Anonymous - A Man With A Maid II

“You will not be able to get her frock off without releasing her feet, Marion,” I suggested, “and I daresay you do not wish to do that since she is the mulish sort who will kick. Here, take this pair of scissors and cut it off her.”

“Oh, you miserable scoundrel, to do such a thing to a helpless girl,” Kay cried hysterically as she tried to lunge backwards as she saw Marion approach, scissors in hand. “Help me, for the Lord’s sake! Sir, sir, how can you stand there and let this happen to a defenseless girl, a decent girl who’s never done any harm to anyone in all her life?”

“I would not be surprised if you had quite a bit to do with harming Marion’s marriage,” I sternly replied, “but your mistress has asked for my aid and I am here to give it. You will have to appeal to her, I am afraid.”

By now Marion had cut the frock off and dragged it away, and now the undervest had been removed and Kay stood there in only her batiste chemise, her gray cotton stockings and plain black shoes. But that deshabille was already breathtaking enough to set my cock to aching and stirring in its dormant hiding place.

She was magnificently svelte, and in some ways even more sinuous and supple than her mistress. Demurely cut as the chemise was it, did not in the least conceal the splendid promontories of her bosom, high-perched globes shaped somewhat like ripe pears, set widely apart and thrusting their voluptuously developed buds vigorously against the stuff of her chemise. From her slim waist there flared a pair of delectably sleek, agile hips, and her buttocks were broad ovals with a gradually widening furrow between them. Her thighs were delightfully long and almost boyishly slender.

“Oh, ma’am, no-for God’s sake, not in front of him! Have mercy on me!” Kay exclaimed, as she lunged back and tried to escape her mistress’s reach. But I stood there with hands clasped behind my back, enjoying the spectacle of this embattled vixen at bay and the still more exquisite scene of the once arrogant Marion’s playing the role of executioner. The buttons fell one by one to Marion’s nimble fingers, and now she moved to Kay’s other side, ignoring the girl’s sobbing pleas as she undid those as well. The chemise suddenly descended, falling to Kay’s hips, exposing those beautiful bubbies in all their glory.

“Ohhh! Oh my God, oh my God, cover me up, ma’am, I beg of you, not in front of him-don’t let him see me n-naked!” and already the anger in her voice had given way to real shame and terror, the two most voluptuously rousing emotions a man can discern in a proposed female captive.

Those bubbies were wonderfully firm and uptilting, with narrow, dark coral aureolae, and extremely well-developed nipples. Her navel, also, was a jewel in the flesh, very dainty, deep and very narrow, and in the frenzied play of her muscles as she threw herself this way and that against her bonds, it seemed to wink at me as if inviting me to pay its owner ardent tribute-which I surely meant to do.

The chemise would go no lower, owing to the straddle of her legs. Marion seized at the folds of the garments and tugged at them, ignoring Kay’s piteous pleas for mercy, but found the progress impeded. Again to my delight, without being told, she resorted to the scissors, and then I uttered a gasp of unconcealed admiration as the garment fell to the floor and Kay stood exposed, naked except for the stockings, before us both.

The silky thatch at the juncture of her thighs was extremely thick and of a darker, more auburn shade than the hair of her lovely arrogant head. She was, to be truthful, even more thickly furred than her mistress, whose public foliage I have already intimately described.

Discovering herself so shamelessly unveiled, Kay closed her eyes, turned her face to one side, and desperately tugged at her bound wrists, shrieking wordless plaints and madly trying to clench her thighs, so the muscles stood out under the satiny pale, milky skin of her thighs.

I now went to the closet and brought back both birch rods, one in each hand-the bulkier in my left. My preference was for the lighter one, for though Kay’s bottom was spacious, it had that compact, sinuous quality to it that fairly cried out for a thinner, swishier rod.

My own, rod, as you may well guess by this time, was violently turgid, but I made no effort to conceal my protuberance from Kay’s dilated, horrified eyes. I turned to Marion now, handing her the birch in my right hand and remarking, “I believe you will find this birch ideally suited to her insolent posterior.”

“Oh, it looks as if it will really sting her properly, Jack,” Marion exulted as she took it in her right hand, brandishing it about with many a vicious swish in the air, under the eyes of the now thoroughly frightened maid.

“You surely aren’t going to hit me with that dreadful thing! Oh, sir, please don’t let her beat me-she’s got such a terrible temper, you’ve no idea. She’ll cut me to ribbons, I know she will.”

“And so you richly deserve, you sharp-tongued, maliciously gossiping baggage,” I irritatedly retorted. “I will not lift a finger to help you.” (Nor, dear reader, would I, but I was already lifting my prick in tribute to this red-haired hussy about to pass under the birch for the first time.)

Taking her place behind Kay, Marion called out to me, “How many do you think I should give her, Jack?”

“Why, as to that, dear, let your conscience be your guide,” I laughingly retorted. “But mind you, lay them on slowly so she will have ample time to feel the effects of each good stroke. You will also find the lower part of her bottom is much more sensitive to a birch like that, which cuts and stings and draws, than the upper region. Also, listen carefully to her assuredly vivid descriptions of what she is undergoing, which will give you a much-needed clue as to what quota you may set for this her first flogging.”

“Oh, you heartless, you dreadful man, to stand by and let me so brutally treated. No, no-oh, for God’s sake, sir, have pity!”

“I have already told you I am hors de concours ,” I taunted her. “This dispute is between your mistress and yourself, so address your supplications and your jeremiads to her entirely.”

“Now then, Miss,” Marion addressed her as she laid the swishy rod full across the fleshiest curves of her maid’s clenching and trembling naked bottomcheeks, “I am going to teach you manners, I am, and you are not going to get off very lightly. Kick me in the shins, would you? Tell me that my husband sought your advice about me, would you? You shall repent your insolence, my girl, to the very fullest.”

With this, after patting Kay’s naked bottom a few times, she drew back her right arm and made the birch sing out a doleful huissshhhish in the air as the half-dozen freshly cut birch switches swept magisterially across both huddling cheeks of Kay’s milky, rosy-flecked bottom.

With a piercing cry of pain, Kay lunged forward and offered the furry gate of her cunt to my blazing eyes. It was all I could do to keep from reaching out and squeezing those heaving bubbies of hers, or caressing her naked belly, or inserting a finger under all those shaggy, dark-red curls to find the delicious inlet to her female secrets.

A second cut now fell, and Kay shrieked aloud, glancing back as she lunged forward, the pulleys creaking under the strain.

“Hold off a bit now, Marion,” I advised. “You’re going about it much too quickly. Besides, we should put the mirror in front of Kay so she will be prepared for the next cut.”

In a few moments I had the huge mirror standing in front of the naked redhead, just as I had done with Marion so recently. The distracted, frantic, naked sufferer perceived herself in the mirror and stared, observing the thickly ringletted fleece between her straddled thighs, and with a gasp of shame, tried with all her powers to clench her thighs and hide that enticing nook from my view.