I know that you are telling the truth? Any woman can glibly say that she sucks men, but doing it is something else.'

  'I am telling the truth, sir.'

  He left her and marched over to the bookshelves and retrieved a large tome; an album of photographs which he spread open on the writing table now vacated by the obedient Olivia.

  'I am a photographer by profession,' he told her, 'and my speciality is life studies, women in particular.'

  He directed Olivia's gaze to the album. The first pictures were innocent studies of fully clothed women posing beside props of various sorts. But as the pages turned their clothes gradually came off until they were naked. A few more pages revealed poses that made her clasp her hand to her mouth.

  'Oh, my,' she exclaimed, staring at a photograph of a young woman bending over a couch and about to be penetrated by a man dressed as a monk. The more the pages turned the more filthy and outrageous the pictures became

  There was one in which a man sat on a chaise longue with a young woman sucking him. She was naked, and beside her another young woman was being treated the same by a man. Her legs were open and Olivia could clearly see his tongue licking her open slit, which the woman actually held apart with her fingers.

  'If you claim to have done these things why are you so shocked?' the gentleman asked.

  'Because I've never seen what it really looks like,' she replied, wringing her hands, and realizing that the woman sucking the man was the maid, Helena.

  'I don't think you've ever done anything like this,' he said sceptically. 'So much for Effie's promises.'

  'I have done it,' Olivia protested. 'And if you doubt my word, I'll show you.' And with that she dropped to her knees and wrestled open his fly buttons. Much to her surprise, he left her to her own devices instead of forcing her head to the root and making her swallow it all. He went on turning the pages of the album as if searching for a particular photograph. Olivia went on sucking.