by AnonYMous
Caroline dared not to raise her eyes. Her mouth nuzzled between the orbing of my breasts. I waited long on her reply. The whisperings of shyness, shyness in her mind breathed their illicit thoughts upon me.
“Shall . . . shall it be as with Frederick?” her whisper came to me aloud.
“Penis-bearers?” I mocked her lightly. “I shall have you blindfolded sometimes, my sweet. You will not know who your stallion is.”
“Will you not love me, Beatrice?”
I drew her up slowly until her face came over mine. Broadening my stockinged thighs, I allowed her legs to slip between mine and pecked at her lips.
“In obedience there is love—in love there is obedience,” I said. I slid my hand upwards beneath the long fall of her hair at the back and took her neck between thumb and fingers. It pleased me to do so even as I sensed that it pleased her to be held in this way. I felt her trembling. The moist lips of her pussy nestled into my own.
“Have you not been stilled, Caroline?”
“Please kiss me—please, I want your tongue,” she husked. I smiled. Her moods were as the light passing of summer clouds. I could reach up and touch them.
“Suck upon it,” I breathed. Possessed as I am of a long tongue I inserted stiffly into her mouth. The suction of her lips was delicious. She moved them back and forth over the sleek, velvety wetness and murmured incoherently while I squirmed my hand down between our bellies and cupped her plump little mount. The curls frizzed to my fingers. Caroline squirmed, endeavouring to bring her button to my caresses, but I laughed within her mouth and smacked her bottom suddenly with my free hand making her yelp.
“D . . . don't!” she bubbled. Her face hid itself against my neck. “What is stilled, Beatrice?”
“The male stem in your bottom, my love—urging, gliding, deep in. There it stays for a long moment and is withdrawn.”
“OH!” I could feel the heat of her blushing against my skin, “it . . . it would be too big!” she stammered.
I laughed. The ceiling received the pleasure in my eyes. A warmness flowed over me. Caroline had, after all, been reserved for the cock I would present to her.
“Your bottom cheeks are deliciously elastic, Caroline. The first time you will experience considerable tightness, but you will yield. You will feel the veins, the knob, the inpushing—the breath will explode from your lungs. But on the second,” I went on, ignoring her wrigglings that were meant together with her silly, tumbling words to express refusal, “on the second bout, my sweet, your rosehole will receive the repeated pistoning of the cock until you have drawn forth his spurting juice.”
“No! I don't want to!” she whined.
“Then you will be whipped first—or strapped perhaps.”
With each word then I smacked her bottom loudly, ringing my free arm tightly about her slender waist while she jolted and struggled madly. Finally I let her roll free. Her pert bottom was a perfect picture of pinkness, splurged with the paler marks my fingers had imprinted. Drawing up her knees she sobbed and lay with her face against the wall.
I waited. After a moment when she had not moved I rose and put on my dress. Immediately she spun over and lay upon her back.
“Wh . . . what are you doing?” she asked. Her eyes were blurred with tears, her hair mussed. In such disarray she looked at her prettiest.
“Maria will learn to use the strap on you now,” I said severely. Without looking at her I brushed my hair in the mirror.
Caroline rolled immediately off the bed and, kneeling, hugged my legs.
“If I say that I will—please!” she begged.
I glanced down at her and then resumed my brushing. “It is not for you to say, Caroline,” I answered briefly. I moved away from her by force so that she slumped upon the floor, looking as forlorn as she could contrive. It was a game that she was learning, I could sense, yet her knowing must not be too great. Not as yet. In a year or two perhaps. The fine balance of yes and no was truly here.
I looked down upon her once more. The violin troves of her hips were indeed sweet, the upsweep of her bottom infinitely appealing. With a slightly greater plumpness than Amanda there possessed, Caroline would surrender eventually to her pleasures more than she knew.
Head hanging and eyes clouded, she rose slowly to her feet and endeavoured to hug me. I stood unmoving.
“Do not let Maria strap me hard,” she murmured. Her fingertips fluttered about my back like petals falling. When I did not answer she snuggled into me closer, manoeuvring one thigh and trying to press it between my own. “Do you not love me?” she whispered.
I raised her face at last.
“In all my being,” I replied softly and kissed her mouth. “Now go upstairs-4 shall strap you myself. You will learn.”
“Yes,” Caroline whispered. It was a plea rather than acceptance. Another moment and I might have relented.
“Go,” I said again, “wait for me—over the bar. Leave your dress here.”
Her footsteps slouched. Her look was a lostness—sweet and well contrived. It passed across my mirror and was ignored.
Five minutes later the strap swathed heat across her cheeks.
In her sobbing cries as she gripped the bar beneath was her surrender.
TWENTY
IN the week that followed I made ready for our departure. Katherine made her future appointments with me. Maria's husband, Ned, was interviewed formally. He would come into service with me, I told him carefully. His uniform would be that of a valet. He would be put to many different tasks. Maria—I was pleased to think—had evidently scolded him into agreement beforehand since his continued nodding during my conversation became almost tiresome. His physique, however, was entirely suitable—his thighs good, his loins muscular.
There would be Frederick also, as I apprised Katherine. He had been permitted no further licence with her. To ensure that, I had kept him to the house while she was elsewhere. The day before leaving I called her to my room.
“You will devise a play—not too simple a one, Katherine. I will have it performed a few weeks after we have settled in again.”
She curtsied playfully. I had not asked her to sit. “Shall there be many players? Six or eight, perhaps?” she asked.
I merely nodded as if my thoughts were already elsewhere. It is a simple enough trick. It keeps those I need, desire—or would work to my will—in a state of slight imbalance.
“You will engage Amanda in it,” I said. “We shall then best see her progress—and her silver stocking bands, no doubt. And the maid at Arabella's house—the young one who attended upon us. I want her. You will obtain and bring her.”
The play itself would be of no great importance. The words, the acts, could be peeled away at my discretion and replaced by others. Arabella possessed a controllable wantonness, as I had witnessed. She would present a voluptuous example to occasional novices. As to the young maid who had lain at my feet after tonguing me—the sly-eyed, sloe-eyed one—there was a hint of impudence in her eyes that I could quell at will or use according to my whims.
On the morning of our departure I made Caroline ready in the prettiest of blue dresses with matching bonnet and patterned stockings of the same shade. For myself I wore a modish back dress, severely buttoned to the neck, with a pearl choker. My bonnet was a three-cornered one. It gave me a slightly swashbuckling air without looking flirtatious. As to the kid gloves I had desired, I had now a dozen pairs in different shades. My uncle's wallet had been well pillaged.
Maria and Jenny, I attired in oatmeal cloaks with hoods. Beneath, they were naked save for stockings and boots. I placed them, together with the clothes and cases my uncle had been made to endow, in the smaller of two carriages outside.
Aunt Maude had relinquished Maria not without reluctance. We had discussed much in private. I broadened her horizons. There would be garden parties from Friday to Monday on half a dozen occasions throughout the summer, I said. We did not use the word “weekend.” It was considered common. F
rom the gatherings, both my aunt and myself would make a discreet choice among the females and, occasionally, their escorts—whether related to them or not. They would be drawn aside and would receive special attention. The likeliest females would be cosseted and flattered. In the privacy of bedrooms there would be means of bringing them to undress and even of displaying them to the males through peepholes in adjoining rooms.
“The males will be discovered at their peeping by one or other of us,” I told my aunt. “It will be necessary for them of course to be punished. Their fear of betraying the conventions will make them submit. The females they have viewed and who will remain naked—while being aroused by Maria or Jenny or another—will then be shown to the peepholes in turn and may gaze upon the males in their bondage.”
Such discourses pleased my aunt immensely. My imagination flourished. Even so I kept some secrets to myself. There were caves I would not allow her to enter. She sensed that. It gave her a certain air of diffidence as I flourished my images before her. There were moments when she seemed to stand in awe of me.
We stood in my room prior to descending to where Caroline and my uncle waited. Amusement and apprehension mingled in her eyes as I pressed her to the wall and bid her stand with her arms at her sides. I took her cheeks in my hands. They were as smooth as a girl's.
“You enjoyed?” I asked. She knew well enough to what I referred. Her smile was cautious but impish.
“When your bottom took his cock? You were superb,” she breathed.
I kept my eyes level with hers. As one enraptured by a fine statue I ran my little finger delicately along her lower lip.
“You will be used,” I said.
“With Frederick?” The question was a little unexpected but I absorbed it without expression. She had veiled her desires carefully.
“Yes—and with others. You will obey me, Maude.”
It was the first time I had used her Christian name. “Yes,” she acquiesced softly. The tips of our tongues touched as if with a timidity at our own daring. My sails were hoisted, set. There would be no turning back for her. Our tongues in their moistness moved. So slowly they moved as if Time had been run down.
“And your uncle?” she asked. Our breaths flowed together. He had not been put to servicing since he had mounted me. His eyes had grown haggard in his waiting. I had had him placed in a small separate bedroom from my aunt. I licked her tongue for the last time and stilled the hands which would have reached for my bottom.
“You may keep him in a stiff but agonised state, his receptacles full. In a few weeks time he will be put to servicing the first of my novices—until then he is not to be milked,” I said. My eyes held a strain of severity as I spoke. I released her gently. It would amuse her to follow my instructions, I knew.
I swept down before she could speak, thus forcing her to follow me. In the hall my uncle's glance was timourous. I afforded him a kiss on the cheek. In turning away from him my gloved hand made passing contact with his penis which stood proud in his breeches. The caress would appease him for the moment.
The sun stood high above us as the door opened, flooding the vista with golden light. “The sun is God,” the great painter Turner had said on his deathbed twenty years before. It had shone upon his bed, they had said, in the very moment of his uttering the words and dying. In that moment I believed him. Caroline moved in her beauty beside me. Her skirts swept the ground. I went as I had come, yet in my going I was one reborn. Passing the rhododendron bushes I caressed their leaves and blooms once more.
The silence of plants pleases me. They see without seeing, watch without watching. Subservient to the touch, they yet never surrender. Crush them and they will reappear next year or elsewhere. Their chemistry compounds miracles. They are there in their thereness. At night they sleep yet they know not Time. They breathe softly yet are not heard.
“I would be as a plant,” I said to Caroline. In the carriage I held her hand. The figures of my aunt and uncle standing on the steps diminished.
“Yes, I would like to be a flower,” she replied. She had not understood. It did not matter. Her voice was simple and childish. I saw her as she would be—rooted to the stamen, the pale fusing of the cock with her bottom. She would rock, moan and whimper in her beginnings. Later I would teach her silence. She would know the silence of the plants—the impelling flood of the sap in her gripping. Rising up the embedded stem, it would flood her in its submission. With its last throbbings it would withdraw. She would know the victory—the power.
The house waited for us, bereft of servants. My aunt had dismissed them. It was a wiseness. Only the older gardener, Perkins, was left. He was too withered for my purposes. Appearing at the approach of our carriages, he doffed his hat and acted as footman in opening the door. I gave him the most gracious of my smiles.
The rooms at least had been aired. From the kitchen came smells of butter, cheese and herbs. Mingled withall was the scent of bread which had been left that morning. Milk waited in stone jars, covered with fine net. In the stonewalled larder, lettuces shone their fine diamonds of cool water. All was well. My letter to Father floated upon the oceans. Maria and Jenny removed their cloaks and moved about us. Curiously nervous as they appeared of the windows and the gardener's eyes, I had them don dresses. The proprieties had to be observed. With the drawing of the curtains at night, our world would be enclosed.
“Shall there be visitors?” Caroline asked. Maria made tea. We took it in the drawing room.
“Many. There will be masquerades, amusements, entertainments, Caroline—garden parties. You will enjoy those.”
I would chain the girls to trees at night, I thought. Chinese lanterns would float and sway among the leaves. I would move among them with a feather, their dresses raised. One by one they would be carried in for pleasuring. The stables would be candlelit.
Did Caroline read my thoughts? Laying down her cup she rose and looked beyond the French windows to the lawn where the silver larches swayed in their slender beings.
“You will not love me as the others—I know it,” she said sullenly. “Will all the girls be young?”
“No.” I rose in turn and moved to her. My hand rested upon her shoulder. Her head lay back. Her fine hair tickled my nose. “Some will be matrons—firm of body. The summerhouse is large within, is it not?”
Caroline nodded. I could not see her eyes. “Yes—why?”
“We shall furnish it to our tastes. What is within?”
“A divan—no more.” Her bottom in its roundness moved its globe against my belly. “Father said stopped her.
“I shall ordain. There shall be ottomans, rugs, silken cushions, shaded lamps, a small scattering of whips and birches to tease your bottom. We shall have our privacies there—our secrets, our voluptuousness. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she husked. She turned and nestled in my arms. “Will you . . . will you make me do it there? No one will see, will they?”
“No one—no one but I. You will offer your bottom as you gave your mouth.”
So saying, I raised her dress at the back and fondled the satiny orb. Feeling between the cheeks I circled the ball of my thumb about her rosehole, making her clutch my neck and quiver.
“It will b . . . b . . . be too big!” she quavered.
“Be still!” I said sternly, “hold your legs straight, reach up on your toes. Hold so, Caroline!”
“Blub!” she choked. Easing my thumb within I felt her warm tightness to the knuckle, her gripping. Her gripping was as a baby's mouth. With a smooth movement of my free arm I scooped her dress up at the front and cupped her nest. It pulsed in its pulsing. My thumb purred between the lips and parted them.
“Still!” I commanded her. “Hold your dress up—waist high, Caroline!” She obeyed, swaying on her toes as she was. Her eyes glazed as I moved my thumb up deeper into her most secret recess, toying with the small perky button of her clitoris at the same time. “I . . .” she began. Unable to keep her balance, her
heels chattered on the floor.
“Wh . . . Wh . . . Whoooooo!” she whimpered.
I allowed her the sounds, the small outburstings of breath. The warmth emanating from between her silky thighs was delicious. Had I not intended now to keep her separated from the others I would have had Maria or Jenny enter and tongue her.
“Be quiet now—be quiet now, darling,” I coaxed. I had moved to her side in the moving of my hands. Her fingers sought to release her uplifted skirt and clutch at air, but by some silent command they stayed. The folds drooped but a little. The pallor of her thighs gleamed above the blue darkness of her stocking.
The natural elasticity of her bottom eased a little until I was able to insert my thumb fully, my fingers flirting with the nether cheeks. The oiliness of her slit increased—its pulsing fluttered.
“B . . . B . . . Beatrice!” she stammered. Her head hung back until I almost feared she might collapse. An intense quivering ran through her. The curving of her straightened legs was exquisite. Of a sudden then her head snapped back, her shoulders slumping as I withdrew my thumb.
“OH!” she choked and would have slid to the floor had I not caught her. “Oh, B: . . Beatrice!”
“So, it shall be,” I smiled and kissed her mouth. She would make much of it in the beginning. In time she would kneel for it with glowing pride—an altar of love. After two years, as I had promised myself, she would return to her everydayness, free to leave or to stay.
You ask why—and I know not. Who shall be free and who not? I had chosen to ordain. There were those who would follow and those who would not. Through the dark glass of unknowing they would seek my image. At night they would huddle in the woods, the shrubs, among the wet leaves—crying for my presence. I would untie their childhoods. The last drums of their youth would beat for them. In their submission would be their comforting. Wailing and crying they would succumb to that which they had longed for. The whip would burnish their bottoms in their weepings. The velvet curtains would be drawn—receive their tears. The dry leaves of the aspidistras would accept their lamentations. In the mornings they would be as choir girls, clothed in white. Calmed from the storm they would talk softly, twittering. I would absolve their sins. I would teach. In time they would learn the inferiority of men—the penis-bearers, the money bringers.
