THE COLLARING OF CAMILLA
A collection of three short stories
By Virginia Beech
Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2012
ISBN 9781908766564
Copyright © Virginia Beech 2012
The right of Virginia Beech to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
CONTENTS
Victoria's Secret
The Silken Web
The Collaring of Camilla
Victoria’s Secret
The sight of Alysha masturbating a half-naked girl to screaming orgasm in the stable hay room shocked riding mistress Maude.
To her horror, it was Guinevere who was the willing recipient of such lewd attentions from this darkly beautiful daughter of a deceased officer of the Bengal Lancers and his Calcutta concubine.
This was no surreptitiously stolen stable kiss. Guinevere’s riding habit was hitched up over her creamy thighs, her knickers pulled down to bare her rounded bottom. It bucked in fetching provocation; the quivering cheeky curves clenching and unclenching in rhythmic fury, as she responded enthusiastically to Alysha’s finger-fucking. Guinevere’s voluptuous breasts hung free of their constricting bodice and Alysha was tonguing the lust-hardened nipples in hungry debauch.
Maude watched with gut-wrenching jealousy as Guinevere reached a knee-trembling climax beneath the finger squelching lasciviously within her cunt. She came, shuddering to the ecstatic surges that coursed from her inflamed clitoris to every nerve-tingling extremity of her body. Alysha knelt and buried her dark face to Guinevere’s love lips, her serpentine tongue lapping the sweet-flowing nectar of her come juices.
Guinevere was Maude’s star riding pupil at Victoria’s, the select Academy for orphaned “daughters of fallen heroes” situated off Berkeley Square in Mayfair. Formally opened by Queen Victoria when she was proclaimed Empress of India six years previously in 1876, the Academy charitably housed 30 indigent young ladies aged between 18 and 20, preparing them for a secure, if somewhat Spartan, spinster life as a governess.
An accomplished equestrienne under Maude’s attentive instruction, Guinevere looked magnificent riding side-saddle in Hyde Park’s Rotten Row each morning when they exercised the Academy’s horses. Maude had long secretly lusted to possess her. In the confines of her bedroom above the mews stables behind Victoria’s, she dreamed of tasting the sweet delights of her body, of baring Guinevere’s bouncy breasts and sucking her nipples to excited hardness. She fantasized about Guinevere’s hidden pearl nestling within that lush, curly forest now so wantonly displayed before her, dreaming of the girl becoming her live-in stables assistant, when she would possess her in nightly Sapphic sensuality.
‘Take me! Drink me! I love you!’
Guinevere’s lecherous words galvanised Maude. She burst in, screeching like a banshee.
‘Slut! Temptress! Harlot! Debaucher! Perverted whore! Defiler of womanhood!’ she spat through white, bloodless lips.
She stooped and tore Guinevere’s dangling knickers from her knees. ‘The Governors will hear about your filthy perversion. I shall have you publicly thrashed and expelled for your obscene display of unnatural lust and debauchery.’
Minutes later, the girls were standing in dishevelled shock before Lady Jessica Cleveland, Victoria’s appointed headmistress. Maude had marched them from the stables in their hay-covered deshabillé. Her screaming abuse, their disordered attire, and Guinevere’s torn knickers born triumphantly aloft like a Mogul standard captured on a Punjabi field of battle, left no doubt as to what had transpired.
By the time they reached the headmistress’s study, Maude had worked herself into a frenzy of moral righteousness.
She threw her captured trophy onto Jessica’s desk. ‘Doing it in front of the horses … Victoria’s dishonoured … Empire’s fallen heroes defiled … Calcutta concubine … perverted harlots … public thrashing … expel them immediately … inform the Governors!’
She screeched on until lack of breath reduced her to rasping incoherence.
‘That’s enough, Miss Bullen!’ the headmistress barked. ‘Please be silent!
Maude was one of the crosses Lady Cleveland had to bear when, prematurely widowed by the untimely death of her noble husband on an orchid collecting expedition to Papua, New Guinea, she had sold her spacious Belgravia mansion, bought a smaller property in Mayfair and accepted the gracious royal favour of appointment as headmistress to the nearby Academy. Unfortunately, Maude came with the job. The founding governors were a cadre of feisty generals; be-medalled veterans of imperial forays into the dusty plains of India, the shifting sands of Egypt and the steaming jungles of darkest Africa. General Sir George Bullen, V.C., hero of Napier’s Abyssinian Expedition of ’67 and the Second Ashanti War of ’74 was typical of these. His martial valour had lost him limb and livelihood, but gained him fame, if not fortune, and a place on Victoria’s governing board.
Bullen had promptly engineered his daughter’s appointment as riding mistress and now manoeuvred tirelessly to retire Lady Cleveland and appoint Maude as headmistress.
Given the furore created by Maude’s tempestuous progress from stables to Academy, Jessica had no alternative but to inflict the statutory punishment for “immodesty”: a whipping and expulsion. Failure to do so would play into Bullen’s hands; enhancing Maude’s claim to be the Academy’s strict guardian of maidenly morals and jeopardizing Jessica’s position.
‘What have you to say before I punish you?’
Alysha knew her fate. There would be no reprieve from ignominious expulsion. She would be one of Victoria’s secrets. Could she save her sweetheart by accepting culpability, however?
‘It was my fault, headmistress. I seduced Guinevere. Expel me, but please don’t punish her.’
Guinevere burst into tears at her sweetheart’s brave words.
‘That’s not true! I’m to blame! Punish me, not her!’
The ulcerating acid of frustrated sexual desire and jealousy was now pumping corrosive poison through Maude’s icy veins.
‘Disgusting sluts! Purveyors of unnatural vice! Perhaps others are party to their filthy lust. My father will initiate an inquiry and expose the despicable moral laxity here under your headship. The board will …’
Jessica cut her short. This confrontation was moving on to dangerous ground.
‘That would be unfortunate, Miss Bullen. You should be the last person to trumpet this outside these hallowed walls. It will reflect very badly upon you. As headmistress, I must point out your own responsibility in this matter. You are solely responsible for stable discipline and this is not the first instance of such disgraceful behaviour there. You will remember that I expelled Estelle and Constance last year for similar turpitude in the stables. You appear to preside over a hotbed of unnatural sexual perversion. Perhaps I should recommend the board to consider this sullied record and review your position.’
Jessica’s words struck home. Maude sputtered into angry silence.
The headmistress studied the two miscreants. ‘As Miss Bullen has noted, your actions force me to whip and dishonourably expel you forthwith. I should assemble the girls and
staff to witness your humiliation but I wish to spare our riding mistress the embarrassment of publicising such lamentable moral turpitude within her bailiwick. I shall therefore cane you privately and your expulsion shall become just more of Victoria’s secrets.
She turned to their accuser. ‘Leave us now, Miss Bullen. Return to your stables before any further lewdness occurs in front of the horses!’
Maude shot Jessica a look of thwarted hatred. She wanted to witness the caning, exulting in humiliating the girls, but had no answer to Jessica’s barbed comments. She departed, slamming the door defiantly behind her.
With the riding mistress safely out of the way, Jessica moved rapidly to close the official expulsion proceedings and open her own secret agenda; an option that provided a very different future for the beautiful Alysha and Guinevere to that which they expected and Maude had intended.
She smiled wickedly at her secretarial assistant. ‘Miss Downey, we have two more to add to our growing list of Victoria’s secrets.’
The fair Caroline Downey was well versed in all matters of Academy punishment procedure, including the necessarily secretive nature of official expulsions.
Few days passed without a reported misdeed requiring the headmistress’s use of corrective cane upon bared bottom. The cane hung prominently on the wall beside Caroline’s desk. It was Caroline’s duty to prepare a pupil for chastisement, stripping her naked for “punishment undress”, strapping her to the fearsome punishment horse in the corner, register the caning in the governors’ punishment book and have the tearful recipient sign the record.
Caroline herself was no stranger to the kiss of the cane. When Jessica found her secretarial work unsatisfactory, she would order Caroline to lift up her skirt, drop her knickers, and bend over to present her plump, inviting posterior for punishment.
It was after just such an occasion, four years previously, that Jessica had first caressed her striped bottom with her cool hand before taking her into her arms and kissing away her salty tears. Exquisite pain had turned to exquisite pleasure, as Jessica’s demanding tongue breached her willing lips. She had responded in a delirium of joy as that first exploratory kiss blossomed into passionate embrace and a hand slid up the inside of her soft thigh to seek her waiting clitoris. Jessica’s practiced touch to that throbbing button had quickly brought her to the ecstasy of her first orgasm. From then on, Caroline was her willing and adoring submissive and confidante.
Such blissful moments of extra-curricular caning took place now in Jessica’s nearby home; euphoric occasions of clandestine sensuality which, like Victoria’s secrets, were never recorded in the Academy’s punishment book.
Jessica wrote out a brief note and gave it to Caroline.
‘Take this expulsion order over to Main Hall and hand it to the duty mistress. Instruct her to read it out to the staff and pupils. They will be congregating for Saturday evening prayers in 10 minutes.’
A teasing thought struck her as Caroline turned to leave.
‘Who is duty mistress this weekend?’
Caroline giggled gleefully.
‘Miss Bullen.’
Jessica allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk. ‘How divine! How deliciously appropriate! And how convenient for us! That desiccated harridan can have her pound of flesh and pontificate at length on the sinfulness of exposing one’s privy pretties to horses, while we spirit these two love-birds away to our nest unseen. And we are not expected to return before Monday morning. Hurry back, dearest!’
Alysha and Guinevere looked totally bewildered. They expected a severe whipping and ignominious exit from Victoria’s. The headmistress and her assistant appeared to be reading from a different and altogether friendlier script. And what was “Victoria’s secret”?
Jessica relished their bemusement. ‘Contain your curiosity. Understand that I shall most certainly spank your naughty bottoms, but not here and now, and not in the way you expect. I am expelling you because Academy rules leave me no alternative. You brought this upon yourselves by allowing your physical desires to overcome you in a place where you could be discovered.’
The girls looked shattered.
‘Your stupidity has led to your undoing and the loss of a secure position as governess. Your predicament is dire, your options few, your prospects bleak. No diploma, no references, no money, no future! You are fallen women, destined for a clothing sweatshop in Whitechapel, or sex sold for pennies behind the Alhambra in Leicester Square. Either way you face an early death from disease and physical abuse.’
Both girls looked at Jessica numbly. It was a sombre future.
‘There is one very exciting but very secret alternative, however. But you must agree to place yourselves unconditionally in my hands and you will have to trust me implicitly.
A look of desperate hope crossed their anguished faces.
‘I have friends in high places. They will groom you for a new life far removed from a governess’s lonely garret. They will prepare you for a grande entrée in a milieu where your feminine sensuality and personality will bloom like one of my late husband’s exotic orchids. With our help, you will illuminate the most scintillating salons of London, Paris, Vienna, and St Petersburg. You will influence men of destiny. They will prostrate themselves before your bejewelled beauty.
First Alysha, and then Guinevere began to sob, then cry and finally laugh with joyful tears.
‘Yes! Yes!’ Alysha choked. ‘We place ourselves in your capable hands. Take us and mould us. Those salons sound deliciously decadent and luxuriously lively – unlike a cold garret tucked away in a draughty castle.’
‘Good! You are obviously intelligent as well as beautiful. That’s an excellent start to fame and fortune.’
Caroline returned to find Jessica hugging the two girls to her bosom.
‘That Bullen bitch has read out your note. It’s triumph to ashes for her!’ She giggled irrepressibly. ‘She’s leading the girls in prayer. I bet they’re secretly praying for Lord Lust to clutch their virginal pussies when they visit the stables!’
‘You forget your station, Miss Downey!’ Jessica admonished with mock severity. ‘I shall have to bare and punish your pretty posterior presently.’
She smiled in anticipation of that pleasing prospect as she ushered her charges out.
‘Follow me. We can leave unseen now. It’s just a short walk to my house and your new life … and that promised spanking.’
Jessica led them quickly down Curzon Street and into Brick Street, a nondescript narrow lane leading from Shepherd’s Market to Park Lane. Stopping at No 21, she quickly hustled them in.
Jessica acknowledged the blonde maid in tightly corseted, pink satin uniform who had opened the door and was in deep curtsy before her. She gave her hand to kiss.
‘This is Clarissa, my adoring slutmaid. She will look after you until we whisk you off to Paris next week. Do not venture outside! It is imperative that no one from Victoria’s sees you.’
She addressed Caroline. ‘Put these star-crossed lovers in the Blue Room, tell them all they need to know about our lifestyle here and have Clarissa outfit them in something more provocatively alluring for a tableau vivant at our Sunday “quilting circle”!’
She laughed at the girls’ mystification. ‘You will remember I still have to chastise those dainty derrières of yours. You will discover you enjoy the painful experience.’
The girls dared to wiggle their butts provocatively.
‘Run along with Caroline and Clarissa before I spank you here and now, you brazen hussies! I’ll give you something to wiggle about tomorrow at quilting circle.’
Jessica’s extensive Mayfair residence hid a multitude of sins. It was outwardly unpretentious, giving no hint of its sumptuously furnished and exotically decorated interior. It doubled as her exclusively secretive ladies’ only social club, The Amazons.
Given society’s hostile chauvinistic attitude to female sexuality, her select club members were advisedly secretive about their rel
ationships and energetic activities in the bedrooms there.
Sensually passionate lesbians fitted uncomfortably into a male-dominated society where docilely compliant wives were brainwashed into believing it wholly acceptable for men to be cock-happy predators, while female orgasm was considered a dangerous physical aberration best cured by clitoridectomy. It was an era when refined ladies willingly surrendered their bodies to male gynaecologists who tested them for “abnormal arousal” by subjecting their clitoris to a clinical finger-fuck. The resulting orgasm was pronounced “deranged”, and the priceless pearl surgically removed from its oyster.
Members met their lovers at No 21, allegedly for afternoon tea during the week, and ladies’ quilting circle on Sundays. Earl Grey and quilting were perfect alibis for Sapphic dalliance in these safe and secure surroundings.
Quilting circle was the club euphemism for Jessica’s lesbian spanking sorority. She played horsewoman to visiting femmes on these occasions, wielding her stinging crop to their responsive flanks to the plaudits of their admiring dom lovers. It was also an opportunity to chastise the bared bottoms of offending maids, giving pleasure to the onlookers and, if truth be known, to the maids. This would be the perfect opportunity to discipline Alysha and Guinevere.
At 3 o’clock on Sunday, Caroline led Alysha and Guinevere into the crowded salon and stood them before Jessica in the centre of the room. Jessica was dressed in a severe black sateen corset with four suspenders holding red stockings taut against her firm thighs. She stood, legs apart, one gloved hand on the swell of her corseted hips, the other holding a long cane; an awesome demanding mistress domina. There was a murmur of appreciation from the expectant assembly as they surveyed their Mistress of Ceremonies and her two beautiful girls.
Mistress Domina tapped her thigh with the long cane. ‘Why are you here?’
‘We request punishment for immodest behaviour, Mistress!’
‘What was that immodesty?’
‘We fornicated in the stables in front of the horses, Mistress.’
The Collaring of Camilla Page 1
