Beauty's Punishment
Page 37
I kissed the Princess violently, my hands greedily clutching her heavy little br**sts and bouncing them and massaging them. She went into a paroxysm of longing. Her mouth sucked at mine, her body straining forward, and I lowered my head to suck at her br**sts one by one, as she cried, her hips swaying wildly. It was almost too much to wait longer.
But I circled her, running my hands over her gorgeous bu**ocks, and as I pinched her little welts, very small welts really, she gave a lovely inviting moan and arched her back to show me her tender red sex from the rear as best she could, straining the rope that held her hands above her.
That was how I wanted to take her, her vagina from the rear, stabbing upwards, lifting her, and when I slid in, her tight little sex seemed almost too small and she gave loud gasps as I forced my way into the hot wet depth of her.
Her cries took on a despair. She was being well used, but her little clitoris wasn't being touched by my cock, I knew, and I wasn't going to disappoint her. I reached around her, finding the little core under its hood of wet skin, parting her plump lips a little roughly, and when I pinched the clitoris, she gave a sharp grateful cry, rocking her smooth little bu**ocks back against me.
My Mistress drew close. Her broad full skirts stroked my leg, and I felt her hand under my chin. It was agony to realize she was looking at me and would see my reddened face at the moment of climax.
But it was my lot. And an exultation swept me up right in the middle of the pleasure. I felt the Mistress's hand on my bu**ocks. I rammed the little Princess all the harder, feeling my Mistress's gaze, and caressed the wet clit with sharp rhythmic pressure.
My c**k burst as I gritted my teeth, my face burning hot, my hips jerking helplessly. A long low groan was torn out of my chest. The Mistress held my head in her hands. And my breath came in loud relieved gasps, the little Princess crying with the same ecstasy.
I leaned forward, embracing the warm little body, and laid my head against the Princess's head, turning to face my Mistress. I felt her soothing fingers on my hair.
And her eyes fixed me steadily. She had a strange expression, thoughtful, almost penetrating. She turned her head a little to the side as if she were weighing some conclusion. And she put her hand on my shoulder to let me know I should stay still, embracing the Princess, and she whipped at my bu**ocks with the belt as I looked at her. I closed my eyes. But I opened them immediately again, smarting under the strap. And the oddest moment passed between us.
If I was saying something silent it was, "You are my Mistress. You own me. And I will not look away until you tell me to. I will look into what you are and what you do." And she seemed to hear this and to be fascinated.
She stood back and let me remain long enough to collect my strength. I kissed the little Princess's neck.
And then very tentatively I went down on my knees and kissed my Mistress's feet and the end of the strap hanging from her hand.
The little Princess had not been enough for me. My c**k was already rising. I could have taken every proffered slave in every tent. And for one desperate moment I was tempted to kiss my Mistress's shoes again and wriggle my hips to tell her this. But the sheer vulgarity of it was beyond me. Besides, she might only have laughed and whipped me. No, I had to wait upon her will. And it seemed to me that in these two days, I had not failed, truly failed, in anything. I would not fail now either.
She sent me out into the square, the strap caressing me in the usual fashion. And her lovely little hand pointed to the bath stalls.
I glanced up at the Public Turntable, half afraid I might give her some idea by doing so, but unable not to look at it. An olive-skinned Princess I did not know was the victim, her black hair mounded on her head, her long, lusciously full body snapping under the cracking paddle without fetters. She looked splendid, her dark eyes narrowed and wet, her mouth open in wild cries. She seemed to be yielding utterly. The crowd danced and whooped, cheering her on. And before we reached the bath stall I saw her showered with coins as I had been.
While I was being bathed, one of the handsomest Princes I had ever beheld, Prince Dmitri from the castle, was taking his turn on the Public Turntable. And my cheeks stung with shame for him when I saw him bound down at the knees and at the neck, hands laced as the crowd scolded him. He sobbed over his leather gag and bridled under the paddling.
But my Mistress had seen me looking at the turntable and with a stab of panic I turned my eyes down.
And I kept them that way as I was driven home at a march along the back road and into the household.
Now I shall sleep in some dim corner somewhere, I thought, bound and perhaps even gagged. It's late and my c**k is an iron rod between my legs and my Master is probably sleeping.
But I was being coaxed down the hall. I saw the light under his door. And knocking on the door, my Mistress smiled. "Good-bye, Tristan," she whispered and played with a little lock of my hair before leaving me there.
MISTRESS LOCKLEY'S AFFECTIONS
It was almost dark when Beauty awoke. The sky was still light, though a handful of tiny stars had appeared. And Mistress Lockley, dressed for the evening, no doubt, in red with embroidered puffed sleeves, was sitting on the grass with her skirts in a lovely circle. The wooden paddle was tethered to her apron sash, but it was half buried in the white linen. She snapped her fingers for the awakening slaves to come to her, and as they gathered around her on their knees, sore bu**ocks back on their heels, she gently fed them bits of fresh peach and apple with her fingers.
"Good girl," she said stroking the chin of a lovely brown-haired Princess as she put a bit of peeled apple into her eager mouth. And she pinched her nipple gently.
Beauty flushed. But the other slaves were in no way surprised by this sudden affection.
And when Mistress Lockley looked straight at her, Beauty leaned her head forward tentatively for the bit of wet fruit, shivering as the fingers stroked her sore ni**les. In a rush of confusing sensation, she remembered every detail of the ordeal in the kitchen. Almost bashfully, she blushed again, glancing shyly at Prince Richard, who was looking at the Mistress eagerly.
Mistress Lockley's face was calm and pretty, her black hair a deep shadow behind her shoulders. She kissed Prince Richard, their open mouths interlocking, her hand stroking his erect penis and reaching down to cradle his balls. His little story had crept into Beauty's dreams as she slept on the grass, and Beauty felt a hot stab of jealousy and excitement. Prince Richard had an almost winsome attitude, his green eyes filled with good humor and his long, almost luscious mouth glistening with the moisture of the bit of peach that was pushed slowly into it.
But I circled her, running my hands over her gorgeous bu**ocks, and as I pinched her little welts, very small welts really, she gave a lovely inviting moan and arched her back to show me her tender red sex from the rear as best she could, straining the rope that held her hands above her.
That was how I wanted to take her, her vagina from the rear, stabbing upwards, lifting her, and when I slid in, her tight little sex seemed almost too small and she gave loud gasps as I forced my way into the hot wet depth of her.
Her cries took on a despair. She was being well used, but her little clitoris wasn't being touched by my cock, I knew, and I wasn't going to disappoint her. I reached around her, finding the little core under its hood of wet skin, parting her plump lips a little roughly, and when I pinched the clitoris, she gave a sharp grateful cry, rocking her smooth little bu**ocks back against me.
My Mistress drew close. Her broad full skirts stroked my leg, and I felt her hand under my chin. It was agony to realize she was looking at me and would see my reddened face at the moment of climax.
But it was my lot. And an exultation swept me up right in the middle of the pleasure. I felt the Mistress's hand on my bu**ocks. I rammed the little Princess all the harder, feeling my Mistress's gaze, and caressed the wet clit with sharp rhythmic pressure.
My c**k burst as I gritted my teeth, my face burning hot, my hips jerking helplessly. A long low groan was torn out of my chest. The Mistress held my head in her hands. And my breath came in loud relieved gasps, the little Princess crying with the same ecstasy.
I leaned forward, embracing the warm little body, and laid my head against the Princess's head, turning to face my Mistress. I felt her soothing fingers on my hair.
And her eyes fixed me steadily. She had a strange expression, thoughtful, almost penetrating. She turned her head a little to the side as if she were weighing some conclusion. And she put her hand on my shoulder to let me know I should stay still, embracing the Princess, and she whipped at my bu**ocks with the belt as I looked at her. I closed my eyes. But I opened them immediately again, smarting under the strap. And the oddest moment passed between us.
If I was saying something silent it was, "You are my Mistress. You own me. And I will not look away until you tell me to. I will look into what you are and what you do." And she seemed to hear this and to be fascinated.
She stood back and let me remain long enough to collect my strength. I kissed the little Princess's neck.
And then very tentatively I went down on my knees and kissed my Mistress's feet and the end of the strap hanging from her hand.
The little Princess had not been enough for me. My c**k was already rising. I could have taken every proffered slave in every tent. And for one desperate moment I was tempted to kiss my Mistress's shoes again and wriggle my hips to tell her this. But the sheer vulgarity of it was beyond me. Besides, she might only have laughed and whipped me. No, I had to wait upon her will. And it seemed to me that in these two days, I had not failed, truly failed, in anything. I would not fail now either.
She sent me out into the square, the strap caressing me in the usual fashion. And her lovely little hand pointed to the bath stalls.
I glanced up at the Public Turntable, half afraid I might give her some idea by doing so, but unable not to look at it. An olive-skinned Princess I did not know was the victim, her black hair mounded on her head, her long, lusciously full body snapping under the cracking paddle without fetters. She looked splendid, her dark eyes narrowed and wet, her mouth open in wild cries. She seemed to be yielding utterly. The crowd danced and whooped, cheering her on. And before we reached the bath stall I saw her showered with coins as I had been.
While I was being bathed, one of the handsomest Princes I had ever beheld, Prince Dmitri from the castle, was taking his turn on the Public Turntable. And my cheeks stung with shame for him when I saw him bound down at the knees and at the neck, hands laced as the crowd scolded him. He sobbed over his leather gag and bridled under the paddling.
But my Mistress had seen me looking at the turntable and with a stab of panic I turned my eyes down.
And I kept them that way as I was driven home at a march along the back road and into the household.
Now I shall sleep in some dim corner somewhere, I thought, bound and perhaps even gagged. It's late and my c**k is an iron rod between my legs and my Master is probably sleeping.
But I was being coaxed down the hall. I saw the light under his door. And knocking on the door, my Mistress smiled. "Good-bye, Tristan," she whispered and played with a little lock of my hair before leaving me there.
MISTRESS LOCKLEY'S AFFECTIONS
It was almost dark when Beauty awoke. The sky was still light, though a handful of tiny stars had appeared. And Mistress Lockley, dressed for the evening, no doubt, in red with embroidered puffed sleeves, was sitting on the grass with her skirts in a lovely circle. The wooden paddle was tethered to her apron sash, but it was half buried in the white linen. She snapped her fingers for the awakening slaves to come to her, and as they gathered around her on their knees, sore bu**ocks back on their heels, she gently fed them bits of fresh peach and apple with her fingers.
"Good girl," she said stroking the chin of a lovely brown-haired Princess as she put a bit of peeled apple into her eager mouth. And she pinched her nipple gently.
Beauty flushed. But the other slaves were in no way surprised by this sudden affection.
And when Mistress Lockley looked straight at her, Beauty leaned her head forward tentatively for the bit of wet fruit, shivering as the fingers stroked her sore ni**les. In a rush of confusing sensation, she remembered every detail of the ordeal in the kitchen. Almost bashfully, she blushed again, glancing shyly at Prince Richard, who was looking at the Mistress eagerly.
Mistress Lockley's face was calm and pretty, her black hair a deep shadow behind her shoulders. She kissed Prince Richard, their open mouths interlocking, her hand stroking his erect penis and reaching down to cradle his balls. His little story had crept into Beauty's dreams as she slept on the grass, and Beauty felt a hot stab of jealousy and excitement. Prince Richard had an almost winsome attitude, his green eyes filled with good humor and his long, almost luscious mouth glistening with the moisture of the bit of peach that was pushed slowly into it.
