Chapter Seven

Thus began one of the most memorable evenings of my life, in which as, it seemed to me at the time, I plumbed the depths of depravity, engaged in acts such as I had scarcely imagined, and performed, surely, all that a woman could do with two men. As it turned out, this was by no means the case. There were to be on other occasions still more lewd and wanton acts, but I shall not recount them yet. Suffice it to say that the Count and Renzo satisfied me fully, and, I venture to say, so did I them.

At this point the Count suggested a pause for rest and refreshment. Next door to his room was a bathroom. In it was a large tank of water which was kept warm day and night by lamps that were lit underneath it. This was an undreamt-of luxury, something I had never encountered before. Now the Count invited me to avail myself of it. I went in and drew water into the bathtub, then reclining at my ease; I sluiced the odors of sex from my body. Finding some eau de cologne, I put a little on my body, under my breasts, in the cleft of my bottom and at the centre of my pubic tuft.

I re-entered the Count’s bedroom entirely rejuvenated. The Count had opened a bottle of wine and produced some snacks: pieces of cheese, some olives, and some grapes. The three of us sat on the bed, eyeing each other and smiling, each doubtless conceiving of further excesses. On an impulse I put my glass aside and leaned down to take Renzo’s cock in my mouth. It was flaccid, but a shadow of its magnificence when he fucked me, yet I was gratified to find that after a few minutes of careful attention it began to grow again.

What form would our pleasure now take? I was not left wondering very long. Renzo pushed me onto my back and knelt over me on all fours, his head towards my legs. I did not know at the time, but this is referred to by the French (the masters of all things erotic) as soixante-neuf; if one writes the figure 69 one can get an idea of the relative positions of the partners. Renzo began to kiss between my legs, taking his time, savoring what he found. He nuzzled gently on my belly, stroking it with his hands as he kissed it softly, then his lips moved down, brushing the insides of my thighs before nestling lightly against the lips of my cunt. He took each of them in turn into his mouth, squeezing them between his lips and even taking them between his teeth, not biting but merely exerting a little pressure. Then I felt his tongue slide between the lips, licking up the moisture that flowed there (I had become immediately aroused when he positioned himself over me). He tried to push his tongue inside me, but of course it was not rigid enough, though the effort produced an enticing sensation in my groin. Then, very slowly, teasingly, he licked up between the lips until he found my clit. I gasped with delight as his tongue circled my little bud, by now swollen and alert to all pleasure. He closed his lips around it and with great care sucked it into his mouth, holding it there while his tongue caressed it.

While I was enjoying the delights of what I later came to know as cunnilingus, Renzo had slid his cock into my mouth. Somewhat distracted by what was happening to me lower down, I nevertheless attempted to pay him full attention. I held his cock in place with one hand and lifted my head a little to get a better purchase, managing to move up and down enough to stimulate him. I was pleased to hear him grunt with pleasure as I did so. I also took his balls in my other hand and squeezed them softly. I knew already how much pain a man can feel in that place, but I had no wish to hurt him, only to increase the ways in which I might afford him enjoyment.

We continued in this vein for a while. Despite my efforts to please him, there was no doubt that Renzo was more focused on my pleasure than I was on his. This position is delightful, but I think it difficult for both partners to pay equal attention to the other. Renzo’s tongue was working such magic on my needy little clit and I could not offer him the same sustained effort.

While this was going on, the Count had moved to kneel alongside me. He put a hand on one of my breasts and pinched the nipple, harder and harder. I cried out, but when he took his hand away I reached out and put it back again. I was beginning to discover what has proved to be one of the most important facets of my sexual being, that I enjoyed pain, and could, if the context was right, transform it into pleasure. While the Count continued to hurt my nipple, and Renzo did not cease to work upon my clit, I took my hand from Renzo’s balls and searched for the Count’s cock. When I found it I was pleased to feel it completely rigid.

I suddenly had an intense desire for cock inside me. I shifted my position from under Renzo. I rolled him over and straddled him, lowering my hips and impaling myself on his long, slim cock. But this was not enough. I motioned to the Count to stand in front of me. I took his cock and put it in my mouth, sucking hard. I held onto the Count’s buttocks with one hand in order to steady myself, while with the other I kept his cock firmly in my mouth, even though I was now bouncing up and down on Renzo in a frenzy of pleasure. It was not long before I could feel another orgasm rising. I doubted if I could conclude it with things exactly as they were, so I took my hand from the Count’s bottom and put it between my legs. It was the work of a moment to find my eager little clit. I rubbed it hard, so hard that I was almost in pain, but I could not stop. In another moment I came, with a wild cry as my loins shook and my cunt squeezed hard on Renzo’s cock. For the moment exhausted, I sank down on the bed.

However, both the Count and Renzo were aroused and not in the least minded to let me rest. Renzo lay behind me as he turned me on my side, and, folding me up a little, introduced his cock into my cunt once again. So sensitive was I that it was almost painful to be penetrated yet again, but Renzo held me tight and was insistent that I take him once more. Meanwhile the Count lay on my other side and began once more to torment my nipples, pinching them harder and harder with one hand while pushing the other between my legs. I could not bear to have my clit touched again so soon after my climax, and I pulled his hand away. Instead, he now put a hand on each of my nipples and while Renzo fucked me the Count made me cry out with what I no longer knew was pleasure or pain.

At last Renzo got his climax, for the second time, and the two gentlemen released me. I lay between them, idly stroking both of them, sliding my hand over their chests or gently playing with their cocks. I must have fallen asleep, because later I woke and found myself alone on the bed. The two men were seated by the window, drinking wine and conversing in low voices. I lay and watched them for a moment, then, even though my body ached from my earlier activities, I found my mind, inflamed as it had been with what we had done, once more musing upon pleasure. I got off the bed and walked naked across to the two men. I kissed them each on the mouth, then sat on the Count’s lap, my arm around his neck.

“Is she not delightful?” the Count enquired. “Does she not please you?”

Renzo agreed that I did.

“Open your legs, my dear, and let him see you again,” said the Count.

Shameless now, or nearly so, I did as he required, spreading my legs wide. Renzo sat for a while, contemplating my cunt. “Very fine,” he said at length.

“I feel,” said the Count, “that we have no right to keep such a creature to ourselves. It seems unnecessarily selfish.”

Renzo smiled. “What did you have in mind?”

“Perhaps an exhibition,” said the Count. “A little demonstration of her charms, before a small, select audience. One or two of your fellow artists, I think.”

“Hmm,” said Renzo thoughtfully, “I think I know some who would find that agreeable. Perhaps they could bring their sketchbooks.”

The Count and Renzo continued to discuss their idea and it was settled that in two weeks time they would assemble such a party. I had only a vague idea of exactly what was intended; clearly I should be the centre of attention and the proceedings would be designed to provoke and stimulate the lascivious thoughts of all concerned. I felt rather nervous about what might be expected of me, but at the same time I trusted the Count that I should come to no harm.

In the meantime, there was more pleasure to be had. The men had by now regained much of their energy and it was not long before both of them had me on the bed again. Before the night was through, each of them had fucked me again in all three orifices and had drained themselves dry. I for my part was sore but happy, replete and not a little pleased with myself that I had been the source of great pleasure to two such experienced and lusty gentlemen. At last I returned to my own bed and slept until the afternoon.

Things took a further interesting turn before the date of the Count’s little soiree at which I was to be displayed for the delectation of his guests. The next weekend the Count and I were alone together. By now I felt fully comfortable with him, and had conceived affection for this considerate and sophisticated man. However, he was not a man I could ever fall in love with, and I was beginning to wonder if any such man existed. Such was the force of my sexual appetite, fostered by the Count’s attentions, that I sometimes wondered if I only really wanted men for the physical pleasure they could give me, or which I could give them, and did not need the emotional sustenance that other women derive from their lovers. In this, I was to be proved mistaken, but that is to get ahead of my tale.

Perhaps my readers are wondering why the Count, who dearly loved his children, should have allowed such a shameless hussy as I had become to go anywhere near them. Was he not afraid that a woman such as I, clearly one of loose morals (so convention would have it), would corrupt their young minds? But to suppose anything of the sort is totally to misunderstand the nature of my sexual activities. Licentious I might be, ready to indulge my appetites to the full; but it is a common mistake to imagine that those who do not conform to society’s view of what is proper for a woman to do in the bedroom therefore have no morals at all. I am proud to say that my conduct in the schoolroom was blameless. I devoted myself to the welfare of those children unreservedly and did my best to teach them how they ought to behave. Since they were far too young to be sexually active, there was in any case no question of my activities with their father impinging upon their innocent young minds.

I had passed an agreeable week with the Count’s two delightful children, and was now looking forward to the resumption of my amatory activities with their father. After a pleasant dinner at the end of the week, the Count invited me into his study. This was not a room I had entered before, except when the Count had interviewed me on my first visit. It was where he conducted his diplomatic work, writing reports and having discussions with various advisors and informants.

It was a large, rather dark and very masculine room, furnished with comfortable leather armchairs, lined with mahogany bookshelves, and a table on which were decanters and glasses. There was a large desk, and the Count took his seat behind it, indicating that I should sit upon a small upholstered chair in front.

“Jane,” he said, “you are a delightfully sensual and uninhibited girl, full of sexual passion. I think the time has come to conduct a little experiment.”

I looked at him expectantly and waited.

“Have you ever been spanked?” he asked.

My mind went back to my schooldays. My parents had never punished me in such a manner, nor had Mrs. Reid dared to do so. I think she knew I should have rebelled. I had been fortunate in avoiding the headmaster’s cane, unlike poor Helen, but had on occasion been punished by Matron.

“At school, once or twice,” I said.

“And what was your response?”

I considered the question.

“You may answer freely,” the Count said. “I think we have each other’s confidence.”

“Count,” I replied, “if I am frank with you, I hope you will not hold it against me.”

“I think we are grown-ups here, Jane,” he said. “We can discuss all such matters with complete frankness, can we not? Nothing you say could in any way diminish my regard for you.”

I think that if many men said such a thing to me I should not accept it at face value. But the Count was an open and honest man, and I believed him. “Very well,” I said. “At school I was several times spanked by the matron for minor disciplinary offences. This was administered on my bottom with a leather strap. But I can honestly say that it had zero effect upon me, either in terms of persuading me towards compliance with the school regulations, nor, which I believe is what interests you, in engendering any kind of sexual excitement.”

“I see,” said the Count. He seemed slightly disappointed.

“However,” I continued, “I more than once observed the headmaster deliver a severe caning to an unfortunate girl before the whole school. It was shaming for her, since her bottom was bared for all to see, and I felt for the poor victim. Yet at the same time I experienced a sensation which I think I still do not fully understand.”

“Go on,” said the Count, paying rapt attention.

“To be frank, I experienced sexual excitement. I cannot say exactly why, whether I wished myself to be in the position of the victim, wished myself to be punished, or whether I identified with the man who was caning her. But I rather suspect the former.”

“You wanted to be caned? How did this excitement manifest itself?”

I hesitated. I could feel myself blushing. “I fear that between my legs I became – well, lubricated.” I couldn’t look him in the eye. This seemed shaming.

“I have suspected as much,” said the Count gently. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Many girls feel the way you do. Sadly, few of them have the courage to admit it or sufficient spirit of adventure to derive pleasure from their fantasies. But you, dear Jane, are different, I think. You are not afraid of your desires. And, I hope, not afraid of me.”

“I trust not, sir,” I replied.

The Count regarded me in silence for a while. I managed to get up enough courage to return his gaze. Then he spoke.

“Come here,” he said.

Shyly I got to my feet and approached his side of the desk. He took me by the hand and gently pulled me towards him and down across his knee. I had not expected this, and began to protest.

“Hush,” he said. “Just do as I say.”

Though uncertain of what he intended, I felt strangely unable to resist. A kind of calm had descended on me, a feeling that I need no longer make any decisions, that I wanted simply to put myself in his hands. The Count began to lift my dress up over my waist. No man had ever done such a thing; I blushed again, thankful that in my present position the Count could not see my face. Then he reached underneath me, deftly undid the strings of my drawers and began to pull them down. I am forced to admit that I lifted my hips up a little in order that he might do so more easily; I had already become a willing accomplice in my own – what word should I use? Subjugation? Submission?

The Count began to stroke my bared bottom. My flesh tingled at his touch. I felt myself relaxing as his fingers traced the contours of my flesh. To my shame I must admit that when his hand tried to go between my legs, I shifted my position slightly so that he might gain access. Shameless hussy, I thought; are you so easily corrupted?

Suddenly the Count struck me firmly on the right buttock with the flat of his hand. I squealed, though more out of surprise than outrage. Before I could recover he smacked me again, on the other side. They were stinging blows, perhaps not full force but hard enough to hurt. I braced myself. That there would be further blows I had no doubt, and indeed they were not long in coming. The Count began to spank my bottom with regular strokes, first one side then the other, pausing between each one but setting up a regular rhythm. It was not long before I could feel that my behind was not only stinging but uncommonly warm.

The Count paused for a while and resumed his stroking. “Good girl,” he murmured. I would not have predicted, before he had begun, that such a simple phrase from his lips should give me so much satisfaction. The spanking hurt; there was no doubt of that, and of course, it was meant to. But as on previous occasions with the Count, I had a great desire for his good opinion. I wanted to do well and please him. And I knew that suffering the indignity and pain of this spanking was what he wanted from me.

I say indignity because I was after all a grown woman, a respectable lady, not a naughty child to be smacked. There was something demeaning, embarrassing, in being put in such a position. And yet I derived some perverse enjoyment from being treated in this manner. I wanted, for the moment, to endure this humiliation. I cannot explain why; I only know that it was so. The spanking began again, this time the blows falling harder. I wriggled and occasionally whined. I did not dare struggle in earnest, because I was sure that would displease him, but I could not help but let him know that he was hurting me. Yet increasingly I felt not only that I must please him, but that the pain pleased me too. The longer the spanking went on, the more I felt myself becoming aroused. I could feel my clit had swollen, and a warm glow diffused itself through my loins. How could it be that pain could become pleasure? That, I fear, is a question I have never yet answered to my own satisfaction, but I knew that it was so.

The Count paused again, and renewed his stroking of my bottom. He remarked on what a delicious shade of pink it now was; my response was that my face blushed in imitation. Then he spoke again.

“You have done well, Jane, and I am pleased with you. But I think that you are ready to go to the next stage. Do you agree?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I replied. “What is the next stage?”

“A little more pain, more carefully focused. Not with my hand but with an implement.”

“Which implement, sir?” I asked nervously.

“The strap, I think,” he said.

I considered this. I was nervous. How much pain could I take? Not much more, surely. “If it is too much, sir, and I say so, will you stop?”

“You shall have a safe word,” he said. “If you say, no, no, I shall take no notice and continue. But if you say, using these exact words, ‘Let that be sufficient, sir,’ then I shall cease immediately. Do you understand?”

“I do, sir,” I said.

“Stand up,” he said.

I got to my feet, somewhat unsteadily.

“Bend over the desk,” he said, “and grip the edges tightly.”

I did as he said, pressing my face to the polished wood. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him open one of the drawers in the desk. Inside was an assortment of various implements for chastisement: several leather belts and straps, a wooden paddle, a leather tawse (Matron had used such a thing), and a thin but strong-looking cane, which I regarded with dread. The Count picked up one of the leather belts. He stood behind me and once more lifted up my dress, which had fallen down to my ankles. My bottom felt horribly exposed and vulnerable. Please let it not be hard, I said to myself. The Count stroked me with his hand and then I felt the belt graze my skin, as if he was measuring the distance. I braced myself.

“Relax, girl,” the Count said. “It will hurt less if you do not clench your buttocks.”

That’s all very well for you to say, I thought to myself. I tried to let my muscles go loose, but I still felt tense. I sensed his arm being raised, then heard the slight swish as the belt came down. It cracked across my behind with a loud slap. I whimpered and shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to mitigate the stinging of the blow.

“Keep still,” the Count said, not unkindly. “Be good.”

He raised his arm again. The belt hit me on exactly the same spot. I yelled. This was worse, far worse, than his hand. My whole body was trembling. There was a burning sensation on my buttocks. The belt rose and fell, several more times. I gripped the desk harder and harder as the pain grew more intense. I could feel, deep within my loins, a warmth, as if I was glowing, but on the surface of my skin the tingling had now been replaced by a biting, stinging sensation that I knew I could not endure for much longer. I wanted so much to do well for him, and there was no doubt that the beating aroused me. But I was so unused to such treatment; I had not yet learned, as I was later to do, to find a way to go under the pain, to let it come and somehow absorb it rather than fighting it.

I am not sure if the intensity of the blows had increased, or merely that my poor battered behind was smarting more and more, but I knew that I was fast approaching my limit. A couple of the strokes seemed particularly vicious, as if they were cutting into the flesh (though the Count never at any time drew blood). I cried out aloud. The Count lowered his arm and waited.

“Sir,” I said tearfully, “let that be sufficient.”

“Very well, Jane,” he said, and put the belt back in the drawer. “You have done well. For a novice, excellently well.”

He put his hands on my bottom and gently stroked for a while. His hands were soothing. “You will have a few bruises,” he said. “But nothing much. They will be gone in a couple of days.”

I was still bent over the desk, my bottom bared.

“Now stay in this position while I give you your reward.”

I supposed that meant that he was about to fuck me, and I remember thinking that my reward would be equally pleasurable for him. But in fact he put his hand between my legs. I was very wet. He felt my cunt, squeezing it gently, pinching the lips lightly before circling my clit with his finger. I gasped; my whole groin quivered with suppressed desire. Skillfully he worked me, his fingers busy and deft. He slid two or maybe more of his fingers into my cunt, then spread the wetness upwards, around the entrance to my ass. Suddenly one of his fingers slipped inside my anus. I groaned and shifted position, to facilitate entry. He was now using both hands, one moving slowly in and out of my ass, the other circling my clit. Aroused as I was by the spanking, it was not long before I was overwhelmed. I moaned in ecstasy and my hips shook as, clenching my thighs, I gripped his hand between my thighs and surrendered to the spasm.

The Count disengaged his hands from me but, as I made to stand upright, he gently pushed me back down onto the desk; I knew what was coming, and welcomed it. The Count found first my cunt, now drenched with my juices, and his cock slid in easily. But after a few minutes fucking me, he withdrew, only to thrust into my ass. Having been already opened up by his finger, I was ready for this. I felt him fill me totally, felt my ass stretched and plumbed to the depths. It was not long before he spent himself in me, his cock pumping its thick white cream deep inside me.