 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 10 – I am taught the meaning of obedience
The next morning I steeled myself to be the obedient wife. The biggest difficulty I could foresee was going to be wearing the shortened dresses without drawers; I was going to feel half-naked for the entire day.
The first shock was when Rose informed me that Sir Thomas now wanted me to have a fourth rinsing each morning and that the first of these was to have glycerine added to it. This seemed to penetrate even further into me than plain water. I had to hold it for a count of one hundred which was a genuine ordeal and I was struggling during the last twenty. Still I said not a word and afterwards passively let her shave me.
At breakfast Sir Thomas and I discussed the coming weeks. Georgina was expected in seven weeks and we planned to arrange for Lord Llanbedr to visit three weeks later at the beginning of July. Before that Thomas Lawrence was expected to paint my portraits in 25 days time (I quailed inwardly). James and Edward, my stepsons, were due back from Winchester ten days before Georgina, though Sir Thomas was packing them off to friends in Derbyshire after a week so that Georgina could settle in without the presence of adolescent males. I was pleased that he was considering his stepdaughter’s comfort. I suggested that she should have the room nearest mine, but Sir Thomas just asked if I was sure I wanted her hearing my nocturnal noises. In the end we agreed that a room down near the old nursery should be redone for her.
I spent the day inspecting the house to see all was restored after the chaos of the ball. I had to deliberately ignore the bruising in my feet which necessitated frequent pauses to rest. And my scandalous outfit most certainly did not help. At one point I stretched to straighten a mantelpiece ornament and my nipples popped out of the cursed dress. Frantically I struggled to tuck them back in while Mrs. Jones pretended not to notice.
As I had anticipated I was summoned to the Yellow Salon for afternoon tea. I was sure that my obedience was to be tested in some perverse way. Mrs. Jones arrived with me to find that Sir Thomas was already sat in the centre of the sofa with Rose standing off to one side.
“Please come stand before me, my dear.”
I limped over until I was directly before him.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have you off those sore feet in just a few minutes. Meanwhile please lean forward.”
I complied, knowing what would happen. Suddenly my nipples leapt free of the dress and I felt them stiffening in the air. I made a move to rectify the situation but my husband just stopped me with a glance. I straightened back up with my breasts now resting on top of the dress. It felt quite obscene, worse than being naked.
“Now lift your dress, wife.”
I began to lift the already high hem up my thighs.
“To the waist please. I wish to see you properly.”
I obeyed and my shaven sex was suddenly clearly on display to him and to Mrs. Jones who had moved to stand behind the sofa. I blushed a deep crimson.
“Lovely! Quite edible, I am sure!”
Was he going to eat me? I knew what havoc his tongue could wreak down there.
“Rosie, come help her ladyship off with her dress. And Mrs. Jones, please compliment the seamstress on her work. I do love the way Lady Caroline’s titties threaten to leap free with every movement.”
When I was naked (which took mere moments as I was wearing so little) he patted his lap.
“Come lie down across my lap. I want to conduct an experiment.”
I shuddered and made to sit on his lap.
“No, silly, face down and bottom up.”
Understanding for the first time his intentions I placed myself face down on his lap. On one side my legs trailed to the floor on the other my breasts dangled and I had to place my hands on the rug to help balance.
“Now my darling, I am going to spank you. Judging from your reactions a few days back I believe you will enjoy it.” And with this his fingertip began to trace the now fading tracks where the crop had bitten in to me four days before. They were still somewhat sore and I winced slightly.
Suddenly the hand was removed and with a loud slap applied to my right cheek. It hurt, stinging my sensitive skin. I felt the warmth bloom as the blood flooded into my bottom but equally or more so there was a tingling of heat in my sex. The two were connected as if by some umbilical cord. The next slap landed on the opposite cheek. He was not hitting hard and was clearly aiming more to sting me than really cause serious pain. Nonetheless the stinging hurt and soon my bottom was very sore indeed.
After a few minutes he stopped and his hand roamed all over my reddened hemispheres rubbing and gently pressing my flesh. It felt so terribly pleasant as I supposed it was meant to do. Then his fingers dipped and slid along the slit of my sex. I could not stifle a low moan.
“As I predicted, you’re wet already.”
His hand withdrew and went back to spanking my bottom. A few more minutes of spanking followed. It was hurting more now as my skin became more enflamed. But that made little difference to me now as the real fire was somewhere else. When he next stopped and stroked and kneaded my bottom I was becoming desperate for those flames to be doused not stoked. This time his fingers slipped right inside meeting no resistance whatsoever. I groaned out loud and wriggled my behind.
“Beyond mere dampness now, I’d say she’s dripping. What do you think Mrs. Jones?” I felt his fingers withdraw; he was clearly holding them up for the housekeeper to inspect. I was glad that my face was down toward the carpet, hiding my blushes.
“Lady Caroline clearly likes being spanked, Sir Thomas. I would recommend you do it regularly. I have found that when a housemaid needs breaking in that setting a time each week for her to be disciplined works wonders. The knowledge that the chastisement is coming merely heightens the occasion. Ah, here is Mary with your tea. You could ask her.”
I felt the hand slap down hard on my bottom again as Sir Thomas went back to smacking me. But it did not stop him interrogating Mary.
“Does Mrs. Jones discipline you regularly Mary?” Another spank from him, another moan from me and a wriggle from my flaming backside.
“Yes, Sir Thomas.” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“When does she do it?” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“Friday mornings, Sir, at ten o’clock.” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“And does anticipating it make it worse or better, Mary?” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“Much worse, Sir.” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“Ah, but that is because you do not like Mrs. Jones’ punishment, do you Mary?” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“No sir, not at all.” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“Whereas Lady Caroline, as we have all already established, rather enjoys her torments.” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“Nonetheless, Sir Thomas,” I heard the amusement in the housekeeper’s voice, “I am sure that knowing what is to come will only heighten her ladyship’s sensations.” Slap, moan, wriggle.
“Very well then, Mrs. Jones, let us assume you are correct.” Slap, moan, wriggle. “I will spank my wife every Sunday at ten o’clock, just before we go down to church in the village.” Slap, moan, wriggle. “It will give her something to think on during the sermon.” Slap, moan, wriggle.
The spanking switched once more to the stroking and then to the blatant fingering. I was reaching the point where I was going to have to beg for release. I managed to hold out through one more session of spanks till Mary had at least left. Then as I was about to ask he suddenly paused in his fingering of my slit, which by then really was dripping with my wetness.
“I think that’s enough for now. Come get your mistress dressed Rosie.”
I wanted to scream at him to please, please finish me off but, as I was about to, he forestalled me.
“Now as an obedient wife I am sure you will want to keep your cunt nice and hot for me till bedtime. That means no touching yourself on the sly. I want you as hot as Vesuvius tonight.”
And I was. By the time the next six hours had passed I was truly ready to erupt. The warmth I felt in my bottom seemed to keep my inner flame at a peak of heat and brightness. I was ready to give him anything in the most wanton way imaginable when we reached his bed.
And the next Sunday he was punctilious in his application. I presented myself in my Sunday best (being allowed to wear a real dress was a genuine pleasure – without any drawers though) and lay over his lap. I was already wet with the anticipation as he loudly pointed out to Rose and Mrs. Jones. Several rotations of spanking, stroking and fingering later and I was at the peak of stimulation, the very verge of climax. At that point he stopped, lifted me to my feet and, taking my arm, we walked down to the church. I heard not a word of the service being lost in mine own little world of unendurably prolonged sexual torment.
After our lunch I was beginning to feel back in some semblance of control despite having been required to change into one of my abominable short dresses on return from the church. Usually on Sunday afternoons Sir Thomas and I went walking in the grounds or riding depending on my choice, but as it was beginning to rain I suggested we stayed indoors. I really wanted him to take me upstairs and do perverse things to me in his chamber. But he said that perhaps we should just sit and read. That was most unlike him, he was not much of a reading man. It was not that he was uneducated, just uninterested unless the tome was to do with estate management, mining or some such activity in which he could take an active interest.
He went off to fetch a book from the library and a little while later came to join me in the Chinese Salon where I sat reading a novel by Mrs Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho, while he looked through a heavy scientific tome by some Scottish doctor named Hutton. I glanced across at his and it looked unbearably turgid and abstruse, all to do with formations of rocks in a place named Glen Tilt. After a while he must have thought so too for he slammed it shut and dropped it onto the floor.
“Lady Caroline, I believe I am in need of more entertainment than poor Dr Hutton can provide. Let us repair to the Yellow Salon.” And with this he stood and reached out his hand for mine.
The heroine of my novel was just at that point fending off the attentions of an Italian brigand. I felt there was little chance of my being saved from mine own particular footpad and my poor sex, which had only just calmed itself from the morning’s attentions, twitched anew.
We entered the room hand in hand and I saw that Rose and Mrs. Jones were already there before us, waiting for our arrival. In addition there was a new piece of furniture, an unusual chaise longue. I had seen it before pushed to one side in the old nursery. While it was a fine mahogany piece and richly upholstered I had paid it no particular heed. It had clearly been brought down here since I was spanked in this room before the service this morning. Sir Thomas must have given orders for it to be brought when he went to fetch his book. Obviously he must have planned this ever since I said I wanted to stay indoors. What made the chaise longue different from others was that on each of the long sides of the object there was a heavy, vertical and carved pole. In as much as I had given it any thought at all I had imagined that some invalid might recline upon it and using the verticals pull themselves into an upright position. In truth I had not thought about it at all. Now that I did it seemed to be just the sort of device that would be useful should it be necessary to bind someone.
“For this particular pastime it will be better if you are naked, my dear. Rose, please help her ladyship.”
When I was divested of my clothing I was invited to recline on the chaise. When I was comfortable Sir Thomas took first one leg and then the other and bound them at the ankle to the posts. As these uprights were at the level of my breasts my legs were of necessity bend double and wide apart. My feet pointed at the ceiling and my sex yawned wide in an unbelievably vulnerable way. My wrists were next tied adjacent to my ankles. I was now unable to move myself at all and with the back of the chaise holding my shoulders and head up I was required to gaze along my contorted body at my naked mound.
“Rosie, this afternoon is going to be a test for you. We are going to see how well you know your mistress. Refusal to play the game will mean a loss of your maid’s uniform and your underclothes. A failure in the job you are to carry out will lead to a beating. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir Thomas.” I could detect fear and determination in equal measures in the girl’s voice.
“Excellent. Mrs. Jones will help you with advice, but advice only. You are going to use your agile little fingers to manipulate your mistress. Should you bring your mistress to a climax you will be given a dozen strokes of the crop. Should, at any time, Mrs. Jones decree that you are not doing your best to keep Lady Caroline close to the brink of her orgasmic pleasure then you shall receive two dozen.”
“No, please...” I could not bear the thought of her touching me like that. By the look on Rose’s face she was not exactly looking forward to the task either.
“Hush, dearest, an obedient wife is subject to her husband’s will. And this afternoon she is silent.”
I held my tongue though I could feel tears beginning to run down my face. This was going to be incredibly unpleasant.
“It is now three of the afternoon,” Sir Thomas continued. “At six o’clock by the clock there (we all glanced to look at the rococo ormolu timepiece on the mantle below Lady Anne’s portrait) you will bring Lady Caroline to her zenith, but not before. Off you go and while you are stimulating her ladyship’s body I will endeavour to entertain her mind.”
Saying this he picked up my novel and drawing up a chair sat looking at my face. He began to read where I had left off as the plucky Emily, trapped in Castle Udolpho by the villain Montoni fends off the proposals of marriage from Count Morano. He read well and at any other time I would have listened attentively except that at the other end of the couch Mrs. Jones was whispering in Rose’s ear, clearly giving her suggestions for how to begin.
Rose’s fingers reached out and she ran them lightly over my sex using just the finger tips. After a few minutes of this there was more whispered advice and the fingers’ touch became firmer. Soon she was actively manipulating the folds of my sex. Despite the fact that I am not interested in women this fondling had an inevitable effect especially with my husband smiling down at me. In a way it was him touching me, as it was at his command that those feminine fingers were working me.
I was never again able to read ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho’ without my poor sex immediately becoming damp and warm. The ordeal was so intense that the characters read so well by Sir Thomas have become fixed in my mind as symbols of perverted physical pleasure. This has not stopped me reading it of course and if anything has made it a more intense amusement.
Rose became steadily more active, pulling the folds of my intimate flesh this way and that, tickling and stroking and later rubbing. She kept tugging my bud back and forth quite roughly and then stopping and rubbing it gently for a bit before moving on to some other place just in time. At Mrs. Jones’ suggestion she also took hold of the inner folds of my sex and spread them wide open to the point of being painful. Then she would lean forward and blow a little stream of air right into my innermost core. Later still her fingers moved lower and rubbed my bottomhole which by then was desperate for attention. By now I was groaning and moaning quite freely but she was cautious not to push too far. At no point did she penetrate me.
“Four o’clock now. I need to stretch my legs a bit. I suggest a ten minute break. Mrs. Jones, will you join me in a glass of Madiera? Rose, fetch us both one.”
“Please,” I moaned, “please may I have one as well.”
“Off course you may, wife. Rose, pour her ladyship a glass and help her to drink it.”
Rose helped me to drink by holding it to my lips and gently pouring it in while I gulped away. It tasted so good. The ten minutes gave me a chance to calm myself slightly before the torment recommenced.
Sir Thomas sat down once again and the reading carried on. I glanced down though at where Mrs. Jones was handing a little pot of lotion to Rose who proceeded to dip her fingers in it. Soon those digits were questing their way into my sex at first gently and then more forcefully and deeply. One then two and finally three fingers sought my inner core. As this stimulation increased the visits of the fingers to my bud grew less frequent and shorter. I think Rose saw too much risk in paying me much attention there.
After a bit I could stand it no longer. “Please...” I moaned, “Please...”
My husband gently placed his finger against my lips to shush me. “Hush now. Obedient wives don’t speak unless they are allowed to.”
I felt a finger slipping into my back passage and the thrill of it surged round my sex. Despite my bonds I humped my bottom upwards skewering it more deeply. It felt so good, just what I needed. But then it was withdrawn and I was left with my little bottomhole twitching in an attempt to recapture her digit.
This went on interminably: touching here, rubbing there, entering this hole or that. I gave up any pretence at fighting the torment. I became entirely focussed on the feelings in my sex. There was no way this would last till six o’clock; I was going to climax long beforehand.
Rose entered my bottom with two fingers and I knew that would be enough. Convulsively I jerked myself up onto her. The fingers sank into my backside to the knuckles. Furiously I clenched my muscles round her. I was so close. The fingers were rapidly withdrawn and I felt her pinching my nub viciously as Mrs. Jones whispered urgently in her ear. The sharp pain just dulled the pleasure enough to bring me back. I cried out in unspeakable frustration: so, so close.
A few minutes later Sir Thomas declared a break as the clock struck five. “More Madiera, Mrs. Jones? I imagine you’d like one too, Rosie. Go on then, you’ve earned it. I reckon you came awfully close to a dozen strokes there. But I’m sure you have learned that her ladyship’s arsehole is most remarkably sensitive; you’ll have to be very careful there.”
While Rose gave me a glass of sweet wine too, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Jones went over to the chest and had a conversation in whispers that I could not quite hear. Then Mrs Jones retrieved two smallish rosewood cases from a drawer and they returned.
“A mere 45 minutes to go, my dear. But to make them more interesting for you, I think Rosie should have a few toys to play with. Look here.”
He held open one box while the housekeeper held open the second. I gasped. Inside the one were four simulacra of the male organ carved from ebony. The smallest was little thicker than my thumb though longer, the second about the size of my second husband, the third about the size of Sir Thomas and the last one bigger even than he. In each case it was rendered in full detail even down to the flared head and the veins along its shaft.
The other wooden case contained four brushes in the shape of bottlebrushes. Each brush clearly had bristles of differing consistency. I later learnt that the first was from some sort of South American rodent with the softest hair known, the second was squirrel hair, the third from a badger and the fourth from a boar. These last bristles are fearsome and quite rough: more prone to scratch than soothe.
At Mrs. Jones instruction, Rose began by taking the gentlest of the brushes and running it over my sensitive folds. It felt like the touch of an angel. She graduated to the other brushes. The squirrel was lovely and the badger tickled. Soon I was moaning again. Then the first of the false organs slid into my soaked sex. It felt so nice but I only wanted a bigger one.
Rose was careful, teasing me toward my peak but never letting me get there. After a little while I felt the second size of rod slide out of my sex while the smaller one slid into my behind. This would have been sufficient to let me reach my desire but at that moment the girl shoved the boar bristle brush right into my sex. The pain was intense as it scratched its way in. The thrusting of the thing in my bottom only tormented the bristles in my front; it felt as if a hedgehog had burrowed its way in there. Finally they were both withdrawn.
A while later the third size of artificial organ was inserted into me frontally and again I knew it would take me there: it felt so like Sir Thomas. Again I was prevented as Mrs. Jones took a clothes-peg from her dress pocket and had Rose fix it directly onto my poor swollen and aching bud. The pain from my crushed flesh just prevented the pleasure from overwhelming me.
By now I was begging helplessly, “Please, please, please…”
My husband hushed me but as I was beyond all bidding by now he put down the book and leaning over me he kissed me, his mouth acting as an impromptu gag as his tongue entered forcibly into my mouth. I moaned, begged and squealed into his. I watched his teasing eyes fixed on mine and I could tell how much my torment was exciting him.
Finally the clock began to strike. The peg was torn from me making me scream. The second size of the wooden tools was shoved forcibly into my bottom and the gentlest of the brushes was rubbed furiously over my turgid red bud. I howled my climax into Sir Thomas’ mouth. I was beyond pride or decency. The rubbing and thrusting went on for what seemed like forever but was only six or seven minutes. I climaxed continuously and my cries echoed round the whole hall as the gagging tongue was removed. Never had any physical sensation been so intense, not even the whipping of my feet.
I barely remember being unbound and attired in the dress again. I do recall gulping down several glasses of tea as my husband occasionally teased my nipples, which he had commanded me to leave free of their confinement, with the softest of the brushes. I was dazed and in a state of sexual shock. My relationship with my maid could never be the same again, not only had she made me beg piteously for physical release she had seen me achieve that release by having a carved piece of wood shoved repeatedly into my bottom.
*******************
A little feedback please! I am now about halfway through this story (give or take) and need to know what people think.
|
|
|