Anonymous - Beatrice

When the maid brought in the Cointreau, Katherine took her wrist.

"Drink with us," she said.

"M'am?" The maid's cheeks coloured.

"Drink with us-sit with us-here at my feet-take a glass." Katherine's words were pellets. They stung against my skin. The woman skimmed a nervous look around where we sat in a circle.

"Look, I will hold your glass while you sit," Aunt Maude told her.

The maid obeyed at last, discomforted in her sitting on the floor. Her legs coiled under her. I liked the shape of her calves. Her ankles were slender. Slender ankles and plump thighs often betoken sensuousness to some degree.

"Lean back and be comfortable," Aunt Maude said. She dropped a cushion onto the carpet for the maid to lean upon. She looked like a houri-an odalisque. Uncle was whispering to Caroline. What were they saying?

"Attractive women often sit on the floor," Katherine remarked. The maid looked at her and did not know whether to smile or not. Katherine's smile was a cat's smile. With a flip of her toes she kicked off one of the gold Turkish slippers she was wearing and, to the woman's startlement, laid her toes on her thigh. Her toes curled.

"It is nice," Katherine said. Her foot moved upwards along the maid's hip and felt its curving. "Drink your drink," she said sharply. The woman obeyed. My aunt eased a shoe off in turn. Sitting obliquely behind the maid she lifted her leg, eased her stockinged foot beneath the woman's chin and lifted it.

"Lie down-down!" my aunt said.

The maid's arm made a querulous seeking gesture, but she obeyed. The cushion squeezed itself from under her. Katherine circled her leg and moved the sole of her foot lightly over the woman's prominent breasts. She started and would have sat up if Aunt Maude's foot had not then moved with a twist of ankle to the front of her neck.

The maid's eyes bulged.

"M'am-I don't want to," she whined.

"Oh, be quiet!" Katherine said impatiently. Her foot slid back down. Her toes hooked in the hem of the maid's skirt and drew it up above her stocking tops. Plump thighs gleamed. The simple garters she wore bit tightly into her flesh.

"No, please, M'am."

Neither listened. Aunt Maude's toes were caressing her neck and up behind her ear. Katherine's toes delved upwards beneath the hang of the upflipped skirt. The woman's hands scrabbled on the carpet. My aunt's toes soothed over her mouth. A choking little cry and the maid's back arched. The delicate searching movements of Katherine's toes up between her thighs made the black material ripple. The maid's cheeks were pink. Her lips parted beneath the sole of my aunt's foot which rubbed suavely, skimming her mouth. Katherine's toes projected up into the skirt. Her heel was rubbing now.

The maid moaned and closed her eyes. Beside me, Caroline puffed out her breath. The maid's eyes closed. Her bottom worked slightly. She drew up one knee. My uncle's eyes were strangely incurious. Aunt Maude slipped down on to her knees beside the maid and began unbuttoning the front of her dress. The ripe gourds of her breasts came into view. Her nipples were stark and thick in their conical rising.

Katherine slid down onto her knees in turn. Her hands swept the skirt of the maid's dress up to her waist. A bulge of pubic hairs sprouted thickly. The maid covered her face and made little cries.

"Open your legs properly!" Katherine told her sharply. Still with her eyes covered the maid began to edge her ankles apart. It would be her first such pleasuring, perhaps, though female servants who shared bedrooms frequently fingered one another.

Uncle loomed up before me. He smiled, drew my hand towards him.

"We shall go upstairs," he said. I was bereft. Caroline would see. I would not see. We entered the hall and ascended. I did not want to go in the cage. But the room was empty and the cages were empty. "Go to the bar- raise your dress," my uncle said.

I wanted to see what would happen to the maid. Would she be ripe in her desiring? I did not want Katherine to kiss her. But I obeyed. A bulbous symphony in black and white. I gripped the lower bar, my bottom bared to him. He knew me in his seeing now. The door reopened but I did not look. Footsteps quiet. Tapering fingers, coated with warm oil, massaged the groove of my pumpkin. At my rose, my O, the finger lingered, soothing. High heels clicked again and our visitor was gone.

Strained in my posture I kept my thighs, my heels together. The purse of my love-longing peeped its figlike shape beneath my cheeks. I waited.

At the first crack of the leather I cried out my small cry, my head hung. The stinging of the strap assailed me three, four, five, six times. I clenched my nether cheeks, their plumpness hot. Tears oozed.

The quiver-cry that burst next from me was at the first biting of three dozen thongs. My whip had come-it lived -it sang. I hated, loved it.

"Uncle, don't!"

My little wail, the dying cry. I choked in my choking sobs. The tips of the thongs sought me, burnished the blossoming of my cheeks and sought the crevices. Rain of fire, down-showering of sparks. My hips squirmed, my heels squeaked on the floor. Master of my arching beauty now, he stung me deeper till my sobs came louder. My shoulders lifted, fell. My hands slipped on the bar and gripped anew.

At the dropping of the whip at last-betraying clatter on the floor-I made to rise. My hand reached back and sought my upcast dress.

"No, Beatrice, stay!"

"No more!"

My bottom scorched, my wail beseeched. Hands at my hips. They gripped like steel.

"Down, Beatrice, down!"

The cheeks of my bottom held, parted, spread. My rose exposed. "No-ooooh!" The last cry of my frailty fluttered, fell. I felt the flare of body heat, his cock. The knob-cock of him, oozing in. Breath whistling from my throat, I made to rise. "Down, Beatrice-down, girl, down!"

I blubbered, squirmed. I wanted, did not want. The rubbery ring of my anus yielded to invasion-the swollen plum, indriving of his prick. Quarter inch by quarter inch the veined shaft entered. My mouth gaped. The thick peg throbbed, its urging urged within. Then with a groan he sheathed it to the full, my brazen cheeks a butterball of heat to his belly.

Within me now it stirred, pulsed, throbbed. His balls nestled under my slit. Then he withdrew-the slow unsheathing I both feared and sought. A faint uncorking sound. Freed to the air his knob thrummed at my cheeks.

"Go to your room," my uncle said.

I did not look. I feared to look. I had received. I rose, legs shaking, scuffling down my dress. My bottom sucked in air and closed. Finding the door I ran down to my room.

No one came.

In my sobbing I fell asleep clothed, squeezing my bottom cheeks until oblivion came.

The days of strangeness closed in upon us further. We were stripped and taken to the cages "to meditate," my aunt said. In my aloneness she asked me my dreams. I knelt while I told her, my face bowed. During my speaking she would allow me to raise her skirt and kiss her thighs. In such moments I was truly her slave. I buried my lips against the smooth skin above her stocking tops and licked.

"You are naturally wicked by, nature," she said to me once when I had recounted a particularly vivid dream.

Maria-the maid with whom she and Katherine had toyed-stayed on. On the morning after her pleasuring she became more acquiescent and submissive to commands. Her skirts were hemmed excessively short. Whenever my uncle looked at her thighs she blushed.

One afternoon we had what my aunt called "an amusement." At lunch Maria had been complimented upon her serving of the wine and food. She looked foolishly pleased. On our retirement to the drawing room I was intrigued to see a large camera of mahogany and brass standing upon a stout tripod. Its lens faced inwards from the windows, no doubt to gather light. Before it was placed a simple wooden chair. Other furniture had been pressed back against the walls.