Anonymous - First training

“His cock was well brought up this afternoon while you were out, my pet. Was it not, Clara-and dare his dear Mama deny it now?”

“By you? OH! Pray give me my drawers.” Her hand waved weakly and then fell.

“We were not the final instruments of his pleasure, Jennifer, nor would lie to you upon the matter. His Mama milked him of his sperm while he, poor weakling, suffered her frigging, his eyes all wild and lured by dreams of lust. Are not men ever so?”

“I do not believe you! Oh, it could not be so!”

“I believe you know it is so, though have not utterly confessed it to yourself nor made images in your mind of the matter. How often does he thread you in bed? Once weekly? Once a month? Is he shy? Is your hand needed to stir him to erection?”

“He is shy. Oh, why do you ask? What conversation you have got me into! Please may I not put on my drawers?”

“You are too proud to say how well you have been pleasured. That is the truth of it. As to putting on your drawers, you will need them less about your bottom than you have been used to. Opportunities have passed you by, but shall not in future. I ask you once again-how often does he take you?”

“You seem to have the knowing of it already,” Jennifer replied sulkily and then burst out, “Oh, why should his Mama do such a wicked thing? Is is true, Clara? Tell me it is not?”

“My foolish, beautiful one, it is. Nor was it horrid to see as you might think. Made to stand-and in such pretty finery as she has put him in before-he held his legs apart. They were not face to face and neither did she raise her dress or show her bosom even to his gaze. Is that not so, Mama?”

“It is, my pet. The young man has his whims and she has hers. Until your marriage, my dear, she spermed him regularly and thus kept him tamed, quiescent, as all males should be. As to your father-in-law, Jennifer, that is another kettle of fish. Have his hands not sought around the proud bulb of your bottom-touched your tits?”

“How do you…? Oh! I am shamed!”

“Do you not like it?” I moved to sit beside her, touched her arm, and wore an air of great naпvetй.

“It is h… h… hateful! Yes, he does. Would feel right in my drawers were I to let him.”

“Jennifer, we must speak more plainly. Truthfulness becomes us on both sides, for matters now will change.” Thus saying, my stepmother sat before her on the floor. Jennifer’s legs being still bared, she pressed her lips to her thigh most tenderly and made her start. Seeing her lips linger and her tongue extending around the rich rim of flesh above her stocking top, I drew Jennifer’s lips around to mine and felt to my surprise a softness greater than before.

“You think of his cock, though,” I murmured to her lips.

“I doh-on’t!” she trembled, making her mouth quiver deliciously to mine, but her voice betrayed her. The tips of our tongues touched, making me quite spoony with her.

“You do not get enough of your husband’s, hence you think of others. What is there in that?” came my stepmother’s voice while of deliberation she held the young woman’s thighs apart, admiring them as much as I, as Jennifer could see. Perhaps indeed that tiny point weakened her.

“I do… I do think of his cock, but I do not like him. Oh!” she exclaimed at her own temerity and covered up her face. I drew her hands away and rubbed her nose to mine playfully which I believe softened her the more.

“You do not betray yourself by so speaking, my sweet,” purred my stepmother, caressing Jennifer’s thighs as she spoke. “We are your accomplices and not your enemies. Dear Millicent’s actions are in trust to us, as yours shall be.”

“Mine? Oh, but I could never…!”

“Shush, child, for you are almost one at heart and yet withal a proud young woman. You will not be brought to him, but he to you, as Clive was brought to his Mama.”

“I do not wish to think of that! How could it be?”

“You will think of it, Jennifer. What help have you now save to do so? There is nothing so lewd in such motions as you believe. The male is brought to the female for her satisfaction. Once given, then he is removed, or put to further service as you wish. Your pleasures have been limited until now, though need not be.”

Jennifer twisted her fingers, turned her rings around and knew not where to look. A silence obtained. We waited for her to speak.

“If, if… if I gave in to him once-oh! I know how it would be!”

“Foolish girl, have you not imbibed each word I spoke? His prick is all you seek, and briefly perhaps, for there will be others when you find your way and learn to conquer and not to submit.”

Jennifer gazed at her nervously, though there was also a tinge of curiousity in her look, “You will not always be here,” she mumbled.

“Nor shall I have need to be, for once quelled and mastered he will remain so. How proud and cold you can look when you wish it! Why, you are halfway there to your own salvation.”

“It is true, Jennifer.” I soothed her arm. She could not mistake the meaning in my eyes. I tugged at her sleeve. A thought had struck me, and proud I was that it had perhaps escaped my stepmother. “Come-come to the room you have with Clive,” said I. She hesitated for a long moment and then uncoiled her legs. Her drawers lay on the floor and she would have picked them up had I not drawn her with me.

“What is to do?” she asked.

“You will see,” I replied. Her uncertainty as to our truthfulness was melting rapidly. I uttered, however, a little prayer as we ascended with my stepmama in train for I relied on old habits. Not mine, but those of Millicent. Fate proved me right. Reaching my hand beneath the pillows in the bedroom where Clive had been sent to wait, I drew out triumphantly the underclothes he had worn.

“They are not mine!” declared Jennifer and sought her nightdress quickly as if to assure herself against some trick.

“No, my dear, they are Clive’s now-his uniform of petulance, submission and sin. Show her the drawers, Clara!”

I had forgotten that small touch and opened them. The stains of sperm lay dry for her to see. Her eyes opened and her hand went to her mouth. “Oh then, it is true!” she gasped.

“What else but truth have we purveyed to you?” my stepmother responded. “Yet do not think of revenge in sheathing his father’s prick in your cunny. There is no revenge. It shall be on his part an act of equal submission to the power of Woman.”

“Oh no! I cannot, I cannot!”

My stepmother sighed and made her sit upon the bed. For a full moment she gazed at her soulfully and then turned to me. Her lips formed words that I well could read: “Fetch the cane!”

Most wickedly, no doubt, the thought of caning the adorable Jennifer thrilled me to the core. I, who have trained many a young lady since, knew this to be a prime occasion. A cane lay in my stepmother’s luggage. She was ever ready for all occasions. Taking it out, I fondled it lovingly and envisaged the proud bottom that was soon to receive it.

Pray do not think, however, that there was viciousness in my thoughts. I have never wielded the cane cruelly nor would ever do so. It urges, it impels, it conquers the proudest. When I re-entered the bedroom my stepmother had already rolled Jennifer over in the guise of “tidying” her underskirt beneath. Thus she was bared and, being in that frame of mind that young women are when they know not which road to take, permitted the fondest of kisses to fall on her sumptuous orb, deep cleft as it was and smooth as ivory.

She made to stir as I entered and would have glimpsed the cane before it seared her had not my stepmother deftly clambered on her back and held her down. A shriek rose: “What are you doing?”