Anonymous - First training

“Oh, is the water warm still? Have you finished?” I asked.

“Yes, but only just,” she replied crossly and blushed. Not speaking, I cast off my robe and then my chemise and stood naked. The water was perfumed and inviting. Only recently then had we had water to come through taps in the bathrooms and it was a perfect joy, though made much heat and work for the servants in keeping the stove going to heat the water. Being cautious of her mood I got in and laved myself, sinking back with quite a smile upon my lips, for I knew more than she and indeed had learned more.

“Clara, what is to do?” she asked nervously.

“Why, you were very naughty and so was I. Mama was not displeased with us really,” I replied simply.

“She is not our Mama-not our true Mama,” Sarah said crossly and let the towel fall and began to brush her hair. Standing upright as she was her bottom protruded delightfully and I thought of how I had had my tongue there and teased her up while she wriggled. I did not doubt that she had enjoyed it and chided her inwardly for being a hypocrite. Besides, she had been tongued as well and could not now pretend that she had struggled overmuch against the insistent protrusion of our stepmother’s tongue.

“Did you not like it?” I asked and soaped myself all over.

“No, of course I didn’t, it was horrid. I did not know before that people did such things. If she whips me again I shall tell Papa.”

“Will you not blush to tell him all?” I asked slyly whereat she spun around and scowled at me, though looking lovely still in doing that.

“What do you mean, Clara?” she spat but all was then bravado. I shrugged.

“Mama will say, I am sure, that she kissed you afterwards and all was well.”

“Oh!” exploded Sarah and stamped her foot. Facing me then as she was and naked, her tits bouncing a little in her anger and her bush well fluffed out from the drying towel, a sudden wicked fantasy came to me that I would like to have Stepmama or Bertha hold her arms the while I knelt between her thighs and tongued her cunt. Perhaps this very thought drove me a full measure beyond what I had already learned, been taught, and had instilled into me. I wanted her cunny to sparkle on my tongue, to bring myself pleasure in doing it and hear her wild cries as she was forced to surrender.

“Let us not fret too much for I did not mind it really. I, too, have been caned, you know,” I said proudly.

“You? Oh, you have not! What a story you are!”

“Oh, Miss Clevercuts, so you believe you know everything, do you? She took my drawers down and caned me stingingly upon my bottom-so there-and then she kissed me all about as she did you and it was nice,” I said rather breathlessly.

That she believed me I did not doubt.

“I don’t want to hear about it,” she said crossly. “I think she is so awful for she will not allow me to wear drawers now.”

I laughed. “Well, you can scarce tell Papa that, or shall you run to him and say, ‘Look, Papa, I have no drawers on.’”

“Bah! you are as horrid as she sometimes, Clara,” was her response, and gathering up her clothes got into them as quickly as she could, for my last words had clearly flustered her and she must have felt trapped. Well-she was trapped for a purpose and that to bring her pleasure, I told myself and found myself surprised by my own thought. Yet even then a sense of resolution was invading me and taking hold of me. I was conscious of our stepmother’s aura and personality as though from a distance. It is said that now, in my twenty-fifth year, I also possess such. “I could feel you coming even though you had not then entered the house,” a girl has said to me in midway or advanced passage of her training, and I have sensed it to be true, for I know the spell that my stepmama can still at times cast over me.

So perhaps one counts the steps of one’s progress. Had I not had that conversation with Sarah in the bathroom I might have been left in limbo with her, wondering how to converse with her and what to do. As I dried myself, however, I was no longer in doubt. Robert’s prick was quite adorable and I dreamed of the heavenly sensation of having it spout within me. Therefore, I decided, Sarah must also. It would be for her good. Her bottom and her cunt would be nourished by his libations, as would my own.

I, of course, was powerless to hasten matters. All lay in our stepmother’s hands. For three days nothing further happened that was untoward. Sarah appeared wary; Robert was quiet, though his eyes frequently fell adoringly on her. Upon the third day after she had tongued Sarah and milked Robert, she took us upon a picnic. Knowing how to beguile, she even drew Sarah out of herself and once or twice made her laugh.

I alone perhaps sensed or knew that the female spider was still weaving her intricate web.

Upon our return that afternoon we learned that Papa was to absent himself for a week. He was to Paris, it seemed, upon business, and privately I had no doubt he was being dispatched there. So perhaps did Sarah for she looked querulous. Little as we saw of him, yet she looked upon him in some way as her protector and thus asked him what he was to do there.

Being all seated in the drawing room and drinking tea, we were at ease. Papa looked very smart, I thought, in a white ruffled shirt and cravat and black trousers that had a broad silk seam down each side in the military fashion.

“Why, Paris is a city of wicked ladies,” our stepmother laughed and looking at him asked, “Is it not true?”

He blushed faintly and looked, I thought, disturbed. Sarah bit her lip and clearly considered that such a remark should not have been made, but nothing missed our stepmother’s ever watchful eye. Having finished her tea she plucked a peach from a cutglass bowl that stood upon a table at the side of her chair and rolled it in her hand, so drawing our attention to it in the silence that followed. As many peaches do it had a cleft in it which her thumb gently rubbed.

“How smooth it is and how round,” she murmured. I held my breath. Sarah shifted in her chair. Women have a fine intuition of things not said or perhaps about to be said. Robert appeared uneasy, got up and with a mumbled excuse went out, more I believe to the relief of Sarah than myself. “Do you know what it reminds me of?” was asked and our stepmother extended her palm so that the peach stood as if in waiting upon it with the cleft-which I must say looked wickedly naughty and symbolic-pointing towards us.

No one answered. It was as though we were on a pinpoint of Time and the room very hushed. Papa opened a silver casket, rustled within and drew out a cigarette, though he smoked rarely. As if by deliberation she waited until he had struck a lucifer and lit it. The blue smoke coiled up silently.

“Do you not know?” she teased, and Sarah clenched her hands. “Why, it is like your bottom, Sarah, so perfectly rounded, so smooth, so prettily the cheeks parted and yet not.”

“AH-OH!” exclaimed Sarah almost as if she had been bitten and jumped up and ran out as fast as a cat might when disturbed by a sudden loud noise.

“My dear!” Papa quavered.

“Why? What have I said?” Stepmama taunted. “William, you have not seen…” And then she paused. I knew the meaning of her pause.

“I must see to my crochet work,” I blurted and followed Sarah out, but she having gone upstairs all in a flash I loitered by the door.

“The poor girl, you have dismayed her terribly,” I heard Papa say, though weakly I thought.

“Oh tush, as I was about to say, my pet, you have not seen her bottom. Perhaps a peach is not a good comparison-a polished apple might be better, the skin polished and smooth.”