Mandy, still wet and naked from her interrupted shower, sat on her bed, her buttocks pressed into the duvet, her towel abandoned at her feet. Her hand tugged at her ear as she tried to marshall her thoughts. Celia Flaxstone was here at Sternwood Grange. On a tour of inspection, as if she owned it all. Mandy recalled her encounter in Bird Cage Walk, and how the shrewd, grey-eyed solicitor had successfully managed to deflect all of Mandy’s questions. Suspecting her late aunt’s legal adviser of nothing more than financial sharp practice, the sudden presence of Celia Flaxstone here at Sternwood Grange threw Mandy’s brain into a whirl.
Mechanically, she brushed away a droplet that had gathered into a jewel at her nipple. Her cornflower-blue eyes widened a fraction as her palm grazed the swollen, pink bud. The sensation brought Mandy back from her confused speculations to the present moment. A present moment full of the promise of imminent pain. Straining to catch the sound of approaching footsteps, Mandy shivered as she remembered the housekeeper’s fiercely whispered words. ‘Go to your rooms, you wicked girls,’ Partridge had hissed. ‘I will deal with you both when I have seen the mistress back to her room.’
The mistress. Despite the threat of the promised punishment, the words burned brightly in Mandy’s brain. Celia Flaxstone, the formidable woman with the athletic body and razor-sharp mind, was mistress of Sternwood Grange. Mandy sensed that she was no longer in danger of just losing a few thousand pounds – she had probably already lost her entire inheritance.
She would fight, she resolved, gripping the duvet with whitening knuckles. She would fight every inch of the way. Shrugging off the haunting image of the receptionist being competently whipped, Mandy swallowed and closed her eyes. Sternwood Grange was rightfully hers, she vowed, and she would become its mistress.
Footsteps approached along the landing, heralding the approach of Partridge. Suddenly, Mandy was a naked young woman once more. Gone was her bold resolve. She shivered as the door handle rattled at the housekeeper’s firm touch.
‘You nearly caused me a great deal of trouble, you wicked girl,’ Partridge snapped, closing the bedroom door behind her. ‘Silence,’ she barked, raising her hand to quell Mandy’s protest. ‘If the mistress had caught you neglecting your tasks she would have thought me incapable of doing my duty. And I am fully capable of doing my duty, which is to supervise and punish the maids. Bend over.’
Mandy peeled her hands away from her breasts and turned to face the bed. She stretched her arms out and bent down.
‘No. Right across the bed. Arms out straight.’
Mandy’s breasts, then her belly, kissed the silk.
‘Feet together, girl,’ Partridge ordered, unbuckling the leather belt that hugged her slender waist.
Mandy’s toes scrabbled into the floor as she positioned herself in preparation for the punishing strokes. They came in a fierce rain of pain: a swift onslaught of eight lashes, in rapid succession and with startling severity. Eight times the cruel leather belt whipped down to scald her upturned cheeks. Eight times, Mandy’s hands clutched the duvet as she smothered her gasps of anguish. Beneath the single lightbulb, which cast a dull, yellow glare, the taut flesh of the naked buttocks blazed after the fury of the leather. Mandy buried her face in the duvet, muffling her squeals.
The punishment ceased; the leather belt dangled limply against the housekeeper’s thigh. Planting her feet apart, and leaning over to scrutinise the striped bottom, Partridge shouldered her belt and studied the hot cheeks. After a full two minutes, Mandy felt the outstretched finger of her punisher press down dominantly on her bottom, circling then dimpling the scarlet domes of her buttocks.
‘The mistress will be gone by noon tomorrow. Be on your best behaviour, girl –’
Once more, the belt whistled down, snapping across the bare bottom.
‘Attend to your duties –’
The leather punctuated the stern warning with a final snapping crack across the punished flesh.
‘And do not betray the kindness I have shown you. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ Mandy whispered thickly, mouthing her words into the silk duvet.
‘Make sure you are down and at work early in the morning. And be spick and span. The mistress will want to inspect all the maids.’
Partridge left as abruptly as she had arrived, closing the door firmly and leaving Mandy alone across the bed of pain with a reddened, sore bottom – and fresh anxieties. Celia Flaxstone was departing at noon. That was good. It would at least leave Mandy with the scope to review her position here at Sternwood Grange. Celia Flaxstone was going to inspect the maids in the morning. That was bad, very bad indeed. How close, how intimate, would the inspection of the maids be? And would Mandy be recognised? If so, what would become of her once she was in the thrall of the grey-haired solicitor, here in this isolated corner of forgotten Suffolk.
Mandy sat on the bed, her hot bottom cooled by the silk duvet. Drawing her knees up to her chin in contemplation, she purred with pleasure at her squashed breasts, and at the ooze of wet excitement silvering her slit. After all, she comforted herself, her only meeting with the solicitor had been a brief affair. Ten minutes, no more. Mandy tried to reassure herself. And, in that office, Amanda Silk was a confident blonde: not Mandy the maid with the dark, bobbed hair who Celia Flaxstone would be examining before breakfast. Despite these thoughts, Mandy remained frightened and anxious. Sitting on her bed, naked and still smarting from the leather belt’s bite, she felt vulnerable and alone.
Friendless, because she could not share her secret with anyone here in Sternwood Grange. Friendless. Her thoughts quickly turned to Sophie in the next room. Mandy smiled: by now, Partridge would have arranged the platinum blonde across the unmade bed and the unfurled leather belt would be hovering above the bare bottom. Grinning mischievously, Mandy skipped across the room to the wall and pressed her naked body up against it, positioning her ear to the cool plaster. Sophie’s violet eyes would be clouding with delicious dread, Mandy thought, as she squirmed beneath the potent length of leather. She pressed her head against the wall. Silence greeted her eager ear.
No, not silence, exactly. Mandy frowned. From the next room, instead of the harsh snapping of supple hide across smooth, pink cheeks, she caught the sweeter sound of Lully’s Les Amants Magnifiques. The sensual music wove an invisible web in the heavy air of the warm summer night. As Mandy rubbed her sore bottom, delicately palming each scalded cheek, she felt a rush of affection for Partridge. Despite the whipping, and other stern discipline the housekeeper had dispensed, Partridge was a decent type. She had been loyal to Mandy’s late aunt, and had taken Mandy in when told the tale of woe. Yes, Partridge was OK. Warm-hearted, generous – and those large, brown eyes. So deliciously dominant and so expertly in control when punishing a young female’s bare bottom.
Lulled into this brief reverie, Mandy lost her concentration at the plaster wall. She slipped slightly, but steadied herself by cushioning her breasts into the cool surface. Her nipples rose up in peaked protest as they were crushed beneath her. The old wall had a rough patch where her nipples kissed into it. Her sensitive flesh grazed against the roughness. Mandy smothered her gasp. Blinking away the brief spasm of pleasure-pain from her widened eyes, Mandy stretched up on tiptoe to listen: eager for the expected sounds of punishment. No crisp snap of leather across smooth cheeks greeted her, but she could just detect two voices in muted murmuring, and the sweet notes of the music, beyond the plaster wall. A jealous pang surged up inside her. Partridge was not punishing Sophie, she was pleasuring her. Or being pleasured by the platinum blonde?
Mandy remembered the housekeeper’s angry eyes as the shower curtain had been dragged aside. They had, she suddenly thought, blazed with something fiercer than anger when discovering the two naked girls entwined. Sophie, Mandy swallowed with difficulty as the truth dawned, was Partridge’s favourite maid. They were together, next door. Naked? Was Partridge feeding greedily from the firm young flesh of the writhing blonde? Her full lips sucking and feasting at Sophie’s neck, shoulders and bare bosom. Mandy moaned as she denied the image of the housekeeper’s mouth buried in Sophie’s quivering breast. Or was Sophie, blonde head bowed, kneeling, her shining face pressed between the housekeeper’s splayed thighs? Were those violet eyes flickering up in timid adoration into the housekeeper’s stern gaze as, her chin wedged in the fragrant wet warmth, Sophie’s lapping tongue busied itself in the parted, sticky fig.
Stumbling back to her bed across which she had been briskly lashed by Partridge some minutes ago, Mandy stretched her nakedness belly down into the duvet. Closing her eyes, she gripped the pillow with clenched fingers. The imagined snapshots of the couple in the next room were replaced by slowly developing images in the red light of her jealous anger. In her fevered imaginings, Mandy saw Partridge palming Sophie’s captive breasts, cupping then weighing their swollen warmth, squeezing the bunched flesh with dominant tenderness, before anointing each peaked nipple with her parted lips. Kissing and sucking the hard peaks until Sophie squealed with raw pleasure. Then the dark flesh of the flickering tongue-tip would emerge to ravish and enflame the swollen, subjugated bosom.
Mandy tried to bleach the tormenting image out of her mind – but it grew more powerful, more maddening. She writhed on her bed, crushing her breasts into the duvet, as fresh images flashed across her mind. She saw Sophie’s wide mouth stretch wider then form a silent oval of delight as, down at her firm belly, the housekeeper’s wet tongue flattened against her flesh. Then, further down below, gently licking the wisps of pubic fuzz. So vivid were her tormenting imaginings, Mandy even heard the soft rustle as the tongue probed the glistening crease. Then the tongue tip flickered once more, stretched and gleaming, to probe the sticky petals of the labia.
Clamping her thighs together and clenching the cheeks of her recently whipped bottom, Mandy softly drummed the duvet with fists of fury. She tasted the sharp tang of envy at the thought of Partridge tonguing and tasting Sophie’s secret flesh, and winced at the bitter thought of the brown-eyed housekeeper pleasuring her favourite maid.
Sophie should be punished. She should be suffering sweet pain, Mandy thought. Yes, Partridge should be pinning the naked blonde across her thighs, one firm hand at the maid’s neck, the other curled across the swell of the bare bottom. Yes. Mandy squeezed her thighs together tightly, wriggling down into the duvet as she conjured up the imminent spanking. Partridge spanking Sophie’s bare bottom searingly and searchingly, the ruthless hand sweeping down to scald the defenceless cheeks. Cheeks ablaze now as they deepened from pink to a burning crimson. Mandy relished the imagined crack of the hard palm against the smoothness of the maid’s naked cheeks. Yes. That was better, much better.
Satisfied, and with her wet slit pulsing pleasurably, Mandy curled up and drifted off to sleep. But it was a restless sleep, troubled by unbidden dreams. In her dreams, Mandy watched as the spanking continued, and gloated at Sophie’s sore bottom as it bucked and bounced in a vain attempt to escape the fierce chastisement. Then the brown eyes of the housekeeper narrowed. She paused, her hot palm resting silently across the hotter cheeks. In her sleep, Mandy moaned. No. Not that. That should not be happening, she whimpered. Frozen and helpless in her dreamscape, Mandy was forced to witness the housekeeper inching her heavy breasts down on to the bottom of the maid she had just spanked so severely. No, whimpered Mandy, burning with a surge of jealous rage as she saw, but could not stop, Partridge slowly and deliberately dragging her hard nipples across the crimson domes before crushing her bosom with tender dominance into the favourite’s hot bottom.
* * *
The preparation of tea, coffee and toast were Mandy’s allotted tasks the following morning. She was soon engrossed in her duties, buffing up a sheen on the silver Georgian coffee pots and decrusting the perfect triangles of golden toast. Partridge flitted between the kitchens, offering praise and encouragement in her anxious supervision of the scurrying maids. Erica, Mandy noticed, was less flustered, remaining cool and calm as she stalked the flagstone floor, spoon alert and ready to swipe the maids’ bottoms. The bustle increased into a frenzy, but still Erica remained serene.
There had been no time to talk. Sophie had, twice, flashed warm smiles across her laden trays to Mandy, but Mandy had ignored them, pretending to be busy with her pots of aromatic Earl Grey tea. She was still angry, angry and jealous of the housekeeper’s preference for the platinum-blonde maid.
A sudden hush greeted the arrival of Celia Flaxstone, who swept into the kitchens, mistress of all she surveyed. Partridge stiffened with tension, Mandy thought as she glimpsed the housekeeper’s hands fluttering anxiously. Was she afraid? Afraid of Celia Flaxstone. If so, why? Pushing these thoughts aside, Mandy turned strategically away from the kitchen and attended to her steaming kettles ranged across the Aga. Out of the corner of a wary eye, she saw Celia Flaxstone approach Erica and greet the cropped blonde with a warm kiss. For Partridge, Mandy noted, the mistress of Sternwood Grange had only a few curt words. Celia Flaxstone sauntered across the flagstones, pausing to finger the leather harness of the Gibbet.
‘I shall inspect the maids now,’ she announced.
Putting her plan into action, a plan she had devised in the grey dawn hours, Mandy placed an almost empty kettle on to the hottest part of the Aga.
‘Girls –’ Partridge cried, her voice shrill with anxiety.
‘Erica,’ the mistress of Sternwood Grange purred, silencing the housekeeper with a raised hand. ‘Would you line up the maids for inspection?’
Erica smiled fleetingly and triumphantly at Partridge before, with a sharp clap of her hands, ordering the maids to form a line. All five girls present, including Mandy, responded with alacrity. Mandy saw that Celia Flaxstone was impressed. The cropped blonde strode behind the line of maids, tapping their buttocks with the wooden spoon. The maids shuffled into rigid formation. Again, Mandy caught the nod of approval from the solicitor.
‘Ready for inspection,’ Erica snapped briskly.
‘Excellent. I’m so glad to see that someone is managing to keep a firm hand on the tiller down here.’
Partridge, Mandy observed, paled at the jibe. She suddenly felt a pang of anxiety for the brown-eyed housekeeper. Clearly, she sensed, the days of the woman who had served her late aunt so loyally were numbered. Celia Flaxstone favoured the sterner, bullying skills of Erica, and Mandy quickly deduced that, before long, the cruel, cropped blonde would reign supreme.
Mandy tensed expectantly as the grey eyes began their inspection. Passing along the line of maids, they scrutinized hands, fingernails, uniforms, aprons and faces. Sonia, the dark-eyed little minx, surrendered her hands, palms up, for scrutiny. Reversing them, she shivered as Celia Flaxstone bent down to examine the nails.
‘This girl needs to learn, and learn quickly, how to scrub her hands,’ the mistress of Sternwood Grange murmured. ‘Paying particular attention to her nails.’
Even before the offending hands had been released from the strong grip of the examiner, Erica’s wooden spoon had spoken harshly across Sonia’s plump cheeks. The minx squeaked her anguish.
‘So prompt to punish. An excellent management skill,’ the solicitor purred.
The inspection continued, pausing then stopping at Sophie.
‘There is a smudge of lipstick on your face, girl.’
Sophie’s left hand flew up to her face and wiped her lips. Mandy watched as Sophie fingered her lower lip anxiously.
‘No, not there, but from your gesture you thought you’d left some lipstick on.’
Mandy shivered at the cunning entrapment. The solicitor could now have Sophie punished twice.
‘There, girl, on your cheek. A curious shade of pink. Where have I seen it before?’ The grey eyes narrowed.
Partridge, Mandy thought. It’s the housekeeper’s lipstick, from last night. From her manner, Mandy knew that Celia Flaxstone thought the same.
‘She’s always such a good girl,’ Partridge intervened, defending Sophie. ‘I’m sure –’
‘And I’m sure she deserves to be punished. Four strokes,’ came the stern response, a response which once more rudely cut off the housekeeper.
Erica pounced, dragging Sophie out of the line. Seconds later, the platinum blonde was bending to touch her toes, the hem of her maid’s uniform flipped up and her cotton panties dragged down to her knees.
‘I think Partridge should administer the punishment,’ the solicitor said, smiling maliciously.
She knows. She knows, Mandy realised. But how could she have known that Partridge was fond of Sophie? How cruel this grey-eyed woman is, Mandy thought. Such a sharp mind – it misses nothing. Would it – Mandy’s heart skipped a beat then thumped heavily – miss her disguise?
Erica was chuckling as she returned from the office, swishing a bamboo cane which she handed to Partridge.
‘Since my arrival at Sternwood Grange, you have seemed eager to demonstrate your competence, Partridge. Now,’ whispered Celia Flaxstone softly, ‘you have the chance to do so.’
Mandy thrilled to the swishing slice of the supple wood as it thrummed the air and swept down, biting into the bare bottom. Still smarting from her jealous discovery of the previous night, and from the burning torment of her jealous imaginings, Mandy relished the first two strokes of the punishment, delighting at the kiss of the bamboo and the two pink lines bequeathed by the wood, across Sophie’s upturned cheeks. Then she softened, relenting, and ashamed at her thrill of response. Poor Sophie, she thought. And poor, dear Partridge.
The sharp whistle of the Judas wood as it sliced down and across Sophie’s striped buttocks for the third time caused Mandy to wince, and burn with the slow flames of shame. She felt so sorry for them both. The punisher and the punished. The fourth stroke lashed down, bringing Sophie up on her toes in a squeal of torment.
‘Four more,’ Celia Flaxstone whispered. ‘She was wearing lipstick, after all. Somebody elses, to be sure.’ She paused, letting the accusation hang heavily in the air. ‘But from the way she wiped her lips, she obviously disobeys the rules as well. Another four.’
The length of supple wood glinted in the harsh neon light, and sparkled as it swept down. More thin red lines joined those already burning across the creamy cheeks. At the final stroke, tears of remorse clouded Mandy’s cornflower-blue eyes. She felt so sorry for poor Partridge, ordered to punish the one she favoured. And sorry for Sophie, too. They had both been so kind to her when she had arrived at Sternwood Grange. She regretted her spiteful jealousy and vowed to reward them when the opportunity arose.
When the opportunity arose. The words mocked her. Here she was, standing in line, about to be inspected – punished perhaps – by the clever solicitor. With a ferocity which alarmed her, Mandy knew she hated Celia Flaxstone. Hated her for being a thief and a cheat, of course, but also for being so cruel and ruthless.
Dismissing Partridge with a curt nod, Celia Flaxstone grazed the caned cheeks with her thumb. Mandy saw the striped bottom spasm with fear. Gazing down imperiously at the punished buttocks, the mistress of Sternwood Grange addressed the anxious maids. Her tone was cold.
‘Now that I am in control here, things will be different. All fines and penalty deductions from wages will be doubled with immediate effect. Two weeks loss of pay for Sophie. Please make a note of my decision, Erica.’
Erica nodded.
‘Discipline will also be doubled. No misdemeanor, breakage or petty theft will go unpunished. There has been too much laxity of late. I intend to operate Sternwood Grange with efficiency and strict discipline. Costs must be kept to an absolute minimum. Profits must grow. This can only be achieved by effective management, and effective management means constant vigilance and harsh punishments.’
Mandy wondered what the regime must have been like when her late aunt ran Sternwood Grange. She was convinced that the maids and angels were encouraged and rewarded. All would have been paid properly, and would have shared the residents’ sumptuous meals. Discipline would have been mild, with spankings across the housekeeper’s knee for those who had been naughty. It would have been such fun.
Now, under the strict administration of Celia Flaxstone, profit and efficiency were to be driven up by fear, oppression and harsh conditions of service. Tricked out of their savings by punitive fines and penalties, the maids and angels were little more than bondmaidens, doomed to servitude under the cruel gaze of Erica.
How could a poor maid like Sonia, paid a pittance, ever hope to save up enough to escape this wretched bondage? It was a clever, cunning and cruel mistress now running her late aunt’s enterprise. Would she, Mandy wondered, be able to bring back those sunnier times?
‘You, girl. What is your name?’ rasped the solicitor, staring across at Mandy.
Mandy lowered her gaze as she mumbled her name.
‘A new maid. How long have you been here?’
As planned for, the kettle on the Aga started to give a shrill whistle. Mandy had timed it perfectly. She pretended to be concerned about her duties, glancing anxiously across at the Aga.
‘She’s a quick learner,’ Erica remarked. Tapping Mandy’s bottom with her wooden spoon, she added, ‘Go back to your duties, girl.’
Mandy escaped with relief to the whistling kettle.
‘Pert little thing,’ the solicitor observed, her grey eyes devouring Mandy’s bottom.
‘Willing, but needs a sharp reminder now and then. Nice bottom,’ Erica purred. ‘I know, I’ve punished it.’
Mandy cringed as she heard them both laugh. At the fierce heat of the Aga, the steam from the kettles moistened the blouse at Mandy’s breasts. They rose, swelling in angry resentment as she listened to more mocking laughter. Her anger turned to fear as she realised that Erica and the solicitor were discussing her with the purring malice of two cats contemplating a shivering mouse trapped between cruel paws.
The morning had been hectic. Fearful of Erica, everyone had worked hard: harder than usual, despite the sweltering heat. Swollen up into new heights of arrogance by Celia Flaxstone’s evident patronage, Erica seemed determined to make her mark in the new regime. She made it, memorably, across the buttocks of two maids caught nibbling at a strip of marzipan. As the spoon cracked down across their bare bottoms, Mandy remembered her visit to the Long Gallery, where she had learnt of the roisterous Cavaliers being ousted by Cromwell’s sterner troops – and thought of dark-eyed Susie being whipped in the pantry. Then, as now, days of pleasure had been supplanted by a reign of pain. As the hours dragged slowly towards lunch, Mandy made sure she was busy, keeping out of sight and avoiding any chance encounter with Celia Flaxstone.
After lunch had been prepared and sent upstairs, Mandy had slipped away for a quick bath. With the lukewarm water lapping at her breasts, she relaxed and felt momentarily safe. The grey-eyed solicitor would be returning to London within the hour, leaving Mandy free to complete her audit. Armed with precise knowledge, she would herself return to London and prepare to claim and secure her inheritance.
London. She closed her eyes and pictured her flat in Notting Hill. In a month or so, the Carnival would be throbbing as it snaked through the surrounding streets. She smiled, remembering how, last year, the very air seemed to pulse till well after midnight. Opening her eyes, she sought and found the soap. It was a mean tablet of unscented wax. The maids were allowed few privileges and denied all luxuries. She splashed the tepid bathwater angrily with a sudden fist of frustration. In her Notting Hill flat, she would enjoy the scented comforts of expensive oils and lotions. Here, she was grudged hot water. Yet all of this was hers. Seized by the indignities and privations, Mandy stood up, grabbed a rough towel and rubbed her nakedness vigorously. Hating the mean and petty restrictions endured since her arrival, she resolved to strike a blow against the tyranny. It would be a small, careful blow. She grinned as she struggled into her panties. Not a full-blown rebellion: too much to risk, too much at stake. Just a small gesture: two pieces of forbidden cake, one for herself and one for poor Sophie who had been so harshly caned.
* * *
Down in the kitchens, she tiptoed across the flagstone floor, tense and alert. They should be, she had calculated, deserted. A slight sound behind her caused her to freeze on the spot. Glancing anxiously over her shoulder, she saw that she was still alone. Resuming her stealthy tread towards the forbidden cake, she brushed against the Gibbet. It rattled noisily. Stilling the chains with upstretched arms, Mandy felt the leather collar tapping against her breasts. Silence returned to the kitchens – except for the wild hammering of her heart. She crept into the pantry and secured two huge slices of chocolate cake. Juggling with her stolen loot, she decided to eat her slice on the spot. She finished it with relish, sucking at her chocolate-darkened fingertips to remove any telltale traces of her guilt, and wrapped Sophie’s slice in a napkin.
Voices approaching down the corridor beyond the kitchen door sent Mandy scuttling for shelter between two of the large fridges. She cowered between them, her buttocks clenched in fearful expectation. If Erica caught her, it would mean the Gibbet – and the Gibbet would mean a scorched bottom.
The two speakers paused in the doorway, blocking Mandy’s escape route. Trapped, she held her breath, wishing her heart would stop beating so loudly.
‘Now the old bat is gone, I can really make something of this place,’ the voice of Celia Flaxstone said.
‘I’m sure you will,’ the voice of Erica simpered.
‘You will have a very important role to play, my dear,’ the solicitor continued. ‘I have many proposals for change here at Sternwood Grange in mind. You feature significantly in my plans.’
‘And Partridge?’ Erica prompted, her Judas whispering quivering with interest.
‘Partridge will have to go. How and when, I am not sure, but an opportunity is bound to present itself. Too attached to the old ways, I’m afraid. By the way,’ the solicitor added suavely, ‘that new maid.’
‘The beautifully bottomed Mandy?’ Erica chuckled.
Mandy froze, clutching Sophie’s cake so tightly she squeezed the chocolate cream out like toothpaste.
‘Yes, the beautifully bottomed Mandy. I think she could have the potential to be an angel. Try her out this afternoon.’
‘Upstairs?’ Erica murmured, doubtfully.
‘No, not yet. Put her to work in the sauna. Ring me tonight at my flat. Let me know how she progresses. On my next visit, I must take a closer look at the girl, and her beautiful bottom.’
Mandy shivered.
‘Certainly,’ Erica replied obsequiously. ‘And are the kitchens to your satisfaction?’
‘Perfectly,’ came the response. Evidently, the solicitor was conducting a snap inspection before her departure. ‘But then you have already proved your suitability for promotion. Come along.’
Mandy heard the retreating footsteps echo along the corridor as the mistress of Sternwood Grange and her eager lieutenant departed.
‘I had mine earlier. Go on, it’s delicious.’
Sophie grinned naughtily as she accepted the huge slice of stolen chocolate cake. ‘Sure you couldn’t pinch a bigger piece?’ she giggled, her mouth full.‘Anybody’d think you owned the place the way you make free with–’
‘Quick, hide it,’ Mandy hissed, suddenly remembering that the footsteps mounting the stairs would be those of Erica, coming to escort her to the sauna.
Sophie gulped, her eyes bulging as she swallowed. Panicking, she danced around the bedroom flapping her hands.
‘Mandy,’ Erica said, entering the room. ‘I want you to come with me –’ Her suspicious eyes flashed across at Sophie. ‘What are you eating, girl?’ she demanded sternly. ‘Well?’
Sophie swallowed painfully and blinked, her violet eyes widening with fear. ‘Just a slice of bread,’ she whispered.
‘Show me your hands.’
Mandy saw Sophie’s fists clench.
‘Show me,’ Erica purred softly, ‘or you’ll be showing me your bare bottom.’
Sophie offered her hands up for inspection, palms down. Erica grasped the outstretched wrists and, with a twisting wrench, turned the palms upwards. Lowering her cropped blonde head, she inched her face towards the pinioned hands. Mandy shuddered as she saw Erica’s tongue tip flicker and dart, licking and tasting the trembling fingertips.
‘Chocolate cake. Twelve strokes.’
Sophie paled as Mandy flushed and blurted out a protest.
‘No, please, she didn’t –’
‘Didn’t what?’ Erica snapped impatiently. ‘You know the rules, Mandy. Did you have chocolate cake? No. Let me see your hands. There. Spotless.’
Mandy rallied for a second attempt to exonerate Sophie, but Erica was implacable.
‘I think you had better keep away from this girl, Mandy. We have plans for you, she will always be a troublesome little maid. A sore-bottomed little maid. No,’ Erica continued, producing a two-foot bamboo cane. ‘After you have caned her bare bottom, stay away from her. I don’t want Sophie leading you astray.’
Mandy’s face reddened as she felt Sophie’s accusing glare burn into her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sophie’s violet eyes. They were not widening with fear as they gazed upon the cane, but narrowing with resentment as they examined her own chocolate-smeared fingertips. Mandy saw what Sophie was thinking: she had been framed by Mandy in a deliberate trap, caused by spiteful jealousy of Partridge, or simply to oust Sophie from the chance of being trained to become an angel – leaving the field clear for herself. Mandy did not know which of these ideas had sprung to Sophie’s mind. All she saw – and felt – was the burning hatred in the platinum blonde’s face.
‘Panties down and touch your toes,’ Erica ordered. ‘Mandy, take this cane and show me your technique. Caning bare bottoms will play a significant part in your duties as an angel. Show me if you are worthy of the privilege to serve.’
Mandy took the cane reluctantly, tightening her trembling fingers around the slender rod of supple wood. Sophie, as instructed, had peeled down her panties to her ankles and was stretching down to touch her toes. Naked and bending, she presented her bottom for the bamboo.
‘Twelve,’ Erica murmured, sitting down on the bed to appraise the punishment at close quarters. ‘No,’ she added quickly, as Mandy shouldered the cane. ‘You must prepare for the caning much more carefully. Do not worry about any delay. It merely adds to the miscreant’s sense of dread and heightens their discomfort. First of all, you must judge the distance.’
Mandy took a half-step back from the bare-bottomed, bending girl, lowered the cane and rested the tip of the yellow bamboo at the top of the cleft between the passive cheeks.
‘That’s better, though you need to take another half-step back,’ Erica commented. ‘And come around to the left a little bit more. Remember, each stroke must stripe both buttocks, not just the cheek nearest to you.’
Mandy repositioned herself as advised and levelled the length of cane against the swell of the bare bottom, pressing it firmly into the twin curves of smooth flesh.
‘Commence,’ Erica whispered softly.
The first stroke sliced down with a venomous swish to stripe the creamy cheeks with a thin line of reddening fire. Mandy hated every moment: hated herself for bringing this doom down upon poor Sophie; hated the cruel, cropped blonde on the bed; hated the supple wand of woe clenched in her right hand.
‘No, not yet. Do not hurry the punishment. Both the caner and the caned must savour, in their different ways, each individual stroke.’
Mandy bowed her head in shame, avoiding the scarlet stripe she had just drawn across the pale cheeks with her cane.
‘It is often quite useful to touch the buttocks lightly, just a tap of the cane across the cheeks, between each stroke,’ Erica observed. ‘This both paces the punishment and, while reminding the punished of the impending lash, establishes the dominance that exists between the whipper and the whipped.’
Mandy raised the cane, swept it down to kiss the swell of the soft cheeks sharply, then raised it once more. The second stroke had been planted exactly a quarter of an inch below the burning brand of the first, and had caused Sophie’s toes to scrunch into the cotton panties at her feet. Mandy had seen the naked cheeks spasm in anguish – and had heard the yelp of response torn from Sophie’s parted lips.
‘No, no, no,’ Erica snapped impatiently. ‘Give me that cane. Watch. I’ll show you how to stripe a bare bottom.’
Surrendering the cane, Mandy shuffled across to the end of the bed.
‘Come back. I want you to watch. Watch and learn. Kneel down there,’ Erica ordered, jabbing her finger at the floor. ‘Observe my methods closely. I’ll make an angel of you yet. As for you,’ she snarled, tapping Sophie’s twice-striped buttocks with her cane, ‘I’ll start again. Twelve strokes, I think we said.’
Mandy smothered her gasp of dismay but Sophie failed to stifle her moan. Mandy knelt and gazed up, burning with shame and remorse at Sophie’s suffering. How stupid I have been, she thought. Worse still, Sophie was probably thinking that the cake had been bait for a trap. The trap had snapped shut, and the suffering was about to begin.
Erica was thrumming the empty air above the bending girl with the wood. It whistled a note of eerie venom. Addressing the smooth cheeks with the levelled cane, Erica judged the distance with faultless exactitude. The cane rose up – then swept down with a cruel swish. Mandy blinked as the thin rod whipped down across the helpless cheeks, and closed her eyes tightly as Sophie squealed.
‘The punisher must own the bottom of the punished,’ Erica remarked briskly. ‘Observe.’
From her kneeling position, Mandy gazed up to see Erica lowering the length of glinting wood across the cusp of the proffered buttocks. Depressing the yellow wand firmly, she dimpled the smooth curves of flesh. It was a display of sheer dominance.
‘Now I tap the buttocks,’ Erica continued, doing so in a gesture of superb control. ‘This reminds the whipped one of the stroke just delivered,’ Erica whispered, then plied the cane swiftly to lash the bottom with stinging accuracy, ‘and of the stroke to come.’
Despite her remorse and sorrow, Mandy could not deny the hypnotic fascination of the dominance and discipline played out before her. Between her clamped thighs, her slit prickled and grew moist.
Four more strokes followed, leaving thin pink lines that slowly turned blue across the creamy flesh of the suffering bottom.
‘Be sure to pace the punishment as carefully as you place the stripes. They should be at least twenty seconds apart,’ Erica said softly as, breasts bouncing, she delivered the seventh searing swipe, ‘and at least a quarter of an inch below the previous cut. See?’
Mandy nodded, mesmerised by the caning. She hated it, but despite her hate she drank in every vivid detail: the long, slender legs sweeping up to the ripe peaches above; the blush of those superb peaches criss-crossed with reddening stripes; the sudden creasing of the cleft as the whipped buttocks spasmed in sweet pain. Dark as it was, Mandy acknowledged that discipline in all its aspects was quite delicious. More delicious than she would ever have dared admit before coming to Sternwood Grange.
Erica was adept: a capable caner and a consummate chastiser. More, she was a cruel controller of bare bottoms with bamboo. Despite herself – and poor Sophie’s suffering – Mandy became a keen disciple of stern discipline as the cane swished down again and again, and the plucking sensation in her hot slit throbbed with a galloping pulse.
‘Three left. Three more strokes to administer,’ Erica said. ‘You will have noticed that this girl’s bottom is softly fleshed. The cheeks are pliant beneath their taut, satin sheen. When dealing with this type of bottom, I recommend very crisp strokes delivered to the centre and the lower quadrant of the buttocks.’
‘Yes,’ Mandy mumbled, nodding. She swallowed, her tongue now swollen with thickened lust. The tang of her excitement rose up from her wet slit to stab her nostrils. Kneeling to attention under Erica’s stern gaze, she ached to finger her labia further apart, and probe the burning flesh within the sticky flesh-folds.
‘Feet apart,’ Erica ordered, dragging the tip of the cane down along Sophie’s quivering thigh.
The bending girl obeyed, well drilled in the ways of dominance. Parting her thighs a fraction, then a fraction more, she allowed Mandy a delicious glimpse of her dark fig. Mandy’s breasts tightened and weighed heavy as she saw how wet and juicy Sophie’s forbidden fruit had become.
‘Wider,’ Erica commanded, tapping the buttocks sharply.
The pink lips greeted Mandy’s gaze with a welcoming, wet smile as Sophie parted her thighs. Erica’s stern voice was the only sound in the intense silence of the warm afternoon, but Mandy could hardly hear it, so loud was the rushing of hot blood in her ears. She could now see Sophie’s wet crease in its entirety, and shuddered with wonder at the oozing sparkle on the pouting lips.
‘I will let you dispense her concluding strokes, Mandy. Get up and show me if you have learnt anything this afternoon.’
Mandy rose from her knees, accepted the cane and, as Erica retreated to the bed, swished the bamboo down across the striped cheeks. Sophie squealed her torment but then, to Mandy’s surprise, appeared to inch her bottom up in supplication for the next stroke. More in eagerness than in anxiety, the whipped girl submitted her bottom to the bamboo. Mandy frowned. What did this dark ambiguity mean? Was there pleasure for Sophie in her pain? Why was the bare bottom now seemingly eager to embrace rather than escape its sweet sorrow.
Glancing at the spot where the rounded cheeks merged into the soft sweep of the thigh, Mandy saw a silver bubble at the caned girl’s labia. Biting her lower Up in concentration, she steadied the cane and tapped it briskly at the winking wetness. The bubble popped silently, and Sophie sighed softly with a shudder of pleasure. The tip of the yellow bamboo darkened slightly, stained with her hot juice. The cane trembled in Mandy’s grip, and she felt a flicker of delight forking down from the base of her belly to the tightening muscles within her innermost flesh.
‘Again,’ intoned Erica.
Mandy raised the wet cane, then plied it with swift savagery across the bare bottom, bringing Sophie up on her toes in an anguish of ecstasy.
‘And again,’ instructed the cropped blonde, her voice curdled with lust.
The cane glinted in the sunlight as it bequeathed a final kiss of fire across the crimsoned cheeks.
‘That was better, Mandy. Much better. You seem to have an appetite for doing your stern duty. And you seem,’ Erica purred, ‘to understand the importance of the dominance the caner must exercise over the caned. Punishment,’ she continued softly, ‘promises much more than mere pain. It is so rich in potential pleasures. Later, I will teach you and you will learn that the time spent examining and inspecting the punished bottom can be as rewarding as the time spent dispensing the discipline. But more of those matters later, perhaps. It is time to take you to the sauna.’
The sauna was for the exclusive use of the residents, Erica told Mandy as they entered the spacious room. Before being converted, Mandy speculated, it must have been a ballroom. The high ceiling was completely covered in pale-blue mirroring glass, the walls gleamed with clinically white Italian tiles. Six large bay windows, once overlooking the neatly arrayed rose beds outside, had been rendered opaque by gold frosting. It was well equipped – better than her Knightsbridge health spa, Mandy concluded as she ran her auditing eye over the silver chrome and dark-leather fixtures and fittings.
‘Strip,’ Erica ordered, flicking on a panel of fighting controls.
Blinded by the flood of neon, Mandy hesitated.
‘Quickly, girl. You will be receiving two residents shortly. I want you to serve them.’
Mandy raised an eyebrow.
‘See to their every whim,’ Erica translated. ‘You must be changed and ready to receive them.’
Mandy wriggled out of her vest and skirt and stood, braless but tightly pantied, before Erica. The cropped blonde’s cruel mouth pursed appreciatively as she stared at the proud swell of Mandy’s pubis sheathed within the stretch of cotton.
‘Panties off.’
Mandy thumbed them down over the swell of her ripe hips and rump and stepped out of them, her face a sullen mask of resentment as she felt Erica’s narrowed eyes feasting on her nakedness.
‘Hmm. A natural blonde,’ Erica murmured.
Mandy flushed, covering her pubic nest with both hands. That was a bit close, she realised. If Celia Flaxstone ever came to notice her blonde curls, she might just possibly recall the blonde Amanda Silk.
‘Apron and gloves,’ Erica said, handing the clear-plastic uniform over. ‘Hurry up.’
Mandy wrapped the plastic apron around her belly and breasts. It was not an easy task: the thin plastic clung to her lovingly. Twice she had to peel it away from her soft nakedness and start anew. Eventually, she had donned the plastic apron and, reaching out behind, was struggling with blind fingers at the tabs.
‘Come here,’ Erica snapped crossly. ‘Turn around.’
Mandy obeyed, presenting her bare bottom to the cropped blonde. Erica drew the tabs together tightly and tied them, causing the plastic apron to squeeze Mandy’s bosom, pressing the trapped breasts deliciously. Down at her golden nest, the stretch of plastic crackled the pubic fuzz. Mandy shuddered at the sudden closeness of Erica: the cropped blonde’s hot breath on the nape of her bowed neck, the swell of the breasts thrust into her naked back, the brush of Erica’s firm hips against her bare bottom.
‘Now the gloves.’
The command, and the warm breath that carried it, made Mandy shudder. She took a step forward and struggled with the clear-plastic gloves. Erica took a similar pace, matching Mandy’s, bringing her lower belly close against Mandy’s naked cheeks once more. Reaching around her captive, the cropped blonde snapped the stretchy gloves into place. Mandy flexed and splayed her fingers, thrilling to the unexpected pleasure of the tight feel.
‘Red robes are dominants, yellows are subs. You’ll get one of each this afternoon.’
Mandy turned, frowning.
‘Red robes. Worn at all times by the dominant-type residents outside their private quarters. Here in the sauna or down in the gym. They are very strict with the angels and have sharp appetites. They take pleasure in others’ pain. The yellow-robed residents,’ Erica continued, disregarding the mounting look of dismay on Mandy’s face, ‘are subs. Submissive types. They take pain for their pleasure. Be stern with them, and manage them strictly. They yearn for the humiliation, discipline and bondage you will dispense.’
As these words sent her pulse throbbing, Mandy dragged her gloved palms down across her belly and smoothed the plastic apron over the swell of her upper thighs.
The door opened. ‘They’re here,’ Erica warned. ‘Remember, when serving a dom, you are hers entirely. And, when serving a sub, she is utterly yours. I will,’ Erica said sternly, ‘deal with you most severely should you fail to please.’
Erica withdrew, leaving Mandy to greet and receive a red-robed dominant resident. Mandy gasped. Surely she had seen this beautiful woman’s face on late-night intellectual talk shows shredding to pieces the vapid opinions of the good and the televisually great. Yes. It was her, here in the flesh.
The resident gazed impassively ahead of her, ignoring Mandy completely. Only the impatient jerk of her shoulder signalled her readiness to be disrobed. With trembling fingers, Mandy led her client into a cubicle, drawing the curtains together behind her. Turning, she caught the edge of the red towelling robe gingerly, curling her fingers into its softness to steady herself. After pulling at the belt, she peeled it down over the woman’s shoulders, exposing her superb breasts. The dominant, a haughty beauty of thirty-six, tossed her raven hair as she stepped out of the robe. Mandy stooped to gather up and fold the discarded robe, shyly glimpsing the arrogant thrust of the proud bosom above. Silently, the raven-haired beauty motioned Mandy to stand before her. For a full minute, Mandy shivered in her client’s stern gaze.
‘Kneel,’ whispered the sensual, cruel lips.
Mandy knelt, her knees kissing the cold tiles.
‘You will attend to me in the sauna, then dry me when I emerge. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ Mandy murmured; her eyes level with the dark, matted pubic nest before her.
‘And I shall need to be oiled.’
Mandy raised her face, expectantly.
‘Not now, fool. Later.’
Mandy cast her large eyes down and blushed. She attempted to rise, but was immediately quelled by an imperious hand on her shoulder.
‘Shave me first, before the sauna,’ came the strict command.
The nest of matted pubic curls rustled softly as the thighs before Mandy’s face parted an inch, then another half-inch. Stretching out her plastic-gloved hand, she tentatively stroked the dark fuzz with her fingertip. Shave her? Mandy’s heart thumped against her rib cage at the very thought of this intimate act of homage and service. But how? With what?
‘Over there.’ As if reading Mandy’s mind, the dominant woman placed three fingers under the kneeling girl’s chin and swivelled her face towards the sink. It was, Mandy saw, a small onyx basin with taps of dull gold. Mandy shuffled across the hard tiles on her knees, gathered up the scented foam, petite razor and hand towel. Returning to kneel submissively before the naked dominatrix, she set out her equipment in neat array.
‘You’d better lick me first,’ came the curt command.
Inching her face closer, Mandy heard her taut plastic apron crackle. Within its crisp embrace, her heavy bosom bunched, the breasts swollen and rounded as they bulged within the sheen of bondage. Maddened by her tingling nipples as they pressed into the clinging plastic, she risked a furtive touch. Instantly, the nude’s right hand taloned her hair, forcing her head back.
‘You are here to pleasure me, girl. Not yourself. If I catch your fingers where they should not be once more, I shall have you whipped. Do you hear me?’
Mandy nodded, wincing at the controlling hand that punished her hair.
‘What will you be if caught once more?’ came the stern interrogation.
‘Whipped,’ Mandy whispered through dry, parched lips.
The fierce fingers in her hair relaxed and Mandy saw the hand return to brush against the swell of the woman’s naked thigh.
‘Lick me. Wet me thoroughly, then shave me.’
Timorously at first, but with a gathering boldness soon fuelling her tongue, Mandy moistened the nest of dark pubic curls. At last, sniffing the feral tang of the pubis, she flattened her tongue against the rasping fuzz.
‘Good,’ the dominatrix remarked, nodding her apparent satisfaction as she fingered her delta.
Mandy squeezed out a line of scented foam into the open palm of her left hand. With the first and second fingers of her right hand, she scooped up a smear and worked the white softness into the pubic curls. As the tip of her third finger accidentally caressed the hood of the clitoris with a fleeting touch, she sensed the woman rise up on her toes.
‘Careful,’ came the stern warning. ‘Serve me carefully or your bottom will suffer.’
Mandy, panicking, accidentally parted the thick labial lips. Her cornflower-blue eyes flickered up penitently. The towering nude merely grunted softly, motioning her kneeling slave to continue. Mandy took up the tiny golden razor and, taking a deep breath to steady her excited hand, started to shave the foaming delta. With short, delicate, sweeping strokes she exposed the gleaming skin beneath.
As the foamed coils curled up before the blade, a strange sensation tightened Mandy’s breasts and thickened her tongue. Suddenly, the pulse at her throat throbbed uncontrollably. The sensation was confusing, erotic and disturbingly delicious. Kneeling in submission and forced to perform this humiliating act of intimacy, she nevertheless sensed a curious feeling of power and of being in control. This dominant woman with her legs splayed apart was, she realised, utterly at her mercy. The tiny golden razor in her hand was as potent as any cane or crop hovering above bare buttocks. Fired by this electrifying awareness, Mandy grew imperceptibly bolder: she framed the flesh of the delta with two fingers, stretching the skin and exposing it to her blade. Soon, the proud swell of the pubic delta surrounding the glistening fig was shaved clean. Mandy felt a heady mixture of relief and exultation surge up within her. Though kneeling in subjugation before the dominatrix, she still felt the intoxicating thrill of being in control.
‘Kiss it,’ whispered the raven-haired beauty, cupping her ripe breasts and squeezing them ruthlessly.
The harsh command broke the spell: Mandy was a slave once more. She strained forward, steadying herself with her plastic-gloved hands delicately upon either hip. Her lips closed on the sweet flesh-folds.
‘Suck.’
She sucked, hard.
‘Lick me, bitch.’
Mandy’s tongue lapped hungrily at the slightly salty flesh.
‘And kiss me once more.’
Mandy pressed her mouth firmly into the labia.
‘Not with those lips, bitch,’ came the dark command.
For a brief moment, Mandy was puzzled. The dominatrix raised her right foot and, pressing her toes into Mandy’s slit, raked them against the shiny plastic. ‘Those lips.’
Mandy blushed as a sudden rush of understanding flooded her brain. Peeling up the clinging sheath of plastic, she exposed her own blonde curls. Crablike, between the splayed legs of the naked dominatrix, she struggled to inch her hips up towards the recently shaved delta. Amused at her awkward, and painful, attempts, the woman gazed down into Mandy’s blue eyes. Mandy stared directly up, shuddering as the raven hair tumbled down over the woman’s shoulders as her tormentress tossed her head in cruel amusement.
‘Do it, bitch, or you’ll feel the lash.’
With a supreme effort, Mandy jerked her hips up, fusing her blonde curls into the warm, wet slit above. A hot spasm of shame, and some unknown sensation not unlike forbidden lust, exploded deep down in Mandy’s tightened belly. Above, the woman growled softly as she savoured the ultimate gesture of submission and surrender one female can offer another.
‘Well done, slave,’ she whispered, then abruptly pushed Mandy away. In a cold tone, she ordered Mandy to attend to her needs in the sauna.
Mandy perspired freely in her tight plastic apron and gloves as the dominatrix luxuriated in her steam bath. Emerging, pink and glowing, her raven tresses matted to her temples, the nude stood alongside a narrow leather couch as Mandy plied a soft towel.
‘Not bad,’ the dominatrix conceded grudgingly as her slave completed the intimate act of towelling her body dry. ‘Bend over.’
Alarm tightened Mandy’s throat at these unexpected words. The towel fell from her hands, slithering silently to the cool tiles. After all her efforts, punishment was the last reward she expected.
‘Four strokes,’ the dominatrix snarled softly, suddenly clapping her hands.
An angel poked her head through the parted curtains.
‘Crop,’ demanded the raven-haired nude.
Six seconds later, a crop was supplied. The curtains closed, leaving Mandy in seclusion with her tormentress once more.
‘Further across the couch. Give me your bottom. No, bigger. I want it big and round,’ the dominatrix purred. She continued almost pleasantly, ‘I would have given you ten if I was displeased. You have served me reasonably well.’
Mandy squirmed across the soft leather of the couch but froze as the tip of the crop descended to depress the swell of her exposed left buttock.
‘Perfectly still while I stripe you, girl.’
The crop withdrew, only to return a fraction of a second later to bite into her bunched cheeks with a searing swipe. A crimson flashbulb popped silently behind Mandy’s tightly shut eyes as the leather-sheathed crop sliced her soft cheeks with vicious tenderness. The red light exploded once more as, again, the crop kissed her cheeks with savage affection. The third stroke, slightly delayed, cut across the quivering crown of her bare bottom, rocketing her hips into the leather surface of the couch.
An agonising pause followed, during which the fierce heat spread down from her whipped cheeks to the shadowed flesh between her clamped thighs. Mandy ground her clitoris into the shining leather, humping herself rhythmically into its dark hide. She tightened her buttocks as she felt the tip of the crop tap-tapping her upturned cheeks to quell her writhing. Steadied and stilled, she stretched across the couch, submissively awaiting the fourth searing swipe. The dominatrix lingered, pressing the length of the crop down into the fleshy cheeks. Mandy shivered and moaned, tonguing the leather in her anguished torment. Suddenly, within three quarters of a second, the crop had been whisked up – only to crack down mercilessly across the ravished bottom.
‘Oil me. Gloves off,’ the nude commanded, tossing the crop aside and easing her splendid nakedness face down on to the couch.
Mandy shivered after the brief but blistering punishment, and searched about in vain for the oil. Her bottom ablaze, she poked her head out between the curtains and whispered to a nearby angel. Oil was produced by the redhead, Rowena, and handed over with a sympathetic grimace. Mandy grinned and returned to the naked woman stretched out on the leather couch. To her dismay, Mandy watched the raven hair cascade as the nude reached down and picked up the abandoned crop. More? Was there to be more of the fierce discipline? To her puzzlement, the nude slipped the crop down between her thighs, crushing and trapping it between the leather and her pubis.
Oiling the dominatrix was a slow, sensual pleasure for both the mistress and the slave. As Mandy applied the sheen with her palm, she was acutely conscious that the crop which had lashed her bare bottom was now being manipulated by the nude: the thicker end rolling against her dark nipples, the tapered, whipping end worrying the labia below.
The nude’s heavy, slightly muscular buttocks were now raised about three inches up off the leather couch, impatiently spasming for the oiling. Sore bottomed and perspiring, Mandy tasted the bitter fruits of submission and humiliation as she palmed each swollen cheek with the sticky, scented oil. Supremely indifferent to her toiling slave, the dominatrix continued to ravish her slit with the wet tip of the crop. Grunting softly, she approached her climax, squeezing her buttocks and trapping Mandy’s oiled finger between their warmth.
‘Oil me there,’ the nude gasped, tossing her raven hair as she offered up her now gaping, stretched cheeks to reveal the pink rosebud of her sphincter. ‘Quickly, bitch.’
Mandy’s index finger, dripping with the gleaming unction, hovered above the anal whorl.
‘Do it, bitch. Now,’ she rasped, almost choking on her own thickening lust.
Probing the tight warmth tentatively, Mandy shuddered as she savoured her burning shame. The strong muscles within the heavy buttocks trapped her finger as the next wave of orgasm rippled and threatened to explode. The snarling dominatrix stiffened as she crushed her breasts into the leather. Mandy saw the right hand guiding and pumping the vicious crop against the clitoris. The oiled hips jerked up, the nude screamed softly. With her finger still buried deep inside the heavy buttocks, Mandy suffered the ultimate humiliation of servicing another’s orgasm – not as a pleasure-partner, but as an insignificant slave.
The submissive was easier to manage. Mandy propelled the slender blonde into her sauna with sharp spanks to each soft cheek. The gentle blonde purred with pleasure as Mandy controlled her, ordering her about with stern authority. Even towelling the glistening blonde after the sauna was a strict affair, with Mandy punishing the blonde’s bouncing breasts briskly with the brushed cotton, carefully savaging the defenceless nipples until they peaked with delicious pain.
‘Hazel twigs. Whip her bottom lightly,’ Rowena, the red-haired angel murmured, appearing through the curtains and offering Mandy a small, bound bundle.
Mandy smiled and nodded as she accepted the scourge. Turning to her shivering blonde, she spoke sternly. ‘Face down on the couch.’
The blonde straddled the leather with pleasurable anticipation as Mandy studied the hazel twigs, inspecting them closely. The scourge was made up of fourteen supple twigs, each trimmed to a length of eleven inches. They had been bound together at the base with waxed cord. Pliant and springy, they were potent with pleasure and bristled with the promise of pain. Mandy dragged the tips of the quivering twigs down across her bosom. She gasped softly as her nipples stiffened and rose up, peaking and saluting the gentle torment.
‘Hands up on the couch. No, by your face. Palms down.’
The blonde obeyed with alacrity, waggling her slender bottom invitingly as if impatient for the stinging caress of the scourge.
‘Feet and thighs tightly together,’ Mandy ordered crisply, carefully maintaining the waspish note of dominance. She watched with growing satisfaction as the obedient blonde welded her legs and thighs together, forcing her cleft into a fierce crease between the naked cheeks.
‘No,’ Mandy said. ‘Relax your bottom. I want it soft for the whipping. ‘Make it rounder,’ she whispered, secretly amazed at how easily she found the words of command. ‘I am going to whip you slowly with these hazel twigs,’ she explained, as if in a schoolroom before an attentive row of adoring students. ‘Slowly and gently. Enough to bring you to the boil,’ Mandy purred, thrilling to the effect of her dominant voice on the squirming blonde, ‘but not enough to make you spill over.’
Sugared sorrow was what the blonde wanted. Sweet torment. The promise of pleasure offered up in a cup – only to be dashed from her eager lips. Mandy suddenly knew with an absolute knowledge her role as dominatrix to this submissive. Just as she had detested pleasure-serving the red-robed dominant, now Mandy anticipated the dark delights of twig-whipping this beautiful blonde’s bare bottom.
Mandy savoured every moment of this new-found delight. She paced herself carefully, prolonging the exquisite pleasure. When she was with the red-robed dominant, she had been forced to serve at a tempo dictated by the other’s whim. Now, Mandy felt a surge of excitement burning within her. Already her slit was hot and wet. She was in total control of the naked blonde stretched out before her: in absolute command of both the submissive’s imminent joy and sweet despair.
With a soft swish, Mandy raked the bare bottom with the bunched hazel twigs. The blonde squealed her delight into the leather, clouding its sheen with her hot excitement. Again, Mandy dominantly swept the supple scourge down across the beautiful cheeks. Hips bucking and jerking up in response, the blonde arched her buttocks up for more. Levelling the bunch of twigs against the smooth thighs, Mandy flicked her wrist, causing the tips of the dancing hazel rods to pepper the curves of the blushing cheeks with stinging kisses. Writhing on the leather, the naked blonde furtively inched her fingers down towards her bosom.
‘No,’ Mandy warned, tapping the knuckles smartly. ‘Hands up where I can see them.’
The blonde tongued the leather in her sweet torment. Ignoring her, Mandy plied the hazel scourge seven more times, leisurely reddening the delicious bottom. As Mandy lightly whipped the bouncing buttocks, the blonde surreptitiously managed to cup and squeeze her naked breasts.
‘I warned you.’
The scourge lashed down, eliciting a squeal.
‘Hands by your face,’ Mandy hissed, now relishing her supreme dominance.
Submissively, the naked girl obeyed, splaying both hands by her tousled blonde mane.
‘And if you come before I give you permission,’ Mandy continued, astounded at her confidence as dominatrix, ‘I will punish you harshly. I will bind your hands and feet together,’ she whispered, raking the nude’s spine with the hazel twigs, ‘and whip you till you beg for mercy.’
The blonde purred her pleasure into the damp leather and inched up her buttocks for the lash she desired. Mandy would not be bidden. She teased the bare bottom, tracing the outline of the curved cheeks with the trembling twig-tips. Slowly, she raised the scourge up, smiling as the buttocks rose up in an arch of anticipation. Mandy lowered the bunched twigs, allowing the hot flesh to kiss its sweet torment.
‘More. Harder. Lash me.’
The urgent tone, the note of demand, annoyed Mandy. It reminded her of earlier moments of humiliation and subjugation. A flash of anger arrowed through her brain. The mocking words of Celia Flaxstone – calling her late aunt an old bat – and the brazen attempt to steal Mandy’s inheritance. The arrogant red-robed dominant who had forced Mandy to serve her. These, and other, recollections of her recent suffering and humiliation flooded Mandy’s consciousness.
For a brief, ungovernable moment, she was no longer Mandy the maid, cunningly seeking to retrieve her fortune, but Amanda Silk: proud, sophisticated and accomplished.
The bare bottom before her was no longer that of a submissive blonde pleading for the pleasures of pain. It represented everything Mandy had been forced to suffer and endure since coming to Sternwood Grange. Discomfort, dismay and distress.
She whipped the hazel twigs down savagely – the blonde squealed her raw delight. Mandy’s arm rose and fell again and again. Closing her eyes and shutting out the memory of her own humiliations and privations, Mandy gripped the scourge tightly and lashed it down repeatedly with increasing ferocity. A shrill scream of ecstasy forced her eyes wide open. Her cornflower-blue eyes widened at the unexpected sight before them: whipped into a climax, the blonde bucked and threshed abandonedly, pounding herself into the leather as she screamed her long, loud orgasm, ‘My angel, oh my beautiful angel.’