In the long run, of course, society keeps its pleasures. To be sure, winds of change blow from various directions at times, only to shift and vary. The boughs of our conventions bend and twist, but eventually return to the positions which suit them best.
There have been, over the centuries, and in all places, prohibitions of certain pleasures forced upon society by elements of reform and redirection. Some of these have lasted longer than others. Indeed, some still remain. But others have been renounced and repealed by a return to common sense and a desire to once again enjoy the various delights of this interesting planet. It would serve no purpose to enumerate the ebb and flow of these conventions, except to say that society is an ever-changing and fickle set of customs. Look upon the constantly changing length of a lady's skirt or heels. One need only wait, and the winds will reverse themselves full circle.
Most of us who have lived in this century can claim the unfortunate circumstance of having lived in the only era devoid of the pleasures brought about by domestics of various ability and beauty who graced the halls and parlors of stately residences. In truth, what could bring more joy to a day than a long-legged, high-breasted treasure in her young glory? In ancient times they served as slaves, bought delightfully on the open market. In medieval centuries they performed as serving wenches in front of roaring fireplaces and in the boisterous taverns of middle Europe, with their too-large skirts and too-little blouses. Even into this century they offered their charm in the more sophisticated countries as maids and domestics.
Regardless of the age or place, these unique gifts of pleasure varied little in their duties and offerings which went far beyond the dusting of a room or the cleaning of a kitchen. Happily and elegantly, they knew their creation as a girl, and accepting the course of human nature as being what it is they recognized that ropes and chains and whips were devised specifically for their young bodies. They questioned not why this was so. It just was. And part of being a domestic included ready acceptance to such machinations with dignity and, in fact, joy.
Thus these beautiful creatures were unique, and were set apart from their sisters of other vocations and conditions. Indeed, a fresh whip mark on the slim back of a downstairs maid caused her no more grief than a rose prick on a more sophisticated lady's finger.
Tragically, the winds of change blew away the rapture of such a world. For just a short while. For after all, how many ladies and gentlemen of some means can long do without the tender and delightful scene of a pretty young maid curtsying before them with the proffered whip in her slender hand and a look of excitement on her precious face?
There is no argument about the virtues of such things. Girls have served under cane and whip for thousands of years and were better off for it. They would be the first to admit it. In comparison, it has only been a brief while that such things were not commonplace. Happily now, those who sought to deprive society of these pleasures have been proven wrong.
That is exactly why domestics now once again tread the carpeted halls.
Chapter One
The home was typical New England. Stately, white, and set elegantly upon a rise in the Vermont countryside. Stacy saw the home the minute she left the Greyhound in the town square, for it reposed beyond the village streets. The girl's first thought concerned how utterly gorgeous the maple woods must be in fall.
It was, after all, Stacy's third position since high school. All had been served with excellence and efficiency, earning her the normal letters of referral. Indeed, each position was a step upwards for Stacy, bringing the commensurate increase in salary. How glad she was that she had favored domestic service in high school! Her teacher, Miss Cummins, had been such an excellent instructor! Goodness knows, the domestic market was becoming increasingly crowded and competitive these days. A girl had to be very pretty and very good to land any sort of reasonable position. Thus the girl swang happily up the narrow street, her light case an easy burden in her hand. How delightful to be seventeen on this perfect summer day!
The click of Stacy's heels made a staccato upon the winding walk as she approached the edifice, for the paving was of pure Vermont marble. She liked the sound her heels made. It was so mature. . . and exciting. Wasn't it wonderful that girls once again wore skirts and heels, she mused. Gracious, those photos of her mother back in the seventies! Girls wore those awful jeans and such cloddy, lumpy heels! And that terrible rock music. It was nice to be a girl again in a more subtle and calmer time.
The bell was answered by a mid-thirties woman who was neither attractive nor unattractive. Her attire attested that she would probably be the housekeeper under whom Stacy would serve. Her face was pleasant, however, a change from that frumpish Mrs. Donaldson in Albany, to say the least. Stacy was shown in to the sitting room, a magnificent place of thick carpet and stone fireplace.
"I am Miss Stone," said the woman after they had been seated, "but we use first names here at Woodriding House. Excepting the master and mistress, of course. They, we address by their station. Thus, you shall call me Norena. Now . . . it's Stacy, isn't it? Yes, well, Stacy, I have your letter of recommendation from the Hillings in Albany. They speak quite highly of you. Your credentials are very good, it seems. Master and Mistress only employ the finest young ladies, you see. They're most particular. We like the younger domestics here at Woodriding, no more than seventeen or eighteen. We'd prefer to get them right out of high school, but we've found that the . . . shall we say . . . uninitiated ones simply don't do. We prefer a domestic with a little experience behind her. Saves so much work and adjustment. Oh, the brand new ones do quality work, it seems, but of course there's the other things, like the whippings and the sex. Takes a little time for a new one, and we'd rather have one quite adept at these aspects of maid service."
"Oh, I understand perfectly, Norena," said Stacy. "I've been whipped quite a lot already, and as for sex I have. ..."
"Yes, I see that here in the letter, Stacy. Very good. You should work out quite well. Master and Mistress leave the staff up to me, of course, and you seem quite nice. Let's see, seventeen . . . out of school a year now . . . and two previous positions. Excellent. Well, come, Stacy, I'll show you about the place, and then let you meet the other maids and, hopefully, Master and Mistress."
The house was richly decorated and exuded with softness and quietness. Stacy was impressed by its appointments. It certainly was the best home she had been in!
"This is your room, Stacy. You share it, of course, with the other two girls."
"What a beautiful bed!" exclaimed Stacy. "Oh, it's lovely." The bed was huge and covered with the loveliest of blankets.
"It will hold the three of you quite nicely," said Norena proudly. "Here at Woodriding the maids sleep together. We feel it's the best way to promote a closeness among the girls. Maids who care for one another do so much better work together, it seems. You have, naturally, slept with other maids before?"
"Oh, yes. At Hillings residence, Donna and I slept together. She was so very good at sex. Just did all sorts of things with her mouth on my pussy. I've made love with boys and girls since I was twelve. Mother encouraged me since she wished that I go into domestic service. Miss Cummins, my domestic teacher, really couldn't teach me any more about sex. But Donna . . . golly . . . she.. . .
"Yes, well, I'm glad you like the room, Stacy," said Norena. "You see, it has a color television as well. And a phone. When the Master or Mistress calls for one of you to provide them pleasure you must always stop whatever you're doing and hop right upstairs. At once. Even if you are having sex with each other."
"I understand perfectly, Norena."
"Mrs. Hillings pointed out one fault in her letter, Stacy. She remarked that you often seem preoccupied with kissing other maids, even during work or duties. I encourage my girls to kiss each other, but I think you'll find, Stacy, that you have ample free time here to do that. Not in the kitchen while you're working."
"Thank you, Norena. I do admit to Mrs. Hillings' comments. I don't know why, but I really just like to kiss pretty girls. I shall try to behave myself. I value this position very much."
"Fine, Stacy. Now here is the clothes bureau for the three of you. At Woodriding the maids all wear the same costume, so you can put your things away in the closet. See, here in the top drawer is your blouse supply, and in the bottom, panties. In the closet hang your skirts, and on the floor your heels. There are several pair there, certainly one will be comfortable. All of you wear the same things, skirts, blouses, panties. You share them all. Nothing belongs to anyone in particular. Naturally, the maids keep their things washed and ironed."
"Oh, that's sweet," said Stacy. "I think sharing underpants is sexy."
"Yes, well . . . why don't you hop into your costume while we're here, Stacy."
Stacy undressed and put her things in her case, which she stored at the top of the closet. The panties were all the same, perhaps thirty pair, sheer white banlon which fit Stacy like a skin. Stacy was impressed. Her brown thatch was very evident through the panties. Quite possibly the mistress liked the view of pubic hair. A point for her, thought Stacy. The blouse was white rayon, the current popular servant's type with sweeping off-the-shoulder neckline of low proportions. She'd worn the same at Hillings, but these were of much more expensive material. The skirt was black, to mid-thigh, and the heels were narrow and also black. Stacy felt sensuous, and so terribly feminine.
Norena helped Stacy adjust the shoulder bows on the blouse so that the neckline fell to its proper place at nipple level. The top half of Stacy's aureolas showed nicely, as was customary. She bent over as if to dust or sweep, and all of her nipples and most of the breasts swung free of the blouse.
"Perfect. Thank you, Norena," she smiled. It was the perfect blouse for a maid these days, said Cosmopolitan and Seventeen. Stacy had worn the same in her other two positions, and had learned that a good little maid left her bows very loose so that her breasts fell out free most of the time. One simply didn't pop them back in. That was very juvenile in this day and age.
Off the kitchen was the dining room and a pantry, and the kitchen itself was huge. In the center was a table of great proportions.
"At Woodriding we expect our maids to be well experienced in discipline," said Norena. "I simply don't have time to try and catch all the errors you make. We expect the girls to respond to their own mistakes. If you deserve a whipping, simply lay over the table here, legs spread, skirt up above your underpants completely so that your bare waist shows. I'll whip you when I have time. You just lie there and wait. I simply can't stop what I'm doing to whip a girl every time she requires one."
"Oh, that's nice," said Stacy. "I love the honor system. I never cheat when I deserve a whipping."
"I don't give a set amount of whip lashes," said Norena. "It's really just how I feel at the moment and how serious the offense was. And, of course, how busy I am at the moment. But I'll try to get to you as soon as possible, so that you may get back to your work. Just have patience. I whip you only on your pants. Only the Master or Mistress may whip you bare. There are also tables in the sitting room, library, upstairs hall and bedrooms in case you need be whipped there. Just find a table and wait. If I don't know you're there one of the other maids will tell me. Naturally, the Master and Mistress may also whip you at any time. I'm sure you've been a domestic long enough to know that the heads of the household do not need a reason to punish a maid. They may do so just for their own gratification and pleasure."
"Oh, yes. I am well aware of that, Norena. It is their privilege, and part of my being a maid. I do expect it. My former employers took full use of that right. That's what girls are for."
"In the master bedroom, the Master and Mistress have some excellent whipping devices," said Norena. In addition, there is a whipping post in the yard for good weather. I am allowed to whip only your bottoms, but the employers of course may whip girls anywhere on their bodies. You do understand that, Stacy?"
"Yes, of course."
"Now, here in the pantry on the wall, are the whips. I just don't have time to stand there trying to choose. Simply select one yourself when you deserve punishment and lay it on the table beside you."
Stacy had never seen quite so large a selection. There were at least a dozen.
"You can see for yourself, Stacy, some are quite . .. efficient. I'm afraid if you select certain ones you may have your panties torn and ruined. Other ones are more gentle. But, it's entirely up to the maid."
"Well, that certainly sounds fair," answered Stacy. "You're very nice to work for."
"Come, I'll show you the cellar." The rooms below the house were stone, well fitted, and not damp in the least. There was a fruit pantry, a laundry room, and two other rooms which were enclosed by heavy wooden doors. Norena opened one. The room was average size.
"Oooh, a punishment room," said Stacy, her eyes wide. "The Hillings didn't have one . . . but I've heard about them. Do you punish us here?"
"I don't. This is for Master and Mistress only. Maids are punished here for more . . . serious offenses ... or sometimes just for the sport of it. It's fairly common in New England."
"I've never seen so many chains and things. And some of those things I just can't imagine what they are used for. But I'll bet they hurt a girl."
"Of course they do, Stacy. Mistress especially likes to hurt girls. I suppose it's rather a hobby for her. Master is so busy with his business and his government job. Mistress must find something to do, and the maids please her so in here. Does it bother you?"
"No, not at all. Just curious," said Stacy. "Mistress must be a rather exciting woman. It's just that I've never been hurt any other way than whipping. But then again, I suppose my body is as good as the next girl's for that sort of thing. Just have to get used to it if I'm going to keep my position."
"Yes, Stacy. I'd say you'd do quite well in this room. I wouldn't worry about it. By the way, you don't mind occasional ropes and chairs about the house, do you? I mean, on your arms and legs. Mistress and Master like to see the maids wear such items occasionally."
"Oh, no, not at all. Miss Cummins says a girl bound is much more attractive. I saw Donna tied once. She looked super! Anyway, heavens, we learned in domestic class that bondage goes with the job. No problem."
"The employers also have parties, Stacy, and of course you'll be expected to please the guests in various . . . well. . . ways."
"You mean fuck the men and suck the women. Sorry, Norena, Miss Cummins always told us to talk plain. I'm quite good at that activity. After all, what's a maid for?"
"Excellent, Stacy. I think your attitude is very good. One other thing, getting back to whipping for a moment, there may be times when I'm in town or too busy to whip one of you for something. At Woodriding, we expect the girls to whip each other when necessary . . . and do a good job of it."
"Well, I must admit I haven't whipped another girl as yet, Norena, but it certainly doesn't seem too difficult. I'm sure I'd enjoy it and do a good job of it. I think it's nice that you trust the maids to whip each other."
"The other room, which I won't show you now," said Norena, "is for reform affairs. For more mature females, so to speak."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Stacy.
"Well, you know that three years ago this state and others sought to save money by eliminating women's prisons, except for the more serious offenses such as capital and such things. A convicted female now can have a choice between imprisonment for her term, or being punished severely for one day. It was an excellent decision, for most women choose the punishment, and it has reduced female prison population to a bare minimum. Saves tremendous expenses each year. In this state, there are three homes, well equipped with punishment facilities. Woodriding is one. The state chose only those places where the owners are into the pleasures of such things, of course. The woman of the house is the one required to punish the females assigned to the place. It's not for modesty's sake. Women just do a better job of punishing other women than men do, so naturally the state requires that obligation. It takes a very special female to perform the task well, and of course Mistress is very good at it. A woman must enjoy the job. Mistress loves it. Of course, Master's job in the state government helped too. Anyway, the reform affairs take place on the first Saturday of each month, in that room. Sometimes there are three or four to be punished, sometimes more. Master watches when he can."
"Gosh, sounds intriguing," answered Stacy, "Are the women punished well?"
"Indeed. Mistress hurts them terribly. She's so good at it. The state requires an efficient job of it, or one can lose the contract. Yet, what female would rather not suffer for one day, than to spend a year or two in jail? Pretty women shouldn't be in prison anyway. They're much too valuable to their husbands and families to be away for long. When a woman is in prison it punishes her husband too, for she is not home providing her body as she should be. It has worked out very well, like it did in the older times, when females were punished rather than imprisoned. One wonders why female imprisonment ever began, anyway! Well, happily, times have changed again, and it works out so much better this way. And naturally, it produces much fun for those who apply the punishments. The recipients are extremely glad, once the agony is over. I mean, one day, and that's it. They are free to go home. Doubtful too whether they'll ever commit a crime again because the hurt is fantastic. The rate of repeat offenders is now very low. In the past, imprisoned females had a high rate of continued offenses."
"Are the women punished according to their offenses or length of term they are replacing?" asked Stacy.
"The state found that impractical. How can Mistress, for instance, apply one degree of pain to one female and another degree to the next one? Each woman is different. Some can take more than others. No, Mistress is allowed full sway with all of the recipients. In fact, she doesn't even care to know of their particular offenses. She hurts them all alike, using whatever comes to her mind at the moment. Gives her a chance to experiment some too. However, each woman gets a different punishment. Varies things. It's really a break for the women, no matter how much it hurts. Mistress usually starts about four, and goes on until nine or ten. So it really is only several hours of suffering, rather than a full day."
"How are the woman prisoners assigned here, Norena? By chance?"
"Well, they are supposed to be by custom, but Mistress has a . . . girlfriend . . . ahem ... in the assignment office. It seems like the prettiest ones are assigned here, as well as the youngest. Hardly ever see one over thirty here. Some are eighteen or nineteen. Mistress likes those a lot."
"Wow. That's young for heavy stuff. Mistress must have a ball with them. Do you go in there, Norena?"
"Only occasionally to bring in drinks. I can't linger long, though. ..." Norena's voice trailed off wistfully. It was obvious that she regretted her position as housekeeper at those times.
"Well, at least you do get to see a little, Norena. Wish I could attend once."
"You will be much luckier than I, Stacy. Mistress usually has the maids help her in there. It's hard for her to torture everyone, especially if there are four or five. Besides, sometimes she just likes to sit with the Master, with her martini, and watch the maids do it to the prisoners. I can imagine it must be very exciting to watch you young ones punish them. Fun for you girls too. I envy you. Trish and Dania get very worked up, they tell me. Well, you know what I mean."
"You mean they come in their panties."
"Well . . . yes. You are blunt, Stacy."
"I think the whole idea is super. At least these days a woman has a choice of prison or torture for a day. Makes good sense to me."
"Well, we've talked for long enough down here. Let's go upstairs and introduce you to the other maids. I think Master and Mistress are in, too. They have been looking forward to you."
- - -
Dania and Trish were a contrast. The former had long dark hair, the other short and blonde. They made a pretty pair in the kitchen as Stacy and the housekeeper walked in. The introductions were made, accompanied by the expected kisses. Trish kissed Stacy like a girl should, with full embrace and arms hugging tightly around Stacy's slender back. It was a warm, firm kiss of tingling sensations and Stacy was sorry to see it end. Trish had thrust her hips nicely up against Stacy's, a nicety that Stacy always liked in a girl. Chalk one up for Trish, thought Stacy. The blonde was cute. Good in bed too, very likely.
Dania had to kiss Stacy encumbered by her circumstance. The deliciously slim brunette had her wrists and elbows bound behind her, thus she could only offer her thrusting lips to Stacy's. Dania's kiss was magnificent despite her hindrance. Her face turned from side to side as she tasted Stacy's lips, and finally her warm tongue slipped naughtily into Stacy's mouth. Stacy felt the current charge through her as Dania refused to stop. Her kiss was now accompanied by cute little mewling noises as she began to turn on to Stacy. Her body, despite her ropes, wiggled pleasantly. Dania's bondage had forced her breasts out of her blouse completely and they lay against Stacy's blouse. Stacy could feel the heat of them, and the sight of them was a delightful surprise. Dania, like Trish, was Stacy's age, but her breasts were something else. It wasn't that they were big. They really weren't at all any bigger than Stacy or Trish's. It was that they were so beautifully long. Stacy was reminded of the movies she had seen of Tahitian girls with long breasts from nursing children, not cucumber-like and unsightly, but beautifully curved and exciting with exquisitely long nipples. To say that Stacy immediately liked Trish and Dania was an understatement. They knew how to kiss!
"Sorry, Stacy," said Dania, "I can't hold you when I kiss. As you see, I have a little problem with my arms. Mistress has had me this way since morning. She likes to use the elbow ropes on me a lot. Makes my tits pop right out of my blouse when she pulls my elbows together. Pleases her a lot."
"Mistress keeps tying one of 'em or the other," complained Norena. "How does she expect me to get the work done when one of them is always helpless. She simply doesn't realize that I need both of them around here. She knows I complain about it, that's why she took on another girl in you, Stacy. Mercy!"
"Well, I've done her share and mine," pouted Trish. "Dania and I pick up the slack for each other, you know. It's 'cause we love each other so much, isn't it, Dania?"
"Mmm-hmm," agreed Dania.
"Yes, you do, both of you, I must admit," said the housekeeper. "You're good workers. But I think Stacy will be a great help, don't you?"
"Oh, yes," said Trish. "And she's so cute. We like her, don't we, Dania?"
"Can hardly wait for bed," smiled Dania. "Hope Mistress unties my arms by then. Hate to spend my first night with Stacy like this. I want to hold her when I eat her pussy. Do you like us, Stacy?"
You're both just super! I'll love working you . . . and being with you. Honestly, Dania, you have the most unbelievable breasts I think I've ever seen. Have you nursed?"
"No way," laughed Dania. "It's Mistress' doing. Breast weights in the punishment room do wonders in a couple of months. She wants my tits about two inches longer still. She'll get the job done. Golly, if my folks could see my tits now they wouldn't believe it! You should see 'em when I run! Oh, well, I kinda like it. Sexy. Mistress is going to start on Trish's nipples soon with the punishment weights. An inch, Trish?"
"Inch and a half! Boy, will I be something in a tank top at the beach. Oh well, Dania, we chose to be maids. Wonder what she's gonna do to Stacy? Maybe a six-inch tongue!" The girls all laughed.
"I don't need a six-inch tongue," said Stacy. "You'll see, in bed tonight!"
"Well, that's enough chatter," said Norena. "There's work to be done. You have all night for girl games. Show Stacy her duties and get her started. There's so much to be done before Mistress' bridge club tonight. In fact, I think I'll ask Mistress if she will untie Dania. I simply need you, all right now."
Stacy was shown her duties about the kitchen. It was a matter of making the glasses sparkle, preparing cheese dips, and other culinary duties. There was no time for small talk at all. Yet, girls of this age need play as well, like frisky pups. Stacy felt a tap at her shoulder as she fixed the spreads. When she turned, Trish planted a kiss on her mouth.
"Surprise!" laughed Trish. Trish's hands pulled Stacy's breasts out of her blouse and played with them. There was only one way for a girl to respond to that sort of nonsense, and Stacy's fingers closed over Trish's warm breasts.
"Want to play with Dania's? She can't do much to stop us," laughed Trish.
"Let's," said Stacy. The two imps found Dania's unique breasts very willing playthings. The long, curving flesh was fun to fondle.
"Dania gets turned on easy, Stacy," said Trish. "Watch." Trish's lips found one of Dania's nipples and sucked on it noisily.
"Ooh, don't, Trish! Not when I'm tied like this. It isn't fair. You know I turn on when I'm tied and you do things to me. Hey, stop, Trish ... oh, don't."
"See, Stacy! She'll start making funny little noises in a minute. Bet her pants are wet already. Have a look-see!"
Stacy was having a ball. These two girls were fun! Her type of girls indeed. She began to lift up Dania's skirt to see if Trish's prediction was true, when her elbow caught a goblet on the counter. The glass shattered into a dozen pieces on the floor. The girl games were over. No one spoke. Stacy was dying. On the job less than an hour and already she had broken something.
Trish walked into the pantry and returned with a rust-colored leather whip. She lay the lash on the table and spread herself nicely over the shiny maple surface. Her hands found her skirt, and with a crisp rustle it was pulled almost up to her breasts. She tucked it under her.
Stacy had two separate trains of thought at that moment. The first was physical. Trish's slender legs and beautiful taut bottom were delightful to behold. There wasn't a wrinkle in the skintight white panties. A girl in that position was most definitely a super sight. Maids are so precious in white panties! It was a momentary sense of pleasure, however. Stacy's second thought was of the situation.
"Trish, I broke the glass. I'm the one who should be whipped. Get up, honey."
"No way, Stacy. I started the foolishness. It's not the girl who does the breaking. It's the one who causes it. At least, if we all love each other, we don't turn each other in. We'd rather take it ourselves, but we don't have to. A girl always owns up to her mistakes."
"That's beautiful," sighed Stacy. "Oh, that's just beautiful. That's the way girls should behave. Donna, at my last place, always used to turn me in because she liked to see me get whipped. Made her sexy. I never complained about her though to the Mistress because she was so nice to me in bed. But you two are something else. Super special. I love your honesty. I'm gonna love you both a lot."
Trish remained in her punishment position for quite a while, waiting for Norena to come. Dania, being bound, was of no help, so Stacy worked feverishly trying to do the work of three. It was fifteen minutes before the housekeeper came.
"Oh, Trish! Darn you, anyway!" she complained. "I've so much to do. It's already close to five. It's the worst possible time for a whipping. I'm very angry at you! You deserve a good long one, Trish, but I just haven't time. I'll simply have to make it short but very, very hard."
Norena picked up the springy whip and positioned herself behind Trish's expectant bottom.
Trish's hands gripped the sides of the table in anticipation of the hurt. Stacy knew it well. It was what a girl always did with her hands. Stacy turned back to her cheese dips.
"You have to watch, Stacy. It's the rule," said Trish softly. Stacy wiped her hands on a tea cloth and faced the scene. A girl always had mixed emotions about such things. It wasn't the best to see your sister maid punished. After all, it did hurt her, and if you loved her you felt some sympathy. Yet, if a girl admitted her own peculiarities, it was an exciting thing to see. Stacy knew it would turn her on. Especially someone new like Trish.
The sound of a whip swishing through the air and retorting upon a girl's bottom was unique. There was nothing else like it. Nor was there a sight like the sudden red streak which appeared under her panties. The lash had been terribly hard. Trish's knuckles were white as her hands gripped the table edge.
The severity of a whipping was determined by how long it took a girl to start making sounds. Stacy knew that through experience. Even Miss Cummins in domestic class had taught her that. The housekeeper's severity would make Trish yowl quickly, thought Stacy. Unless, of course, Trish was a really super girl. Thus, when Trish gasped loudly upon the second lash it did not surprise Stacy. Nor did her squeal at the fourth, nor her full-throated yowl at the seventh. The tenth produced glistening tears which did not quite fall, and the twelfth finally made Trish squirm for the first time. The fourteenth made her knees buckle for just a brief moment, but she quickly stuck her bottom back where it belonged. The fifteenth lash tore a strip from Trish's panties and made Stacy's pants suddenly very wet. She was afraid she was going to orgasm. There was no sixteenth lash. The housekeeper left to get back to her work.
A girl just doesn't get right up after a whipping. Stacy knew that well. She lays, collecting her senses for a bit. If she's a good domestic she doesn't bitch about it either, nor wail, nor complain. She might say, like Trish did, "Wow, my ass." But not much more. Nor does a perfect maid get up, rubbing her flaming buttocks with her hands. She simply stands up and lowers her skirt back to where it belongs. If she has tears, she wipes them clean, and changes the subject.
"How are you coming with the dips, Stacy?"
But at least her punishment and courage gets her one thing. In this case, two things. A sensuous, warm kiss from both Stacy and Dania, and a touching of the thighs when one or the other stood next to her at the counter. It was the language of girls. No words. Just a touch. But the message it carried was pure love.
Norena returned a short time later with the employers in tow. It was always a concern, before the initial introduction, as to what the mistress and master would look like. Not that it mattered as far as a maid's duties, of course. But it was nice if the household heads were somewhat attractive. Thus, it was with anxiety that Stacy turned from the counter to be introduced, for the Hillings had not been handsome at all. Stacy stifled a gasp of subtle pleasure. Master and Mistress were quite nice indeed!
They were much younger than the Hillings in Albany. Perhaps mid-thirties, thought Stacy. Young enough yet to still possess the desires and emotions inherent in employer-maid relationships, and with the physical capability to do more than just fantasize about it. Yet, mature enough to have the necessary patience to wring full benefit out of any involvement with a domestic. They would punish, and bed, with sophistication and without hurry, and obviously would do both jobs well. A perfect age for employers, Miss Cummins had said.
Master was the epitome of dignified businessman. His government service showed in his aplomb and bearing, and even in the way he held his martini. His vested suit revealed his taste in clothes. It was beige, with a rust tie to give a touch of color. Master was one of those gentlemen who did not expect his clothes to put on a show for him. The clothes were elegant and correct, but did not cry for attention. It was the handsome and sculptured face, and bearing, of the man which would be noticed in a crowd. He looked at Stacy with obvious satisfaction, which pleased her, of course. Maids are supposed to be looked at with desire. But Master had dignity even in his inspection of her half-bare breasts. His eyes fell upon them, as they well should, but it was not a leering, lecherous glance that Stacy had seen so often from Mr. Hillings. Master was of much higher class, and would control his emotions and countenance outside of his bedroom. Master rated with Stacy already.
Stacy found only one word for Mistress. Elegant. Rather a period type word, but the only perfect one. Like her husband, Mistress was dignity, beauty and class material. She wore her dark hair long still, which spoke for her refusal to submit herself to that particular age when some women feel they must wear a more mature hairstyle. As a result, the hair gave Mistress a subtle, girlish air of appearance which contrasted beautifully with her maturity of thirty-five. Mistress exuded sex, observed Stacy. Not in a blatant or obvious way, but in a sophisticated, controlled manner. It didn't shout out its existence, but it lurked just beneath the surface ready to blossom in full excitement at the right time. And by her eyes, there were many right times. Stacy knew females, even at her age. Mistress was a delight, and Stacy understood her completely. Mistress was an enjoyable Jekyll and Hyde, Stacy visualized. That erotic female who would sit in the library perusing a journal in reading glasses and conservative dressing gown. But her eyes would subtly follow the journey of a maid across the room, disturbing her thoughts, and within the hour she might well be a naked cobra, swinging her whip with sexual excitement upon the flesh of the young domestic who had aroused her. The whipping would not be frenzied with this Mistress. It would be a banquet of leisurely courses, each lash an island of pleasure in itself. Stacy knew her appraisal of Mistress was accurate.
The lovely woman was also intelligent in her attire. She did not attempt to compete with the nearly exposed breasts of her young domestics, although it was obvious that her breasts were lovely. Instead, she wore a high-necked satin blouse which allowed for the full swell of the breasts. It was purposely a definite contrast to the revealing blouses of her maids, and thus, very clever.
She greeted Stacy with a smile of honesty and appreciation. As she had been taught, Stacy curtsied to Mistress, then stood in front of her to allow her the liberties to which she was entitled. The kiss was dignified, as Stacy knew it would be, but promised more by its firmness. Mistress lower Stacy's neckline the necessary inch or two to bare the breasts, and fondled them softly, patiently and expertly, until the expected nipple erection took place. She returned Stacy's neckline to its former position.
"Thank you, Mistress," said Stacy correctly.
"My husband and I are glad to have you at Woodriding, Stacy. You appear to be quite nice."
"Thank you, Mistress," replied Stacy with the correct amount of blush, practiced so diligently in domestic class.
"Pardon me, Mistress," said the impatient housekeeper, "but, as I mentioned, I simply must have Dania's arms untied. Your bridge club is only three hours away, and I need all three of the girls."
"Yes, of course, Norena. How forgetful of me. How long have you been bound, Dania?"
"You tied me this morning, Mistress," said Dania.
"Yes. Simply forgot. Come here, Dania, and I'll undo you." Mistress pulled the ropes from her arms and Dania gasped at the sudden release of pressure. Dania could not as yet put her arms back in their proper position, and they stayed behind her. Stacy could see the deeply imbedded rope imprints in Dania's flesh.
"Thank you, Mistress," said Dania, slowly easing her arms back to their normal state.
Just before eight, Mistress inspected her maids who stood in a row in the hall. It was her custom, to assure her guests that the attractive domestics presented a lovely vision. After all, maids, like cars and furniture, were things to show off with pride in society. A status symbol, of course.
Mistress flicked a curl and a lock here, and a straightening of belts at the waist. Lastly, a further loosening of the shoulder bows to make sure that the delicate pink aureolas were nicely exposed.
"Now bend as if serving, girls. Let's see if the bows are loose enough."
The young servants bent forward properly, and three pair of saucy breasts pushed their nipples free of the blouses.
"Good. Just right, girls. Be sure to bend fully forward when serving. Let the nipples be seen each time. Dania, I think I'll loosen your bows a little more so that when you serve, your breasts will fall out completely. They are unique and I've worked so hard on them. I should receive some compliments from my friends. They will be quite envious, I'm afraid. Now, remember, always curtsy when spoken to, lifting the skirt up high on the way down. Show all of your underpants briefly. Stacy, are you familiar with the proper curtsy?"
"Oh, yes, Mistress. Learned in school. Always show the pants."
"Very well. There's the doorbell. Run along now, and bring in the dips and wine in fifteen minutes."
- - -
The bridge party had gone well, the domestics scurrying about with trays and decanters. They performed mistake-free, happily for the Mistress. It was embarrassing, of course, to the host to have domestics who spilled or floundered. Stacy, Trish and Dania performed perfectly and Mistress was very pleased. Thus, by eleven, the dishes and glasses had been washed and the three had showered and plopped themselves nakedly on their huge bed upstairs.
"Oh, good," said Dania. "It's just eleven. We can watch this week's chapter of Lanya of the Jungle on channel 10. Do you watch it, Stacy? Trish and I always do on Thursdays. Really turns us on."
"Oh, yes, Dania. I just love Marlene Parkins in the role. She's such a good actress, and so sexy. I could just eat her up. I missed last week, though. The Hillings had a late party, damn it. You can fill me in. I love TV after eleven. The adult shows are so good these days. Mom says that back when she was younger they didn't have Lanya or any such shows. Must have been the pits in those days."
The screen crackled to life on the bureau top, and the three girls lay side by side, their elbows holding up their heads. They presented an appearance of three identical children's dolls, the three slender backs and upthrusting bottoms exactly alike in every way.
In the olden days it had been The Perils of Pauline and Flash Gordon as television serials. Today, Lanya was the current hit, with her seemingly endless misfortunes and captures, deep within a jungle society. Once, long ago, there had been Tarzan, but the serials had reflected the conservatism of that era. These days, actors and actresses didn't need special effects or fill-ins. Everything was perfectly real, and therefore much, much better. Of course, for the salaries the stars received, it should be real.
The screen flashed a recommendation that young people under twelve should be forewarned of the content by parents. It was an FCC regulation only, for what kid these days didn't have his or her own TV set in the bedroom. Stacy had begun watching Lanya at ten, when Barbara Kerry had played the role.
The plot was thin, but it didn't matter. Marlene Parkins made up for it, and no one cared about the shallow scripts. "Lanya" sat by her friendly jungle stream, as this chapter opened, breast-feeding her son, an event which was happily repeated in man; chapters. Naturally, Marlene Parkins could breast feed, for the part required it. The producers made sure that they abided by the reality regulations, and the camera zoomed in on a closeup of the child nursing a turgid nipple. Lanya's milk ran and spurted nicely about the screen.
"Oooh," exclaimed Trish. "She's got such a lot. Turns me on. Like to have a lunch on her tits myself."
"Shush, Trish," said Dania. "We want to hear.
The child continued its sucking and Lanya lay back her head in obvious pleasure at the sensations it caused her. The three girls on the bed could almost feel the sensations themselves, and Stacy felt Trish's hand resting on her bare buttocks suddenly. She wiggled closer to Trish.
The evil and bearded group of slavers naturally came upon the scene, and liked what they saw in Lanya. Lanya didn't like them, obviously, and took off like a cheetah in her brief tiger-skin panties. The girl could really run. Naturally, though, there was the tree root. She was set upon and bound, her heaving, panting breasts dribbling milk from their bouncing on the trail. Poor Lanya. Roped again, as usual. What now? Commercial time.
There was the trek back to the slaver's camp with Lanya trussed to a pole between two native carriers like a dead animal. Then the heroine was tied between two posts by upraised and spread arms to await the whip of Longo, the chief bad-man, of rippling muscles and rotten personality Too, there appeared Ula, his resident concubine, who would like nothing better than to see Lanya have her hide stripped off. Ula didn't like white girls at all.
Nasty Longo raised his whip to begin on Lanya, but friendly Ula bade him hold for a moment, so that she might taunt Lanya a little first. Her hands played with Lanya's breasts, bringing more milk to the screen, then in hatred, Ula ripped off Lanya's pants. She would be whipped nude. Commercial time.
The three bare domestics were already squirming and wiggling on the bedspread, their arms around each other. Commercials were nice for girl kissing, and the three took advantage of the time to exchange some mouth-to-mouth fun.
Poor Lanya! Here it comes. She looks gorgeous with her golden pubic hair. Zap! A dandy! Look at that mark on her back! Gosh, poor Lanya is going to get twenty zaps. Zowie! Right on that nice bottom! Closeup frame too. Long-range mikes are excellent. Catch the whip sounds well, and, wow, can that girl yell! There, that's her twenty. Longo's happy. Ula's happy. Lanya's not so happy. Let's see her backside now. There. Wow! Real blood trickling from a couple of spots.
"That girl is really super," remarked Stacy. "Heck of a whipping." Stacy found one of Dania's long breasts and held it.
What next for Lanya? Look, she's tied to stakes in the ground. Longo really has a tool, doesn't he? Give it to her, Longo! Wow, look at Lanya throw her hips into that guy, tied or not. Getting the hell raped out of her. Lanya orgasms with a squeal. Longo, the nasty s.o.b., comes in her pussy. Shame, Longo! Come on, camera, let's really see if she got it. Closeup. Yep, it's running out of her puss. Good camera work. Now what? Ula is kneeling over her. Oh, no. Lanya has to eat her out? Yep! Do a job on her, Lanya. That's the girl! Wow! Can Marlene Parkins eat a girl? You better believe it! Commercial again.
"You two want to see the rest of this?" gasped Dania. "I'm on fire. Let's play pussy games."
"Oh, Dania," said Stacy. "There's only a minute or two left. You can wait. Then we'll have a super session."
The last scene was the "come-on" for next week's episode. A mini-preview. Bound to still another post, our heroine watches Ula prepare the branding iron. Her eyes widen as the native girl aims the hot iron at one of her slender thighs. Closer . . . closer. . . . Cut. End of Chapter Six. Next week, Marlene Parkins, as Lanya, will be branded on her leg. Really.
The girls moved up off their tummies to get down to business. Three wet spots marked their former resting places. Identical.
"Let's give Stacy a welcome to Woodriding," said Trish. "Ever have two girls eat you together, Stacy?"
"Not until now," smiled Stacy, squirming deliciously and spreading her legs. "Oh, God. . . that's fantastic! Oooooh. ..." Her hands waved aimlessly in the air and finally found their proper places in the bobbing hair of her two lovers' heads.
It was well after one before the bedroom of the domestics became devoid of moans, giggles, mewlings and screams.
Chapter Two
Stacy really had done quite well for a new maid. It wasn't until the fourth day that she earned her first whipping, and both Norena and Mistress were impressed with her efficiency. The iron had really been too hot, and Stacy had tinged the hem of one of Mistress' skirts.
"Well, you are honest about it, Stacy," said Mistress when she pointed it out to her. "I really wouldn't have noticed. Naturally, if I had, and you hadn't said anything, you would be dismissed. You've been taught well."
"Thank you, Mistress. Do you have time to whip me now, or is it inconvenient?"
"Now would be excellent, Stacy. There's jus' enough time before my husband gets home for our cocktail hour. Go downstairs and select your whip. Ask Trish and Dania to come up to watch, please, think the hall table would be nice today."
"Thank you, Mistress."
It was a predicament, in the pantry, to select a whip. At her previous positions she was not required to choose her own instrument of punishment. In a way, Stacy thought it rather interesting. She removed one after the other from their hooks, holding them and snapping them. It was impossible! A girl could waste an hour deciding.
Finally, in girlish desperation, Stacy closed her eyes, whirled around twice and put out her hand. It was the one with two leather thongs. Good as any, she thought.
"Trish, Dania ... sorry to bother you. Whipping time for your new helper."
"Well, it's about time," laughed Dania. "We thought you were never going to make a mistake! Is it Norena or Mistress?"
"Mistress," said Stacy.
"Oh, lucky you," chirped Trish. "It's a lot more sexy with her. Hurts more, though. You can't wear your panties when Mistress whips you, you know."
The three traipsed upstairs to the hall. Mistress awaited them, her blouse removed to facilitate her arm movements. Her breasts were very lovely.
Trish whispered to Stacy, "See, I told you it was sexier with her! She never wears much when she whips us. Look, her nipples are already hard. She must like you, Stacy."
"I've noticed."
Stacy lifted up her skirt and peeled down her panties, stepped out of them, and placed them, folded properly, on the table beside the whip. Miss Cummins had taught the domestic class never to pull one's pants down around the knees. It was a silly sight. Take them off, and fold them neatly on the table or floor.
Stacy spread herself over the table, her skirt hiked to her waist. She found the proper balance on her stomach, then satisfied, spread her legs nicely apart. Stacy always felt a tingle when she spread her legs for a whipping. A girl just seemingly never gets quite used to exposing her sex voluntarily. And of course, before a new mistress who was getting to see it for the first time, a pretty mistress al that, well. . . .
Besides, Trish and Dania would see her first whipping too. Another tingle, because they were lovers. Stacy was breathing rather hard, in fact. She was glad her two lovemates were there. It was the sign of a real girl, of course, for one who wished that her whipping would be done in private simply hadn't grown up yet. It hurt just as much either way. The whipping had to be received, so why not at least know that your two friends would enjoy it. If one loved her sister maids like she should, then she hoped her punishment would turn them on. The whipping would then be well worth it. It was, in fact, honest love between girls. Stacy had gotten her pants wet watching Trish whipped, so fair is fair. Wet your pants, Trish, thought Stacy.
The first lash is always such a surprise. The terrific sound always seems like it is somewhere else. Then a girl feels that awful burning on her bottom, and she knows that the sound was her own flesh.
By the fourth lash, Stacy knew that the whipping was . . . different. Her previous employers, and even Norena, whipped her basically because it had to be done. A task, so to speak. The lashes fell in repetition, in a steady rhythm, falling where they might. It was a matter of whipping the girl and getting it over with. It was, in essence, a punishment deserved. But Mistress was quite different. Each lash was an event in itself. Separate. Distinct. Individual. There was no pattern to it, and they did not come close together. When a girl is whipped in a regular cadence, she can gauge the hurt and the strike. But when the pattern is very irregular, she knows not when the next will fall.
Thus each lash becomes a separate punishment, bringing the ultimate hurt.
Mistress was an artist, realized Stacy. Unhurried, patient. Maybe ten seconds between two lashes, then a full minute until the next, while the recipient squirmed mentally, almost begging for the next lash to end the suspense. Stacy could feel that Mistress also picked her target as well. Maybe one cheek only, then the other. Then both together. A girl just simply couldn't prepare for the next lash, and it left her breathless. Stacy had never been whipped by anyone like this. Ten strokes from Mistress were like twenty from anyone else. Besides, she had yowled on the third lash, which was early for Stacy. She had no doubt Mistress could make a girl yowl on the first if she desired. The woman was magnificent with a whip, simply magnificent. The hurt was intense. Stacy thought she'd probably cry before too long.
Then of course there was the other thing. Every so often, Mistress would lay the whip down beside Stacy and use her tender hands on her flesh in the most intimate manner. Her fingers were so gentle and nice. They didn't squeeze or fondle . . . they caressed. First they traced the whip marks on the cheeks, then up the slender back and under to a breast. Then, perhaps, they trailed on the sensitive flesh of the inner thighs before stroking gently the silken sex hair. Then, with a maddeningly soft touch of a finger or two, Mistress would trace the two separate sex lips, and gently stroke the clitoris. Stacy's body almost arched in tension, so tight were her emotions. The feeling was sensational, yet so taunting! If only she would plunge and probe with those fingers! But no, only the tender, delicate caress.
The occasional adventures of Mistress' fingers did something that the whip could not do. They made Stacy's knees buckle in helplessness. It was all she could do to keep her position and to keep her hands on the table edge. It was perhaps five lashes, or seven, then that intimate caressing which produced a scream every bit as loud as when the whip fell. Stacy had never experienced such ultimate variance between pain and pleasure. It was unbelievable in its contrast. At length, one became the other. Pain and pleasure were one. The fingers or the whip. Each now was intensely sexual. Stacy was dripping between her legs shamelessly. She had no idea how many lashes fell. She really didn't care.
In a daze, she felt Mistress' face caressing her own, the soft, rich lips nibbling at her mouth, and her own lips returning the kiss. Mistress whispered into her ear, "Have you cried yet, Stacy?"
"No, Mistress, not quite."
"I will make you cry now, little girl, with the whip. A girl isn't whipped properly until she cries. Then, when you cry, I'll come back and we'll kiss again!"
"Yes, Mistress."
The hall echoed with the terrible lash sounds and Stacy's bottom lurched and bounced. She began to sob. Mistress returned her face to Stacy's.
"Are you close to orgasm, Stacy?"
"Yes . . . you . . . know I am."
Mistress withdrew. The whip howled up into Stacy's sex. Just once. The shock and the hurt and the surprise was so intense that Stacy's mind could not react quickly to it. It was not possible that anything could hurt like that! Then the agony at her sex subsided somewhat, and the full implication of where she had taken the lash overwhelmed her senses. Stacy climaxed quite wildly and beat her fists upon the table for a very long time in utter astonishment at the force of her orgasm.
Mistress departed from the hall. Stacy had no desire to move or stand up. Her eyes were closed. Trish and Dania stroked her wet back.
"Wait until you see your ass in the mirror," laughed Dania. "Looks like a zebra! See, I told you a whipping from Mistress was special. How do you feel, hon?"
Stacy managed a weak smile for her friend. "Just go away and let me lie here and die. It isn't the whipping, it's the other stuff."
"We know!" laughed Trish. "Hey, you're starting to squirm again. You gonna come again?"
"I think so."
- - -
Master and Mistress had class, thought Stacy. After all, Mr. Hillings had jumped all over her the very first night. It was quite obscene to fuck a maid the very first night. A girl should at least be given the chance to get adjusted to the new home and to her new employers before bedding her. It was only proper.
It was the fifth night before Stacy was telephoned to the bedroom. More than enough time to get adjusted, and Stacy admired them for it. Class in people always shows through. It was not unexpected either, for Stacy knew that afternoon. She had been dusting the library shelves as Mistress read across the room. She had heard Mistress' book plop down, and the soft footsteps behind her. A maid obviously doesn't turn around when Master or Mistress puts their hands about her waist. It's their privilege. Mistress' hands went to Stacy's skirt hem, then lifted the skirt up to her waist before holding her again. Stacy was all legs and white panties. It was hard to continue dusting, of course. There simply is no other way for a girl to react but to lay her head back on Mistress' shoulder and purr like a kitten being stroked.
"Would you like to dust around in just your pants, Stacy? It would please me."
"Of course, Mistress." And so she did. Mistress had a terrible time trying to read eventually. "Share some wine with me, Stacy. Sit over there so I can look at you."
It was, naturally, a unique compliment. A domestic wasn't often asked to sit down and share wine with the mistress or master. Stacy plopped herself in the hardback chair across from the elegant woman. Mistress didn't wish to talk . . . just to look at her. Well, that's what maids are for, Miss Cummins had said in school. You certainly didn't initiate the conversation. It took some practice to sit like that, silently, and let yourself be admired. You weren't supposed to blush, or fidget, or drum your fingers, or look around. You just acted like you were alone, fingering the rim of your wine glass, and looking very comfortable and self-assured. If you wore your skirt, you opened your legs just enough so your panties showed. If you wore just pants, or were naked, then it was proper to keep the legs apart further. It was in chapter three of Nelson's Domestic Studies. Above all, make sure your underpants are the sheer kind. Let them see your fur. Talk with your eyes, not your mouth.
Stacy slipped one thigh over the chair edge, spreading herself wide apart. She sipped her glass, and began with the eye treatment over the top of the glass. It was always effective, said Miss Cummins. Mistress joined in with the eye game. It was sexy. Stacy moved her other thigh over the chair edge. Her pants now didn't do much to cover her, as she well knew. Her brown tufts would be sticking out both sides of the narrow strip, her pink lips pressed visibly and clearly against the moist, white sheerness of her panty. It was effective. Mistress subconsciously ran a tongue over one lip.
"You'll have to excuse me now, Stacy. I hear my husband's car in the driveway. Put on your things. Tell Trish to serve the cocktails this evening, and Dania the food. By the way, advise Dania to serve without her blouse tonight. I like to watch her when she walks. You shall serve the wine course after dessert, Stacy. I think I shall have you sit on my lap and feed me the wine. I just adore your eyes."
"Yes, of course, Mistress."
"Oh, by the way, Stacy, tonight you shall spend with us in bed."
"Thank you. Mistress. It's very kind of you."
Thus, when the telephone rang in the domestics' bedroom, Stacy was ready. Trish and Dania had mothered her like a hen, brushing her hair, putting on her lipstick and perfume, and generally fussing over her. Stacy wore only heels.
"Stand up, darling," said Trish. "Let us see you. Oh, you look just scrumptious! Could eat you up. Here, let's put some rouge on your pretty nipples."
"On her pussy, too," chimed in Dania. At last, Stacy was perfect.
The phone rang. "Well, here I go," beamed Stacy.
"Bye, honey," said Trish. "We'll miss you night. Fuck Master nice. He's sweet." Trish kissed Stacy carefully on the cheek to avoid messing her lipstick, and Dania followed.
It was a lovely night with Master and Mistress. Master was very efficient, but not overbearing. Like everything else he did, it was done with style and expertise, and it was only twice. Just right in every way, not too quick, not too long. Just a very efficient taking of a domestic. As for Mistress, she was magnificent. It helped when a mistress was very attractive and responsive, and Mistress was both. A girl just performs better when her mistress excites her. Stacy did one of her best jobs on her. In fact, it may well have been her very best, for she was surprisingly rewarded with a return of affections from Mistress. A maid must be very special to receive from a mistress. After all, domestics usually are only expected to give to the lady of the house, not receive. Thus the unexpected tongue of Mistress was quite a compliment indeed to Stacy's abilities. Trish and Dania had only received once each from Mistress in their service of several months, so Stacy felt extremely proud that she had received her very first time.
"You're very, very good with women, Stacy," Mistress had said. Stacy's flush was not manufactured this time. Such a compliment was fairly rare in domestic service and earned Mistress yet another lovely attack from Stacy.
Stacy slept happily, snuggled between Master and Mistress for the night. How wonderful it was to be shared so lovingly between husband and wife. Domestics were so lucky. If only all employers were so attractive as these! Master went to sleep quickly, as men usually do, but Mistress and Stacy lay awake for a while enjoying their closeness and warmth. Men just didn't enjoy the subtleties of cuddling and stroking like females did. Each had a hand between each other's legs, not probing or rubbing or initiating arousement. Just stroking the silky hair like petting a kitten. It was not sex, it was more a fondness. At such times, women of even mid-thirties like Mistress became girls once again. Girls had such playful little games with one another that often are unfortunately lost when maturity is reached.
For a woman like Mistress, it often took a young girl to revive such delightful activities. Thus when Stacy felt Mistress' fingers suddenly pluck a strand of pubic hair from her skin she knew that a game was on. She returned the favor, and held a long black strand up to Mistress' eyes to show her what had just been plucked from her. It was give-and-take fun, it appeared. Mistress pulled another from Stacy's sex, this time producing a little gasp of hurt. Stacy retaliated and happily succeeded in wringing a sincere moan from Mistress.
The game was played calmly and rationally, as it should be. Give a tuft, take a tuft. There was no particular time limit to the game. Females plucked until they tired of the fun. The object, naturally, was to bring a good, honest squeal of hurt from your opponent. There was no particular concern about losing all of one's fun. There was certainly enough there for a very long game of it. But both Mistress and Stacy knew that they'd play until they tired of it, even if they lost all of it. But of course they didn't lose all of it. A good deal of it, but not all of it. Master mumbled in irritation at the squeals and squeaks and yowls beside him. It definitely was disturbing his sleep, so in good taste, Stacy and Mistress finally went off to sleep themselves. It had been really a fun night. Stacy was pleased.
- - -
Thursdays were the housekeeper's days off, an" Master's golf day at the club. It was therefore an excellent day for Mistress to play with the domestics in the basement room. It had been tried on other days of the week, but had incurred the wrath of Norena who was most jealous of her maids' time. She just saw no sense at all in Mistress torturing the girls when there was a tight housekeeping schedule to follow. It wasn't just the couple of hours away from their work, but they simply didn't function at full capacity after a session from Mistress. Norena let it be known, in less than courteous tones, that she wished Mistress would have her fun on Thursdays. In deference to Norena's long service and excellent ability, Mistress usually bowed to her requests. Domestics were plentiful, but housekeepers of Norena's worth were hard to come by. There was no use irritating her. Thus, Thursdays seemed to work out quite well for all concerned. ,. .
"Croon, Stacy," said Trish in the parlor. "Mistress wants us in the basement in five minutes. First time for you. It isn't too bad. Anyway, we're all there together, so it's kinda nice."
"Where's Dania, hon?"
"Oh, she went down an hour ago. The breast weights again. I swear, Stacy, Mistress is going to have that girl tripping over her tits before long."
"No, she won't," Stacy laughed. "Only another inch to go, Dania said. Well, let's go. What's the mode of dress for the Hurting Hour?"
"Nothing but lipstick and pussy fur, naturally," laughed Trish.
The room was comfortable. It was warm, and carpeted, and had a stereo outlet which played soft music. Mistress sat comfortably on a couch, smoking and enjoying the pleasant sight of Dania, who seemingly slept in her bondage. At least her eyes were gently closed in repose. It was obvious to Stacy that Dania had developed the necessary patience for such discomforts.
Dania's wrists were chained behind her. Another chain was attached to the wrist links and ran tautly to the ceiling where it circled a heavy pulley. It had been pulled to the limits of Dania's slender arms, forcing her to bend forward until her upper body was parallel to the floor, and putting her young breasts in perfect position for the weights. The weights, tied to her breasts by slim cords, were round and apparently quite heavy by the appearance of Dania's elongated flesh. Obviously lead weights, thought Stacy. They most certainly did a job on Dania!
"Hi," said Dania. "Don't look so surprised, Stacy. After all, at least they're not bowling balls . . . even though they feel like it. Make a good model for bra ads, wouldn't I?"
"You look like Lanya of the Jungle in another predicament!" laughed Stacy.
"Well, Trish," said Mistress, "why not get started on your nipple exercises. Meant to start you last week."
Mistress bound Trish's arms behind her, then used a flicking tongue to elongate the girl's nipples to maximum length. Trish gasped nicely at the touch of the warm tongue. Long enough now to tie, Mistress used thin but strong cord, then looped the long remainders over a ceiling pulley and pull Trish up to her tiptoes. Trish bent backwards as she was pulled taut, her chin straight up into the air. Her pinkish-brown nipples had become long fingers of protesting flesh.
"Hurt, Trish?" asked Mistress.
"I'm afraid so, Mistress. Nips feel like they're gonna come off. Get used to it in a while, I think, but I'm sure I'll do a little yowling in the meantime."
"Good," said Mistress, quite pleased. "Now, Stacy, what do I have in mind for you? Certainly we should improve on something, like Trish and Dania. Let's start with the X-frame. Right up against it, arms and legs spread wide . . . that's it. You do observe, don't you, Stacy? Now, let's tie those pretty ankles and wrists to the wood . . . like so. There! Lovely, Stacy, just lovely. Appears like you are missing some pussy hair in places . . . like me. Wonder how we lost it?"
Trish and Dania could only wonder what Mistress was talking about. They would ask Stacy later.
The clothespins bit deeply into Stacy's sex lips and caused the girl to draw in her breath. The weights which were then attached to the clothespins by cord were obviously not as large as Dania's breast weights, but quite heavy enough to make Stacy hiss.
"I figured it would be that," smiled Dania. "My tits, Trish's nipples, what else is there left? Welcome to Woodriding's body-shaping school!"
Despite her burning hurt, Stacy could not help but laugh at Dania's good humor. Acceptance of discomforting situations was what made girls so terribly wonderful. The three of them were hurting.
It was either fuss and complain, or make the of it between themselves. The latter was so much nicer.
"What's she look like?" asked Trish. "Afraid I can only see the ceiling for a while."
"Pussy weights, Trish," said Dania. "Pretty good ones too, her lips are stretched pretty damn far. Stacy'll have some pussy after a couple months of this!"
"Good," said Trish, softly. But her tone indicated that she was hurting.
The flippancy of the conversation might well belie the fact that the bondage did indeed hurt. It might also tend to give the impression that in some manner, domestics somehow tended to be less immune to discomfort and pain than other girls in various and sundry vocations. It was, of course, not true. It hurt no more or no less than it would any other female. The difference was in the training and resolve of domestics. Punishment was accepted as part of their duties, and repetition of discomfort certainly helped.
Thus a good maid simply did not yowl or complain as quickly as others might. She was expected to at least absorb a moderate acceptance, both of pain and length of time, before she let her discomfort known in the form of various and sundry sounds and whines. Too, it was always different when two or more domestics suffered together. Alone in bondage, a maid might well begin her caterwalling soon, but it was rather humiliating to do so when her companions in bondage hadn't uttered a squeak as yet. It was, naturally, a matter of pride not to be the first if at all possible.
After a reasonable length of time, however, one had to be the first. In this case it was Trish. The majority of her weight on her nipples was obviously the most hurtful of the three tribulations in the room. Dania had suffered the breast weights many, many times before, and Stacy's predicament was not unbearable, but Trish's nipples were being stretched quite terribly. At that, it was twenty minutes before the first soft moan escaped her. Her utterance immediately made the situation more enjoyable for Mistress, who had sat smoking and waiting for the pleasures of vocal response. Girls in punishment became much more arousing when they made some noise. In time, all three girls began a symphony of delightful moans and cries, much to Mistress' enjoyment.
The only problem with the three bondage positions of the girls was that their tongues were just not available to do something about her wetness, a fact that she had been aware of when she put them there. In the future, she would have to make at least one girl available.
Mistress was not insensitive to her punishment activities. She knew well that young Trish suffered more than the others for the lengthening of a girl's nipples was not an easy task if it was to be accomplished. Breast stretching wasn't quite as discomforting, for they were larger things to punish, but a nipple is such a terribly slender little thing. Mistress had always been amazed as to the punishment a nipple could take, especially the stretching. But Trish's age was the time to do it. At seventeen they were still pliable and soft, and could be lengthened to almost any position with the proper hard work. Trish would, of course, suffer considerable hurt, but in the long run the girl would be quite proud of her sexy new acquisition. In a blouse or tank top, Trish would be sensational.
Trish was squirming quite considerably, and making more than adequate racket, but Mistress realized that it was her first session. Yet, the girl really did deserve a diversion from her hurt, if only briefly. Mistress stroked her clitoris with one finger, knowing that it wouldn't take much. Of course she was correct, knowing girls as she did. A girl in extreme bondage was mentally and emotionally as tight as a bowstring. Under such conditions there was only a fine line between pain and pleasure. Indeed, in time, the two became one, such as in a whipping with concurrent fondling. It took only ten seconds for Trish to scream out in orgasm and wet her thighs.
"Thank you, Mistress," gasped Trish. It wasn't a courtesy reply. Trish meant it, for if at least for only a brief moment or two, her pleasure had made her agony disappear. For a girl in bondage or punishment, such relief is beautiful, even if given by the very person who dominates her. Gratefulness transcends animosity. But in Trish's case, there would be no animosity at all. Mistress was only doing things which were expected of an employer. Domestics simply were things to hurt for fun and enjoyment. That was all there was to it. If a girl didn't like that philosophy, she didn't go into domestic service.
- - -
"Stacy," said the housekeeper, "would you mind taking care of Dania? Master has his pinochle game tonight and I have to go into town for some liquor and things. Be gone for an hour or so and I just haven't time to whip her right now. She's on the table in the library so she's obviously done something wrong. I simply can't afford to have her lying there until I return. You do know how to whip a girl, don't you?"
"Quite honestly, Norena, I haven't whipped one before, but I don't imagine it's that difficult. I've watched enough. How many lashes does she get?"
"Stacy, you know we don't issue a specific number here at Woodriding. It's entirely up to the one with the whip. I'll rely on your good judgment. I'll check her bottom when I return to see if you did a proper job of it."
"Yes, Norena. I'll take care of the matter. By the way, I need some lipstick. Can you pick some up for me, please?"
Stacy was rather excited about her task. A domestic receives the whip far more times than she gives it, yet most girls would admit to wishing it were more equalized. Being whipped was part of domestic life. It was accepted, and it most certainly hurt. But whipping another must be terribly enjoyable.
Stacy finished up the dishes before going into the library where Dania was sprawled on the oaken table.
"Dania, what an odd position!" she laughed from the doorway. "Do you know your panties are showing . . . all of them?"
"Oh, hi, Stacy. Where's Norena? I'd like to get this whipping over. I've only just started dusting in here."
"What did you do, honey?"
"Dusting the books and one fell. Bent the binding."
"Well, guess what? Norena has gone into town and told me to whip you."
"Lucky girl, Stacy. Doesn't happen too often at Woodriding. Well, let's get on with it before I get another for not finishing in here."
Stacy picked up the whip, which Dania had selected, and took her position.
"Well, la de da, a left-hander," smiled Dania.
The first stroke was very inefficient.
"Sorry, Dania. First time for me. I'll get the hang of it in a minute or two."
"Raise your arm higher and put more snap into it, darling."
The second was much better, and produced the satisfying retort inherent in a well-delivered effort. "Much better, Stacy."
Dania said nothing at the third lash, but Stacy saw her hands move to the table edge and grip the wood, which indicated that Dania was indeed starting to feel it. It was more exciting than she had anticipated, and Stacy was getting better with each stroke. She decided that she would simply whip Dania. She certainly wasn't experienced enough to administer the delightfully erotic byplay and fondling that Mistress did. That took experience and skill to play a girl like a musical instrument. Domestics simply weren't in Mistress' league.
Stacy was pleased with the pattern of streaks she had caused, so perfectly evident under Dania's sheer panties. Really, more than pleased. To be quite honest, glowingly aroused. A good domestic should develop her sadistic personality as well as her masochistic, for every girl has both. Miss Cummins had touched on that in class. Thus Stacy was very pleased to finally get the opportunity to try out that side of her. She had always wondered if that part of her would work. By the tenth stroke, there was no longer doubt in her mind. It worked. The sexual arousal was very nice. As a matter of fact, Stacy began to realize that perhaps if this went on long enough she would orgasm. Well, why not? The whipping was up to her and she could go on as long as she desired.
On the other hand, that really would be quite selfish. She was there to punish her friend for being bad, not to use her for self-gratification. That wasn't in the realm of domestics. Those erotic pleasures were for the employers. Thus, somewhere around thirty, Stacy stopped. She really didn't want to, for the last dozen or so had brought some very throaty screams from Dania, and the underpants were ripped in one spot on the left side. But it was best to stop.
"You don't have to stop ... if you wish, Stacy. I can tell by your face that you're gonna have a come before much longer. Might as well get it off."
It was, naturally, what made good young domestics so precious and beautiful. Always thought of someone else before themselves. It was a very special quality in young girls. In this case, it meant that Dania loved Stacy enough to sacrifice herself for her pleasure.
"Thanks, Dania. That's sweet of you. I love you too. But, no, that's enough. Was I any good?"
"Really almost as good as Norena. Very good for your first time, angel. You hurt, I mean really. My eyes aren't dripping from over-reading. Another few and you would have made me cry a waterfall Dania stood up and restored her skirt.
"Kiss and make up?" said Stacy.
"Always, darling." The embrace was lovely and warm. Lipstick changed places.
"Hope you get to whip my ass, sometime soon," said Stacy. "It's super to punish a girl!"
"Thanks, Stacy. Hope so too, but it happens so rarely around here."
"Well, if you don't get the chance before too long, we'll arrange it. You know, I'll break something just before Norena is leaving or something."
"O.K. Sounds great. I've done it a couple of times before. Betcha I can make you cry by . . . twenty."
"Bet you can't."
There really wasn't much serving during the pinochle game that evening. Just enough that Master's friends had some fulfilling glances at the girls. They bent nicely when serving, making sure the nipples popped out properly. Other than that, it was just cleaning up, and waiting for Trish. It was Trish's "turn" this month. It was expected of a host to provide a domestic for satisfaction after the card game was completed, so Trish sat nicely by, awaiting the conclusion. Master eventually nodded to her and she assumed the customary position over the card table, not unlike the whipping position. With quick hands, it was skirt up, panties down, and she was ready with the expected offering. The position was taught in domestic class in school, and afforded two openings to the user without the hassle of changing positions, thus was most practical. The man could use either orifice at his disposal very easily.
Most users took advantage of both entrances, changing back and forth as desired, and the pinochle players were no exception. As usual, they all finished in Trish's smaller tunnel. Men just seemed to prefer emitting there these days, Trish had noticed. Master refrained as usual, a touch of class befitting a good host.
The three girls squeezed into the shower together. It was overcrowded, of course, but because it was, it was much more fun.
"Sure wish one of 'em would come in my pussy once in awhile," said Trish. "All three in the ass again. You'd think they didn't know we domestics were on the pill. Golly!"
"Oh, stop complaining," said Stacy. "We were doing up the glasses while you were having fun anyway." All laughed, and turned to girl games with fingers and soap.
"Oooh," said Dania, "I don't think there's anything more cool than a girl all soapy and slippery. I really love to give a girl a good soaping."
"You know it!" said Stacy, lathering Trish's pubic fur. "Hey, come on, it's only five minutes until Lanya."
"Should be a super chapter tonight," said Dania. "Let's watch it bound. It'll turn us on even more."
"Dania, you have the greatest ideas," smiled Trish. "Get three ropes from the drawer."
Dania tied Stacy's hands behind her, then Trish tied hers. It was a little more difficult to tie Trish's hands, naturally, but she put her wrists next to Stacy's fingers and Stacy did a most commendable job under the circumstances. They plopped onto the bed in their usual side-by-side position.
A brief flashback reviewed Lanya of the Jungle from the last week, and brought the story up to present. Ula approached with the branding iron. It was done on the inside of Marlene Parkins' left thigh, a blazing "L" for Longo. The scream would wake neighbors all across the nation. Many viewers, rather embarrassed, would turn down their audio slightly.
"Wow!" said Dania. "Look at her fight her ropes! Must hurt like hell. Good girl, Lanya!"
"No wonder Marlene won the Emmy last year. Some chick!" said Trish.
Aside from the branding, the week's chapter produced very little more punishment for Lanya, for the story line had to move along. Eventually, bound and alone in a hut, Lanya was visited by one of Longo's randy underlings who was on the verge of defecting. He had something to offer the jungle beauty, and Lanya went for the offer. He untied her, and she completed the bargain.
"That girl can suck," remarked Stacy.
"Do it, Lanya!" exhorted Trish. "Do it!"
"Give her a mouthful of cream, donkey-face," said Dania. "There . . . oooh, one hell of a mouthful. Nice going, Lanya! Now take off, girl!"
At the end of the chapter, Lanya was reunited with her child, and breast-fed him delightfully. A milky minute and a half. Lanya's face was set in resolve. She'd pay back that Ula if it was the last thing she did! Lanya knew some interesting things to do to women. You're going to get yours, Ula! But. . . the bushes are moving . . . oh, no . . . not an angry lion! He charges! See you next week.
It was extra exciting to make love with hands tied behind the back, and the three squirmed and wiggled into all kinds of positions. Dania and Trish had tried it several times before, but it was new to Stacy and she found it very much a turn-on. Girls just responded better when they were tied, it seemed. It was some time before they lay in the darkness, snuggling together to sleep.
"Hey, Stacy," said Dania. "This Saturday is reform day. It'll be your first. Hope Mistress gets a bunch of 'em this time. It's really fun."
"I'd almost forgotten. Wow, I'm looking forward to it!"
"It's really different than punishing maids, you know," said Trish.
"Really?"
"Sure!" said Dania. "I mean, it isn't fun and games, you know, for the ones that choose reform. They really get hurt down there. Besides that, they haven't had punishment before, most of 'em. I mean, we're kind of used to it as domestics, but these chicks are usually first-timers. That's what makes it fun to watch. Some of them just can't believe the hurt they feel! Should hear them scream. Well, anyway, you can't feel sorry for them. If they're going to break the law, they have to pay for it, and a reform day is sure better than a couple of years in the slammer. I think it's an excellent alternative for a female."
"Can hardly wait," said Stacy. "Mmm. I'm getting wet just thinking about it."
"Again?" laughed Trish. "You're always wet, girl. Oh well, you or me, Dania?"
"I'll eat her," said Dania. "Get some sleep, Trish."
- - -
The girls spent the early afternoon on Saturday cleaning and dusting the "reform room." They also put some flower bouquets in the three vases. It was Stacy's first look at the basement room and she was very impressed.
"I thought it would be more . . . dungeon-like," she remarked.
"Mistress has class, hon," said Trish while she dusted. "Dark, damp old rooms were fine for the Middle Ages, but these days a torture chamber should be comfortable. Comfortable armchairs to watch from, spiffy little bar, astro-turf on the floor, flower arrangements. Who wants to hurt girls in a castle dungeon anymore?"
"I see your point, Trish. Makes sense. But gee, some of this equipment in here looks particularly antique. Did Mistress have it sent over from Dracula's palace in Transylvania?"
"No, silly," laughed Dania. "Mistress says that most of the old punishment devices can't really be improved upon. Everything else gets better over the centuries, but torture stuff was perfected very early, it seems. Guess that's a point for females. Anyway, she bought all this stuff in Boston. Place there that makes replicas of all the old things. Look over there. Real old-time brick brazier and branding iron. People tried those new electric branding irons a few years back, but found that the old ones are really the best, after all."
Norena came in shortly for an inspection, and found to her pleasure that the girls had done a good job. She was very pleased with these three particular domestics. Too bad employers changed them so often. But, of course, that was the name of the game. Employers simply liked new cunts now and again.
The car from the circuit court's office came shortly after three, and the two occupants were accompanied up the walk by a deputy. Mistress watched their progress from a chair on the front porch. It was always a nice view to perceive females without arms, she thought. Handcuffs behind made females all legs and breasts as they approached one's position.
"Hi, Barney," said Mistress.
"Hello, Mrs. Wood," said the deputy. "Sorry . . . just have two of 'em today for you."
"Oh, damn, Barney. I was really looking forward to four or five. Aren't ladies breaking the law anymore?"
"Well, it's not that, Mrs. Wood. Peggy over at the disbursement section said that you were very particular about your reformers. Wanted them . . . well . . . nice lookers. There were a bunch of sentenced gals yesterday, but it was rather a plain group, to say the least, this time. Peggy felt you would rather just have the two nicest ones rather than some dogs. Took them up to Mrs. Hillary's place in Barre. She wasn't very pleased at all. Peggy seems to favor you, Mrs. Wood."
"Yes, Barney, Peggy and I are . . . close. She's a dear." Mistress laughed. "I'll have to drop Marienne Hillary a note of condolences, in a nice way, of course. But then again, Barney, she has a simply awful reform room. Just the most inexpensive equipment and not at all comfortable. Have you seen it?"
"I don't get to see . . . the reform rooms, Mrs. Wood," blushed Barney. "I just deliver the women. Been doin' it for sixteen years now. Then come and get 'em when they're done with."
"Yes, of course. Well, let's see what you've brought me, Barney," said Mistress, finally getting up off the chair. "My, these rubber gags they put on convicted women these days certainly make them drool a lot. Good for them, though, and I like to see a female gagged. Well, they look nice, Barney, tell me about them. Don't want to know what they did, just the personal facts, please."
"Yes, Mrs. Wood. Laura Dunson, age 27, married, two children. Sylvia Lanetti, age 19, un-unmarried."
"Oh, excellent. A woman and a girl, married and unmarried. Nice contrast, especially in age. Do they know each other?"
"No. They met only in court yesterday. Well, got to be getting along, Mrs. Wood. I'll come by tomorrow at ten for them as usual."
Barney drove off and Mistress herded the two into the house. She removed their gags. She always liked to chat with her reforms a little first.
"Well, Laura," she said to the oldest of the two, "you decided on reform punishment rather than jail. Quite a sensible choice."
"Yes ma'm. I have children, and I just can't be away for a year. Oh, I so wish I hadn't done what I did. I'm awfully worried about the punishments. I've never really been hurt before."
"Well, don't worry, Laura. Thousands of women have lived through it. Tomorrow you'll be home with your family. You are very attractive, by the way. Sylvia, what about you?"
"I only had three months, ma'm, so it was a hard choice to take punishment instead. But I'm planning on being married next month, and it would have meant changing all the plans and everything. Guess I can get through it somehow. I'm young."
Mistress led the two down the hall, passing the housekeeper.
"Norena, send the maids down now. We'll start soon."
Mistress had given the two a glass of brandy by the time the three domestics arrived.
"Oh," said Laura in surprise. Her blush was evident. "Are they to watch? They're quite young. Is it necessary?"
"Yes, I allow my maids the privilege. Seventeen is old enough by far. They'll probably help some too. Besides, once we get started you really won't think about them. Well, finish your brandy, and we'll start. Why don't you undress each other."
Laura, the older, wore a skirt and blouse, and Sylvia wore a T-shirt and jeans. These were removed by each other's hands, followed by panties.
"Look at the tits on 'em," whispered Stacy to her two friends. "Mmm."
"Yeah," said Dania, "and the young one's are just as big too."
"She's got just as much fur too," said Trish. "They're both nice."
Mistress always made her commands sound like a question.
"Why don't you please both stuff your underpants in each other's mouth for the first punishment. Don't like you to start yelling too early in the day, and the first thing may hurt a bit. Or would you rather the rubber gags you came in?" Laura and Sylvia whispered to each other.
"We'll use each other's pants. The rubber thin is really cruel," said Laura.
The maids were impressed with Mistress' erotic touch. They were seeing an expert at work, and knew it. The two females held their mouths open like hungry fishes, and stuffed the intimate material far inside each other. Laura blushed as, she tasted Sylvia s femaleness on the wispy material. Sylvia didn't respond to her gag with any emotion at all.
"Laura's not bi, Sylvia is," volunteered Trish in whispering tones.
"Very observant, Trish," smiled Stacy.
The three domestics chose a couch, and all sat together. They could hold hands when things got interesting. Master appeared with his martini and sat in his personal chair. How elegant he looked in his dressing gown! Trish immediately went to him to ask if he desired anything, as a good maid should, but he thanked her and she rejoined her friends.
The low floor stocks were built for two females' feet, as they lay on their backs on the carpet. The protruding feet were at Mistress' waist level. Mistress chose, from a wall rack, a split-bamboo length, before fastening the women's arms to heavy floor rings. The split bamboo made an odd noise as it traveled through the air and struck the soles of Laura's feet. Her body jerked nicely. Sylvia followed, and squirmed vigorously from the agony.
The blows were alternated between the woman and the girl and their suffering was evident. The panty gags permitted only muffled noises, but their faces were flushed in hurt, their eyes met. Sylvia squirmed much more actively than her older partner when her feet were whipped, and bounced right on top of Laura twice. The domestics were already holding hands from their excitement.
"Look how swollen their soles are," whispered Stacy. "I've never seen foot whipping before."
Mistress stopped at a dozen, for the evening was long. She had an excellent background in pacing the torture of females, and it was a matter of correctly letting the activities build upon each other, and letting the recipients have time to rest and recover. She released the two from their chains and stocks, and joined her husband for a martini. It was always interesting to notice the different reaction of recipients after a punishment. Laura, the older, simply lay on her back on the floor, her hands over her eyes, hoping that time would lessen the burning in her feet. Sylvia spat out her wet gag, went to all fours, and shook her hair back and forth in hurt. Both knew that they would not stand up again this evening.
Mistress was very good with punishment of females. There was no cause to scream or rant at the reform prisoners, nor to cuff them around or drag them by the hair. That type of thing only showed poor taste, and wasn't proper. She simply tortured them with efficiency and purpose, not letting her duties turn to animosity. She had no bone to pick with them at all. Her job was to hurt them significantly without personal involvement. They would arouse her sexually, of course, but this fact did not interfere with her good judgment to the point where she went beyond reason with them. Only rarely did Mistress have one of them serve her sexually during a reform night. It was her right to do so, but she did not overuse this right. Occasionally, a particular female would appeal to her greatly. Usually it was one of masochistic tendencies who accepted her punishments with exciting resolve. Mistress became aroused by a girl or woman who could take torture delightfully, but of course, this type was rare. Most yowled and screamed and wept from the hurt. Very few begged or pleaded, however, which spoke well of the females of today.
Mistress beckoned with a finger, and the two recipients crawled over to her. Conscious of their swollen feet, Mistress was most tender in helping them upwards to the ceiling chains. Finally, both hung from the same pulley, face to face, breast to breast. They were exciting, pressed together, only their toes touching the carpet. Mistress selected an efficient-looking whip from the wall behind Sylvia. Laura, thus, saw what was coming and responded in a most feminine way. She was not bi-inclined but she was female, and being female she became sister to her companion in the sharing of punishment. She lay her face alongside her younger compatriot's face in a lovely scene of mutual sympathy. Females do not have to be lesbian to "feel" or "share" mutual love under trying circumstances.
Mistress, this time, did not whip them alternately. She whipped Laura first, on the back, firmly and severely. The lashes sounded like gunshots in the room, and each produced an emphatic utterance from the woman. No two were the same, but most were very loud. Females, whipped together, often respond to the pain by encircling the other with their legs. It isn't a sexual thing, it just seems to help. Laura was no exception to the rule, and soon had her legs nicely around Sylvia's thighs in hurt. Her back was being terribly striped, and though strangers, females do respond to each other's trials. Sylvia spoke and whispered to Laura time and again, trying to give her courage and stability with her words and warm closeness. It was touching and beautiful.
Stacy counted seventeen stripes on the woman's back ;before Mistress turned to the girl and began to flog her. Sylvia, being younger, was again much more animated, her legs clenching around Laura, then releasing, then clenching again. The lovely woman could sense that her young friend simply wasn't taking the whipping as well as she did. Eight years difference in age was significant. Laura whispered to her, consoled her, urged on her courage. But Sylvia still howled awfully. Then it was that the true beauty of females came to the front. Laura, housewife and mother of two, had not touched female before. Yet she sought to help her suffering sister-in-pain in the only way she could at the moment. She ground her breasts against Sylvia's breasts and kissed her on the mouth, holding the kiss while Sylvia was lashed. It was indeed a beautiful sacrifice of love and concern. The girls responded as expected, and her yowls became only muffled gasps as the sensuousness of the situation struck home.
The three domestics were delighted by the interesting byplay of love and sympathy. Females were so dear to one another! Sylvia was having her slender back lashed terribly and she hardly was paying attention, so intent was she on the offerings of the woman. It was very, very sweet to watch.
Mistress did not lash their bottoms, surprisingly, but simply twisted their wrist chains so that they stood now back to back. She began once more on Laura. The first lash across Laura's fine full breasts brought a response from her mouth like a snake in summer. It most definitely was a hiss. Stacy was interested in Laura's reaction to the whipping of her breasts. Would she howl in protest at being whipped there? After all, the attractive woman had never been whipped before. Did she know that the whip would taste her there? Probably not. Yet, she was a woman, and in a way it probably didn't surprise her at all. It was logical to whip a female everywhere. If she were doing the whipping of another female, would she avoid the breasts? Of course not. So.
The vision of Laura's breasts bouncing dramatically under the lashes was arousing to the young domestics and they squeezed closer together on the couch, arms going about each other. Stacy felt Dania's finger on the inside of her thigh playing with the little legband of her panties. Draping her arm even further over Dania's shoulders, Stacy found her nipple with her thumb and forefinger.
A female's nipples respond the same to pleasure or pain, and Laura's were no exception. They stood erect and stiff under the punishment, as she lay her head back on Sylvia's shoulder. It was an efficient whipping of the breasts, to say the least, but the woman took it without begging, and when Mistress turned to Sylvia, she let her head fall onto her chest in thankfulness that it was over. The third lash on Sylvia caught her across both nipples and brought one foot up off the floor. Sylvia sang a song of agony. Very shrill and very loud. When it was over, she slumped in her chains.
"We'll take a dinner break now," said Mistress. "Be back here at eight, girls. Why don't you have a shower and change underpants. I assume it's needed."
It was definitely needed. The shower was delightful but unfortunately became a rather mixed-up mess of fingers and tongues and orgasms under the warm spray. A good toweling and some fresh panties felt delightful.
"Let's get a bite to eat," said Trish. "Then it's part two. Hope Mistress lets us help a little. She often does."
"God, I think I'll die if I get to do something to them," said Stacy. "I'm glad I came to Woodriding!"
The girls arrived back in the reform room before their employers. Laura and Sylvia hung quietly in their chains, well striped and docile, and were a lovely sight to behold.
"Let's play with their tits a little before Master and Mistress come," said Stacy.
"We better not," replied Trish. "We're not supposed to do anything to 'em without permission."
"Oh, just a little. We can hear them coming." The argument went no further, and the domestics availed themselves of the protruding flesh. Sylvia wiggled nicely for she enjoyed the pleasures of females, but Laura maintained her neutrality. Her nipples did not, however.
"Well, Laura," said Stacy, "what have we here? I can feel your nips gettin' nice and long under my palms. Kind of like it, don't you?"
"I'm not lesbian, young lady. Under the circumstances there's not much I can do about you playing with my breasts."
The three bounced back onto the couch when they heard their employers returning. Master plumped down in his chair with an after-dinner brandy and Mistress knelt before Sylvia with kitchen pliers. Pulling out a little hair was not really one of her punishments. It was, more or less, a warm-up to get everyone in the mood again. It wouldn't be long and drawn-out, but merely a touch of class. Every female in reform should expect to lose a little hair anyway. It was rather the current in thing. Like everything else, Mistress pulled pubic hair with style. Unhurried and efficient. She extracted several nice tufts from Sylvia, then repeated on Laura. Sylvia had not made a sound but Laura let out a gasp or two.
"Would you like to try, girls?" said Mistress. "You may each take a tuft from both Sylvia and Laura." The domestics sprang like cats off the couch. Stacy knelt before Sylvia and was handed the pliers by Mistress.
"No, Stacy," said Mistress. "You haven't got a large enough tuft there. Take more. That's it. Now hold her thigh so she doesn't pull forward with the hair, and pull it straight out . . . that's it. Good, Stacy! Now show it to her so she can see what you took. Always show a female what she's lost."
The three happily took their turns and returned, excitedly, to their couch. Mistress unchained Sylvia and marched her to the heavy wooden rack at the east end of the room. Sylvia had to be helped to walk because of her wounded feet and she winced and gasped despite Mistress' supporting arms.
"Stacy, dear, you may help me stretch Sylvia on the rack." Stacy squealed in delight and her two friends pouted in disappointment.
Though Sylvia was nineteen, she looked so much younger stretched tightly between the two massive wooden rollers. In such bondage, a female's legs and thighs are made slimmer by the strain, and even the fullest of breasts become nearly flattened and taut. Sylvia looked very young, and very vulnerable. Mistress turned the ratchet wheel to number three position and Sylvia became tight as a bowstring.
"We'll take her to number six, Stacy," instructed Mistress. "You may turn the wheel to four now." Stacy turned the ratchet and the device squeaked and rasped as it met resistance from its occupant. Sylvia cried out nicely. Mistress took her turn, and pulled Sylvia to number five. The girl's eyes watered and her body arched slightly under the terrible strain.
"Take her to six," said Mistress. Stacy's heart was pounding in excitement as she turned the wheel. Sylvia's lithe body was now touching the tabletop only at her buttocks, and her shoulders were red and flushed from the torturous stretching. Her scream was more of a wail.
"Ohhh, it hurts terribly," she sobbed. "Oh, God, I'll never be bad again. I'll be a good girl, I promise!"
"Excellent, Sylvia," praised Mistress. "That's what we like to hear from reform women. It's the whole purpose of the thing. Thank you for your help, Stacy. We leave her here now, for perhaps half an hour. You may return to the couch. Trish and Dania, your turn with Laura now. I haven't forgotten you, dears."
Laura still remained in her ceiling chains, a position most perfect for her next punishment.
"Here," said Mistress, "is a darning needle for each of you. You may put one through each of Laura's nipples. I'll instruct you."
Trish chose the left, and Dania the right.
"One at a time now. Trish, you may go first. Take the nipple in your thumb and forefinger and pull it out a little . . . that's it . . . now put the needle through from right to left ... no, back a little further, dear, at the base of the nipple . . . that's it . . . now straight through, slowly, but firmly ... all the way through so that there is about two equal inches of needle on both sides sticking out . . . good . . . good . . . perfect. Thank you, Trish."
"Oh, owww," gasped Laura. Her face held a look of surprise, not from the sharp pain, but from the realization of what had been done to her. Dania followed suit and matched Trish's efficiency. Laura let her face fall to one shoulder in complete penitence and submission, the needles glistening under the room lights.
Mistress suggested now a rather moderate recess, during which she joined her husband in his chair. Her sophistication was enviable, and most apparent, by this intelligent refrain from continued punishment activity. After all, why not enjoy the lovely sight before her eyes? There was Sylvia, young, naked, and stretched beautifully on her rack. And Laura, pretty family woman, slumped " sensually in her chains, her nipples quivering and pierced by shiny long needles. Such pleasantries to the eyes came only monthly and they were not to be wasted. There are those travelers who spend so much time taking photos and slides on vacation that they do not enjoy the scenery. So it is with attractive females in bondage. One is foolish to punish constantly, and become so involved in it, that one does not have time to step back and enjoy the fruits of the labor. Mistress was well aware of this, and often sat and enjoyed the visions which she created.
Too, the sophistication of Master and Mistress prevented them from disporting themselves in an unseemly manner when they sat together to enjoy the sights in the reform room. Naturally, both were aroused, but their dignity would prevent any sexual conduct at this time. On the other hand, the domestics were not yet mature enough to conduct themselves with reservation, and such visual recesses normally resulted in some kissing and fondling among them. Mistress glanced at her three maids, Trish sitting on Stacy's lap and necking, blouses lowered and breasts out, fingers probing delicately into moist panties. Mistress allowed such conduct among them, in understanding. They were quite young, and it would be unfair to expect them to be reserved.
The wheel was an interesting device, to say the least. It was large, and of oak, similar to a large telephone cable spool. It was supported by iron stands and its bottom cleared the floor by three feet. It revolved by an electric motor, and was designed for two females of average height. Face down, two females would fit perfectly around the wheel's circumference if their heads were placed well up between each other's legs. Sylvia and Laura were so placed, their bodies in perfect semicircles, their faces hidden between the fine thighs of each other, their buttocks perfectly upraised for punishment. It would not be a whip, but an official old English cane.
"When the wheel begins to turn you round and round," said Mistress, "begin licking pussy, please. As each of you turn and reach my position I will apply one cane stroke to your buttocks. You are required to lick and tongue during the entire time. You may break your sexual activity only to howl upon the cane stroke, but you must immediately go back to your task. If you do not, this reform will last ten minutes rather than five."
Laura started to protest. "Please ... I'm not.. . that way ... I. . . ." She knew it was useless, and resigned herself to her fate. The wheel began to rotate upon the touching of a wall button by Mistress. Laura and Sylvia began to revolve slowly.
Sylvia, of bi-orientation, immediately began her attack on Laura's sex, producing a sudden gasp from her older partner. Laura, in utter resignation and shame, probed gently with the tip of her tongue. She was first to reach the caning position.
The sound of a cane is much different than a whip. It is not a sharp retort, but more of a horrible splat. Laura howled like a wolf at full moon, and a distinct welt rose quickly upon her bottom-cheeks. Like a dog driven by a whip she plunged her tongue into Sylvia, provoking a squeal from the girl.
The caning was more audible than visual in its pleasures. Certainly, there were the ever-increasing welts and streaks to see. But audibly, it was a banquet. There was the age-old, and well-familiar sound of cane against female buttocks, a noise which had not changed in centuries. This magnificence was followed by various articulations from the female throat, also little changed from any time period or language. Scream, cry, yowl, moan. It needed no exact description. A female in ancient Rome or medieval England sounded no different than Laura or Sylvia.
Additionally, there was the ever-obvious sound of one female ministering by mouth and tongue to the sex of another. This became more and more pronounced as natural wetness increased in physical response, and while the cane stroke and the accompanying cry of hurt lasted only briefly, the sounds of wet mouthings were nearly continuous. Lastly, of course, and spaced far apart, were the singular cries of feminine orgasm, an oral articulation quite distinctly different than a cane-produced sound.
Laura, whether she classified herself as bi-oriented or not, and though it was indeed her first time, produced as many orgasms as her younger cohort. In truth, as in most cases, Laura's reform punishment would turn her to future lesbianism, although certainly under more pleasant conditions and places. When the ordeal of the wheel had finished, the two recipients stood up shakily, their faces smeared completely with the emissions of the other's sex. Both were crying without reservation, and both sobbed a duet of promises to be good girls. It was, of course, touching. Neither would stand or sit properly for many days.
Master continued to impress the domestics with his elegant manners. Throughout it all, he had maintained his aplomb and dignity, though obviously his wife's expert punishments had aroused his manhood. Yet he did not fidget, or breathe in heavy pants of lust, or wipe his brow. A perfect gentleman.
He waited patiently until Mistress was finished, for the wheel had been the last reform. Now, as customary, and allowed by law, he was entitled to his due. He was not unsympathetic to the agonized bottoms of the two females, and thus he spread the couch cushions on the floor.
Master took Sylvia first, slowly, perfectly and adroitly. Despite her hurt, the girl responded as a girl should, with gently moving hips. It wasn't, of course, really a sexual liaison or pleasure. Nor could it be called rape. It was an expected and accepted part of reform punishment. A female who chose reform obligated herself to be fucked, to put it plainly. She knew it beforehand. It made no difference what her age, her marital status, or her position in society. Her contraception was her own responsibility. Sylvia accepted the adequate emission of Master, and lay back on the floor to mentally recover from her punishments and hurt.
Laura's fucking was naturally more interesting. After all, Sylvia was a young single, probably well into sexual pleasures. But Laura was married and a mother of two. To her, the submission meant much more, for she probably had led a sexually honest life and marriage. She did not protest, of course, for she knew her rules well. Indeed, she responded quite surprisingly to Master, thrusting and squirming to meet each of his thrusts. The domestics were pleased with her femininity. She needed only to lie there and accept. But Laura was a true female. If she indeed must be fucked, then at least act like a woman about it, not a baby. Put a little effort into it. Join in, rather than just be, taken. Master was quite efficient physically, and poured an even greater emission into Laura's vagina than he did Sylvia, an act which produced an exquisite orgasm from her.
For the night, Laura and Sylvia were chained by one hand to a wall, so that they might sleep, the wall ring being at floor level. Mistress turned off the lights, except one dim one. She, Master, and the domestics left the room. In the dimness of the room, the single girl put her arm around the married woman and mother of two. She gave no immediate response at first, but then her arm also encircled her companion. Nothing was spoken. Indeed, it was Laura who first bent her face to the sex of the other!
- - -
They were pleasant months at Woodriding for Stacy, and she became even more glad of her decision in high school to go into domestic service. It was a most delightful life. No wonder more and more young ladies were choosing to go into such service!
The time went by very quickly, through the New England autumn with its splendor of color, and through the snowy-bright winter. Woodriding was a fine position, by far the best she had had. The activities, although repeated, were never tedious or boring. There were of course the necessary whippings that domestics require to keep them efficient and feminine. Stacy liked the philosophy of calling penalties on oneself. She manufactured none, but never failed to omit one either. There were times when it was questionable as to whether a minor error of commission or omission deserved a whipping, but in such cases a good domestic chose the whipping. Stacy kept track of her whippings in her notebook, and between her start in July and the following April she had had the lash applied to her bottom twenty-one times. The strokes weren't counted, of course, but she estimated that each whipping was usually about thirty strokes, or a total of just over six hundred in nine months. It averaged, then, slightly better than sixty a month, a figure which Miss Cummins in high school domestic class had estimated for the interest of prospective domestic girls. Any more or any less by any great degree suggested that the domestic was terribly inefficient or boringly near-perfect. Neither was very acceptable.
There were also the various playful bindings initiated by Mistress. Actually, Stacy liked being bound for it meant a diversion from tedious housework, and thus a domestic was considered lucky if she was so favored. The reform days were always eagerly anticipated and attended. Stacy found them interesting and informative, and learned much from them, both in watching and occasionally helping Mistress with the application of punishments. Stacy learned that females could accept surprising amounts of hurt without coming apart at the seams, and she was constantly amazed at the great number of things that could be done to females. They simply had so many interesting and useful bodily parts to choose from. Probably the most beneficial thing that Stacy learned from reform punishments was to do the job efficiently and to pay no attention to the various screams or yowls which, to the inexperienced torturer, might prove distracting. Indeed, unless a sufficient utterance of hurt was issued by the recipient, the job was not being done properly.
There were, naturally, the regular calls to the bed of Master and Mistress, a task shared equally by Trish and Dania. The employers made sure that all three domestics bore the pleasure in equal assignments, not wishing to indicate that one was preferred above another. Once again, it revealed the utter love and concern the employers had for the young maids' welfare. Naturally, each of the three believed that she was the favorite, a fact which Master and Mistress did not dispel. It was kind of them.
The weekly Thursday trip to the alternate basement room was not really a punishment session, though physically it was just as discomforting with the weights. The manipulation of certain intimate bodily parts of domestics was simply a current fad these days among employers in most sections of the nation. Domestics had no reason to complain about it, for the process certainly made these personal parts much more exciting and sensuous. Like anything else among young girls, the exaggeration of certain of their prettiest parts was a matter of pride. Something to boast of and show other girls, to draw their envy. Dania's breasts easily reached Mistress' desired length much to the girl's pleasure. Indeed, on the occasion of serving the friends of Master and Mistress, somehow Dania always seemed to allow her breasts to "accidentally" fall out of her low blouse. She pleasured in the soft whispers of amazement and praise, behind her, as she left the room, her practiced walk carefully designed to produce the most sensuous bouncing possible. Trish's nipples had doubled in length under ministrations, a fact of which she was most proud. Stacy's stretching of the sex lips was not, naturally, obvious to others like the ever-revealed breasts and nipples of her friends, but she was just as proud of her new revelation. In going down on Trish or Dania, a girl need part their soft hair to find the treasure beneath, but Stacy's lips hung beautifully downwards, far below the nearest brown tuft.
In retrospect, the most fun of all were the lovely nights in bed with Trish and Dania, and the enjoyable girl games they played each night. Some nights they laughed and romped and squealed in playful lovemaking. At other times, for no explainable reason, the mood was sensuous and serious, producing very long kisses and throaty gasps of orgasm. The most fun of all were the cold winter nights when the three snuggled under the thick blankets. In the warm and delicious state of half-sleep, half-awareness, Stacy would feel a girl crawl deep under the blankets, and immediately feel a warm wet tongue opening up her sex orifice with expert insertion. She knew not which girl it was, nor did she care. She merely responded by putting her hands in the hair of her lover, as girls always do.
All three were given notice in April. It came as no surprise or disappointment, for six to eight months was the usual service of a young domestic. One could definitely understand and appreciate the desires of employers, for no matter how pretty a domestic might be, it was fun to have new ones every so often. It was expected by both employer and domestic. Mistress, of course, arranged positions for all of them before releasing them. A girl just wasn't simply released. Trish would go to Ohio, and Dania to Long Island, to acquaintances of Master and Mistress, in trade for their domestics. A simple trading arrangement. Stacy would go to Georgia, near Atlanta, to a cousin of Mistress, Victoria Palmer, and her husband, John. There was no trade here, merely a transaction of five hundred dollars. The Palmers were newly married and resided in a small but elegant plantation home. They had not as yet arranged for domestics, but were offered Stacy, and planned to obtain another as well.
Goodbyes were always rather sad, especially on the last day, and the three girls packed and made ready with misty eyes, sometimes flying into each other's arms for no reason. It felt odd to wear her own clothes again for traveling, and Stacy would miss her nice maid's attire.
The porch was the scene of final farewells to Master, Mistress and Norena, all of whom were kissed properly. Even Norena had misty eyes, for the three had been very, very excellent workers.
"As of now, you no longer belong to Woodriding," said Mistress. "So you needn't accept our custom of five 'goodbye' whiplashes on your bottoms. Sort of gives you something to remember Woodriding by as you sit on the bus and plane rather tenderly. It's just our custom, but isn't required."
There was no hesitation. Mistress had been nice to them. In fact, it was a rather interesting custom. "The porch rail?" said Stacy. "The porch rail," answered Trish. "Skirts up, bottoms out, la de da!"
It was different to see a change from the familiar white pants. There was pink, and a yellow, and a bluish print with Dania's initials. The whip sang its song on each bottom and produced reasonably angry evidence. Sitting would indeed be rather tender, at least for today.
It was down the walk, and around the lilac bushes. They were gone. Norena handed her handkerchief to Mistress to wipe her cheeks. She herself sniffled, but turned so that it wouldn't be seen.
Chapter Three
It had been a bus to Boston, and the jet to Atlanta, arriving after dark. There was a two-hour wait for the bus to Rose Hill, near where the Palmers maintained their home, and it gave Stacy an opportunity to walk about the southern city. She fell in love with the quaint and charming buildings, the ever-present fragrance of fruit blossoms and the nicely dressed people. She was pleased to see a definite return, on many of the ladies, to quasi-period dress so reminiscent of the old South. It added a definite charm to the women of the South.
The bus left the terminal at ten and Stacy found it nearly empty. Not wishing to sit alone, she spied a pretty girl in the fourth row, and asked if she could join her. The bus was dark, but occasionally it would pass the lights of buildings and stores and gave Stacy a chance to study her traveling companion. The girl had jet-black hair with a beautifully exquisite face. Her skin was tan-brown and perfect. Her smile was radiant. "Hi, I'm Stacy."
"Hi, I'm Sondra." Nothing was said for a while, but Stacy often stole a glance. The other girl laughed nicely.
"Yes, Stacy, I'm not white. Mulatto. Three-fourths black, one-fourth white, on my father's side, so to speak. Answer your thoughts?"
Stacy's face burned. "Oh, really, Sondra. I'm sorry. I wasn't at all trying to qualify you. It makes no difference at all to me. It's just that you're so . . . damnably beautiful, it's hard to stop looking at you. As a matter of fact, I really do like black girls, and I ... oh, damn, Sondra, I'm just making it worse ... I feel like an ass ... oh, jeez."
Sondra took Stacy's hand in hers. "Hey, it's o.k., baby. I understand. You can stop fumbling around." Her smile made Stacy feel very nice.
"Thanks, Sondra. You're sweet. I'm a domestic. Served in New England, and I'm on my way to Briargate near Rose Hill. Mr. and Mrs. Palmer."
"Will miracles never cease?" said Sondra, laughing. "Say hello to your fellow servant!"
"You mean, you.
"Yep! Briargate too! I've just served in Savannah. By the way, in the South it isn't domestics, it's servants."
"Oh, wow!" said Stacy. "I'm happy. We'll get along great, Sondra!"
Sondra had not released Stacy's hand, and Stacy had no desire to withdraw it. The girl smelled of fresh jasmine and its fragrance was intoxicating. Stacy felt a familiar stirring in her loins.
"Been whipped a lot, Stacy?"
"Average amount, I'd say, Sondra."
"Where do you get it in New England? Don't know too much about up north."
"On the ass, usually."
"Whoopee. We call those 'spankings' down here in Georgia. They whip girls better down here. All over, back, tits, ass. Whatever she has. You're in for some yowlin', darling. You haven't been whipped yet, girl.
"Sounds like it, Sondra. No matter. Won't kill me."
Sondra wore a T-shirt with her skirt and Stacy couldn't help but notice the exaggerated twin points.
"Looks like you have quite a pair of nipples, Sondra."
"Nipple weights in Savannah for a few months. One inch exactly."
Stacy related the story of her former friend, Trish, who underwent the same treatment. She also told of Dania with her sensuously long breasts.
"What about you, Stacy?" smiled Sondra.
"Well... oh, heck, my pussy."
"Stretched the lips?"
"Yep."
"Oooh. Nice. Haven't seen that yet."
"Want to?"
"Here . . . and now?"
"Sure. You show me your nipples, I'll show you my cunt. We can go in the rear. No one's back there, Sondra."
"Let's go."
They moved to the second last seat. The bus was dark, but there were occasional bright spots along the road. Sondra lifted up her T-shirt.
"Oh, God, they're beautiful," said Stacy as she fingered each one tenderly, an act which made them spring upwards to an angling tilt.
Stacy pulled up her skirt, and pushed aside her panty. Sondra stroked the moist lips.
"Never saw a pussy like that, Stacy. It's scrumptious. Boy, what a set of lips!"
They sat in silence for a while, as the bus rolled through the dark countryside.
"Would you like to neck, Stacy?"
"Thought you'd never ask, darling," said Stacy.
"Rose Hill!" said the driver. The two girls untangled.
"God, can you kiss, Sondra!"
"You're pretty good yourself, Stacy. Never kissed a white girl before." She laughed.
Stacy laughed back. "Had that coming, didn't I? Well, anyway, Miss Sondra, I think you're pretty special. I'm sure I'm going to fall in love with you."
"You're late, girl. I've already fallen for you. Bus trip was just a bit too short." "Too short?"
"I was just about ready to get on the floor down here and sample your fantastic pussy." "Rain check, honey?" "Rain check. For sure."
- - -
Victoria Palmer had been excited all day. Much more so than a woman who had had servants before, obviously. At twenty-four, Victoria would be not much older than the two she had taken on, a fact which she was aware of, to her delight. There is nothing like the first servants of a newly married girl. John had been most loving in offering two, especially since Briargate was small, and as an eager young wife Victoria would do a lot of the work herself. Stacy and Sondra, in a sense, would be playthings for the most part, a gift which most young Southern brides of any means were entitled to. In Georgia society a young woman simply must have a pretty servant or two. Victoria had looked at the photos of the two several times during the day, with increasingly rising excitement, most evident in the moistness in her panties at times.
She drove alone to Rose Hill to meet the bus, for John, as an understanding husband, had realized that, after all, the servants were Victoria's, and he wanted her to enjoy the moment of excitement fully. The two had bounced off the bus hand in hand, a fact which delighted Victoria when she saw them. How nice that they had already met and had obviously become friends! In return, the two were excited about the youth of their new mistress when they saw her. Neither had served a mistress under thirty, and understandably this new one would be an exciting change of pace.
The car was a blue Panther, large and roomy, and most elegant. Sondra and Stacy plumped into the front seat by their new mistress, and immediately were pleased by the lovely lily-of-the-valley fragrance of Victoria. They gave each other a nod of agreement. Victoria was beautiful!
From the glove compartment, Victoria extracted two ropes.
"Girls are tied quite a bit down here in the South," Victoria drawled. "Don't mind, do you?"
"No, ma'm," they answered in unison. Victoria's newness into the game of servants was apparent to both Stacy and Sondra, for a mistress shouldn't ask a servant if she minds being tied. Her newness was cute. They mentally agreed that they'd have to help Victoria in such matters.
"Show you the Georgia tie for two girls," smiled Victoria. "Would you mind pulling your skirts up . . . right up to your pants, please . . . that's it."
Victoria looped the rope around the adjoining thighs of each girl at the very top of each leg, and pulled the thigh of each girl tight to the other girl's' thigh. She pulled down their skirts, then with the second rope bound their adjoining arms together near the shoulder. Stacy immediately felt a tingle of arousal, for it was a first for her.
"There!" beamed Victoria. "Rather sweet, isn't it? Thigh-tying two girls is quite common down here. Was it so where either of you were?"
"No, ma'm," they replied. "I like it," said Stacy. "The feel of a girl's thigh tied to mine is quite . . . nice. It rather stimulates . . . closeness."
"That's the idea, of course," said Victoria. "When I was in girl scouts at twelve, I was thigh-tied to a girl all night. I'm afraid it was quite more than I, or she, could handle, and we did some terribly naughty things together. To be honest, I had a girl before I had a boy! By the way, girls, we don't use ma'm or mistress down here. Rather stuffy. Please call me Miss Victoria."
"We will, Miss Victoria, thank you," said Stacy. "But in return you'll have to stop asking if things are all right when you do them. Just do them, Miss Victoria. Tie us, or whip us, or strip us, or love us. Whatever. It's your right . . . and we needn't approve or disapprove. And of course, you need say no pleases and thank-yous."
Victoria turned on a Southern blush. "I'm dreadfully new at this as you can tell. I'll improve, with your help." Victoria had said it so sweetly and honestly that Stacy felt immediate love for her. She reached over and planted a kiss on Victoria's cheek.
The drive was fully half an hour, and gave the three females a nice chance to chat about the positions and experiences of Stacy and Sondra. Each of the two gave a brief outline of their recent adventures.
"Do they have reform days for convicted females in Georgia, Miss Victoria?"
"No, Stacy. Mostly only up north, I guess. Sounds exciting, though. Goodness, they certainly hurt those Yankee gals at Woodriding, didn't they? Imagine you saw so many tortures. Really too much bother down here. Don't have too many basements and such because of the dampness. Not really too much space for proper torture chambers. No, in Georgia females go right into prison farms, proper leg chains and everything. Mix them all together, girls and women, from fourteen and up. They work in the fields, most of them stripped down pretty good because of the heat. We'll see some of them tomorrow when I take you shopping in Rose Hill. Really, though, I like the reform idea. Gives a female an alternative to her term. I know I'd take the torture rather than, say, three months or more. Next year our legislature is going to vote on reform punishment, and I think it might go through. Women's groups are backing it. Don't fret, though. There are some other things just as exciting down here in Georgia!"
"Oh, tell us about them," said Stacy.
"Well, for one thing, just an awful lot of whipping in the South. Kind of an ancient tradition down here, back from the Confederate days. I don't mean just the servants either, like you two. Most pretty young wives as well. Man runs the show down here, as he should, and we wives need a good lacing now and again to keep us on our toes."
"You mean, you get whipped by your husband?" asked Stacy, most surprised.
Victoria laughed. "Yes, of course. Afraid we'll have to share the whipping post together. Don't look so surprised. Southern women take to whipping nicely. We need it. Been that way since before the Civil War. A wife of any merit simply takes the whip. If she doesn't she certainly isn't thought well of by the rest of us gals. A young woman with an unmarked back at the Country Club pool or tennis court is simply pointed at. Gracious! Then, of course, there are the charity days in June and October, at one of the plantations, to raise money for such good things, hospitals and such. All of us young women, married or unmarried, offer our services in various ways. If a girl doesn't she is ostracized. Very disgraceful."
"What do you do, Miss Victoria?" asked Sondra.
"Oh, it varies. The committee comes up with something new each time. You'll see when I take you. It's all volunteer, of course. They always have a whipping post though. Ten dollars per lash. Lots of girls volunteer. Nurses' aid girls get to do the whipping in payment for their endless service at the hospitals. Pretty things don't get much pay, so it's kind of nice for them. Men put up the money, and I'm afraid some are very well-to-do. A hundred-lash donation is quite common."
"Wow!" said Stacy.
Victoria smiled. "Yes, well, as I told you, Southern girls are weaned on the whip. Some other punishments are thought up too, for larger donations. Then, some of us might volunteer, or be chosen, for the 'Whore Tent' as we call it. Sell our pussies. Anyway, we raise an awful lot of money for a good cause."
"And I always thought the South was conservative!" laughed Stacy. "Anything else?" "Well, only the slave sales." "Slave sales?"
"Sure. Every gal over eighteen and under thirty has to serve six months as a slave before she can marry. Most counties anyway. She gets to choose her own time. Have a slave sale over in the county seat the last Saturday of each month. It's very exciting with regular bidding and everything. The item is chained to wood posts for auction, stripped to her panties, so people can see what they're buying. Anyone can buy her, man or woman, families. It's really a good idea for every young lady. Teaches her to serve and obey. Slavery makes a real woman out of her, to go into marriage."
"God!" said Stacy. "Fantastic. Sold right out on the street?"
"Oh, no. In the court house assembly room. But children can come. The slave is branded and ringed before sale, of course."
Stacy choked on her tongue. Conservative South? La de da.
"You mean . . . you ... I mean you . . . served?"
"Sure, Stacy. Had to. It's the law. Last year I served my six months. A young family over in Atlanta." Victoria laughed at the looks on the faces of Sondra and Stacy. "Don't believe me, do you? Open up my blouse and turn the dome light on. Can't take my hands off the wheel, this road is tricky."
"Double wow!" said Stacy. "Can you see, Sondra?"
"I can see, Stacy. Geez, branded on both tits with an 'S' right near the tops!"
"They do it there so the 'S' will show when a woman wears an evening gown or swimsuit and the like. When a woman serves, she's proud to show it. My, you two are excited about this thing, aren't you? Well, of course it's all so new to you both. Old hat to us. I'll take you to a sale or two. Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Victoria. Very much!" said Stacy. "What about your rings?"
"They came out of my nipples when my slavery was over. Free females don't wear rings, of course."
It had been the most interesting conversation that Stacy ever had, but soon the car wheeled up the lane to Briargate. It was close to midnight, yet the warm Georgia breeze was filled with the aroma of magnolias which bordered the lane. The bound thighs of the two girls were hot against each other in arousal, and when they walked in matched stride created by the binding, the sensation became even more intense.
"Geez, Sondra. Your thigh feels like silk against mine when we walk. You're turning me on, girl."
"Join the club!" said Sondra.
The introduction to John Palmer was made. A handsome young man, with rugged Southern polish. They were shown to their room by Victoria, a delightful eastern exposure overlooking an orchard. Stacy and Sondra were tired, for it had been a long day of travel, and it was late. They were, however, prepared to be called to the bed of the Palmers, for they assumed that since the couple was very young they would quickly wish to sample their new servants. Yet, the Palmers were also class people, and understanding of the long day. Thus they were impressed and very pleased that bedding would not be the case on this night. Victoria untied them, kissed them on the mouth, and left. The two weary girls bounced onto the bed.
"Well, that thigh-tying, and all the things she told us," said Sondra, "look, Stacy . . . just look!" The dark girl lifted up her skirt. Her pink panty was soaked at her sex.
"What makes you so different?" laughed Stacy, showing Sondra her sopping crotch.
"Well, let's shower, honey," said Sondra. "Want to join me?"
"Try to keep me out of there. I'll give you the best soaping you ever had."
"Don't scrub me too hard, angel. Might make me white."
Stacy laughed wildly. It was beautiful that they could carry on this lovely little game of racial frivolity. She definitely was going to fall in love with this tan turn-on! The shower was marvelous.
"Too tired to eat?" smiled Stacy in a clever retort.
"If it's you on the menu, Stacy, no! Been hungry for your pussy ever since she tied our thighs together in Rose Hill. Golly! Just remembered. Never ate a white girl before! My former mistress was old and wasn't into that. Do you taste any different?" Stacy squealed in laughter.
"You're simply beautiful, Sondra! Try some white pussy and find out!"
Both of them found out. Twice.
- - -
They slept until midmorning, Stacy awaking first. It was a glorious morning to begin a glorious new position! Stacy got out of bed and stretched. Sondra's black hair spilled all over the pillow, and gave Stacy momentary thoughts about having breakfast on her other set of black hair. Instead she went to the window to see what type of view was to be had. For one thing, the orchard was in brilliant white and pink display and the aroma was intoxicating. For another thing, there was a swimming pool. Stacy squealed in delight at this latest discovery. Swimming every day!
Within the blue water was something else. A naked female. Victoria Palmer.
"Hey, baby. Wake up," said Stacy, tugging at Sondra's arm. "Want to see a pretty bod?" Sondra rubbed her eyes and went to the window.
"Mmm-hmm! Super, super chick. Look at that set of tits. That's all for us, Stacy, every loving inch of her."
The girls dressed in the outfits which they found in the dresser. Like Woodriding, the clothes would be shared. Unlike Woodriding, the bottom drawer contained an assortment of various colored panties, instead of just white. Victoria had shopped nicely for her two new servants, and certainly didn't believe in the regimentation of identical underpants for her girls. Not in the colorful South!
"I'll have to keep my pants separate," teased Sondra. "White chicks won't wear pants that have been on a brown, will they?" She made Stacy laugh again.
"The heck I won't! We'll exchange 'em right off our butts at midday, if you want. . . you smart-ass, you!" She gave Sondra a good hard smack on her bottom, expecting a yowl. Instead she got a pair of arms around her neck.
"Is that all the harder you can spank?" said Sondra. "Why don't you practice some on me. Now. Say for an hour or so!"
"You tempt me, darling. But we better get our asses downstairs."
Interestingly, the servants's costumes at Briar-gate were the exact opposite of Woodriding. In Vermont it had been long skirts, and very short blouses. Here, it was high-neck blouses and very short skirts. Indeed, the dark blue skirts were not much longer than the underpants.
By the time they arrived downstairs, Victoria had finished her swim and was dressed and having breakfast with her husband. They greeted the two girls warmly. Unlike Woodriding, one didn't have to pull up three feet of skirt to curtsy properly. One didn't have to pull up the brief skirt at all. They kissed Victoria and John properly before sitting down to toast, jam and orange juice.
"Well, where are the women in my life off to today?" asked John.
"Into Rose Hill, darling," said Victoria. "Have to stop in at Martha's Boutique to get Stacy and Sondra fitted for chains, and some other items. Really suppose I should buy a couple of more whips too. I noticed after you whipped me last Monday, darling, that our poor whip is a bit frayed looking."
"Good idea, dear. Why not get three or four. Various sizes. Might as well be properly stocked. Three girls being whipped around here will take its toll on even the best of whips."
The countryside was beautiful as Victoria drove through the gently rolling terrain. Once again, Sondra and Stacy were thigh-tied in the front seat. If they had not have been, they might have asked for it.
"There's your prison girls," said Victoria, pointing to a cotton field. There were perhaps fifty females in the field, cutting the plants by hand. Each wore ankle chains. All were bare-breasted in the hot sun, their bodies glistening and shiny with deep tans. Some wore cutoff jeans, most wore their panties.
"Wow," exclaimed Stacy. "I've never seen so many nearly bare girls all at once. Cute. Hey, some of them are naked and chained to another prisoner.
What's the story, Miss Victoria?"
"Oh, those. Well, they're the young ones, fourteen, fifteen mostly. There's kind of a system within the system at prison farms. The young ones are fought over when they arrive and belong to whoever wins them. Their lovers chain them to themselves so no other one can get near them. Usually keep their little girls naked, as you see. One night in prison and a young one is an expert lesbian. Sometimes the older girls trade the young ones too."
"Kinda exciting," said Sondra. "Teach the young ones not to get into prison, doesn't it?"
Rose Hill by day was a delightful little town, and Victoria parked the car at the square. The ropes were removed and left on the seat for the return trip. Martha's Boutique was a small but elegant shop under a huge magnolia, and Victoria led the girls across the hot blacktop street into its cool interior. The proprietor was rather heavy-set, but pleasant enough looking.
"Hello, Martha."
"Why, Victoria. So glad to see you. How's John?"
"Just fine, Martha, just fine. Meet Stacy and Sondra, my new servants."
"Oh, they're just adorable, Victoria. Francy Donner mentioned that you were getting some servants. I'm so pleased for you. Want to get them measured?"
"Yes, Martha. Like to purchase some whips too."
The door of the shop opened and a cute little moppet waltzed in eating an ice cream cone. T-shirt, shorts, tennis shoes. The perfect tyke.
"Abby Moreland's daughter," said Martha by way of telling Victoria. "Works for me part time.
Deliver my package to the post office, Julie?"
"Yes, Martha. Bet I did."
"May I have the receipt of register." Julie fumbled in her shorts pocket, once, twice. Her face turned red.
"Must have lost it. Oh, dear."
"Julie, whatever am I going to do with you? That's the third time this month you fouled up, girl. I really should consider hiring someone else."
"Oh, please, Martha. I really need the job. I will be more careful. Really I will. Don't let me go."
"Well, one more chance, and that's it, Julie. O.K., in the back room with you. I'm going to blister you today."
"Yes, Martha." Julie finished her cone and slipped out of her shorts, which she threw on the counter. She wore the tiniest underpants Stacy had ever seen. But then again, Julie was very tiny herself. She wandered off into another room.
"Why don't you look over the whips, Victoria. They're all there on the wall. Will you excuse me, please. Have to attend to Julie. Won't take long."
"I understand," said Victoria, "take your time. We're in no hurry."
Victoria and the servants began to look at the whips as the unmistakable sound of hand against young buttocks emanated from the back room. The crisp smacking was a steady rhythm of hot application. Nothing was heard from Julie.
"Tough little cookie, isn't she?" said Stacy to Sondra. "Hasn't made a peep yet." It was fully two minutes before a high-pitched little series of wails began.
"There it is," said Sondra. "Finally."
Eventually, Martha returned, followed by a penitent moppet. Julie's face was flushed and she was doing her best to hide her wet eyes from the customers as she slipped into her ragged shorts. With permission, she went out to play.
"I'll take these four whips," said Victoria, laying the snaky items on the counter. "Would you measure my girls now, Martha?"
Martha produced her cloth tape measure and set about her task, measuring ankles and wrists.
"Sondra has slightly larger ankles than Stacy," she pointed out, "but Stacy has a little thicker wrist. I'll have the chains by Tuesday, Victoria. I'll put little Julie on them first thing tomorrow. Regular three-foot wrist chains, I assume, but how about the ankles. They come in the three sizes, you know. Three-foot for appearance, two-foot for slightly modified steps, and the one-footer for exciting little half-step walking. Selling more and more of the one-footers now. Look cute on a girl."
"No, I don't really care for the one-foot ones, Martha. I like to see a girl with just a slight modification of her walk. I'll take the two-footers."
"Very well, Victoria. They're twenty dollars apiece. Same for the wrist chains. I'll charge it to your account. Could I interest you in a branding iron and nipple rings? Starting to come into fashion over in Porter County for servants."
"Well, I hope our county stays the way it is," said Victoria with concern. "Branding and nipple rings should be kept for slavery service. A girl like those of us who have served is quite jealous of being branded and ringed. It's quite an honor, and very meaningful to us. If people start doing it to servant girls it waters down the meaning of the whole thing, you see. Slavery is different than being a servant. No, Martha, I'm not interested in those items."
"You make a good point, Victoria. Probably be repealed over in Porter soon, as a matter of fact. Glad I didn't stock too many. How about a bit on leather gag?"
"Mmmm . . . no . . . not this time, Martha. Maybe in the near future. Frankly, I really am not too keen on mouthpieces, except for punishment of a mouthy servant. Stacy and Sondra seem to say only nice things, so I don't think they'll be requiring a mouthpiece. Well, I'll be in Tuesday for the chains."
Victoria picked up some groceries, and headed out of town once again.
"What did you think of Martha's place, Stacy?"
"It was lovely, Miss Victoria. Thank you for our chains. By the way, I enjoyed the floor show too!"
"Oh, you mean Julie's spanking? But you didn't see it, Stacy."
"Didn't see it, but heard it. First time I ever just heard a spanking. I found it terribly sexy to listen to a girl being spanked. Quite an exciting experience, I thought."
"It was," agreed Sondra.
"How would you girls like a swim and a rubdown at the Country Club before going on to Briargate?" asked Victoria.
Sondra and Stacy were rather stunned. The Country Club! Servants didn't go to country clubs! Victoria recognized their wonderment.
"We're not as stuffy down here as they are up north. Mistresses always take their girls with them wherever they go. Or their slaves, if they happen to own one at the time. John said he would buy me one on our second anniversary, by the way. Anyway, it's off to the club!"
The locker-room was plush, made even more so by the ordering of Tom Collins for all three. Victoria slipped into a magnificent orange bikini.
"Servant girls or slaves swim in their underpants," said Victoria. "Come on, get undressed . . . it's o.k. . . . there'll be some other servants in the pool. No one will stare at you."
Yet, with all the domestic service behind them, Stacy and Sondra felt somewhat uneasy when they accompanied Victoria out to the pool deck. After all, this was more or less public, with men, boys and everything else. However, within several minutes, their apprehension went away for, as Victoria had predicted, there were four or five other servants attired in the same attire, or lack of it. They were glanced at, but not leered at, and began to feel comfortable. The water was delicious.
Servant girls have a rather unique sisterhood even though strangers. They speak a message of love and understanding that is not apparent in other, non-domestic, girls. Words need not be spoken, and seldom are, between servants who do not know one another. Especially in such places as in public, or at the Country Club pool, for instance. Yet, their eyes meet in brief, naughty glances and give a silent message. Like the servant in black panties and long blonde hair in the deep water end. Her eyes found Stacy on the diving board, and Stacy got the message. Come here, girl. Stacy made a perfect dive and came up close to the blonde. There were, of course, no words. Servants didn't talk to one another, or to anyone, at the Country Club. They were to be seen, not heard. Nor did they play obvious girl games with one another. Such disportment would be out of place and very embarrassing to their mistress. A severe hiding could be expected. Yet, girls can be subtle and discreet when they put their minds to it. And unobserved. Especially in the deep water. Under the rippling camouflage of the water Stacy put her hands on the blonde's breasts, and felt the girl return the favor. Brief, careful, unobserved. A break for a swim to dispel any possible wondering eyes, then, by "accident" meeting again in the deep water. Two quick hands inside each other's panty at the sex, deep below the water.
"Ohhh," gasped the blonde softly. It lasted only a second.
"Bye, darling," whispered Stacy. It was over, and unobserved. There was not time for any more than that brief touch, but it had been nice.
The men at the pool, of course, were subtle and clever about their glances at the few servant girls. They need conduct themselves with dignity at such places as The Club. The younger boys, however, weren't quite as experienced or adept in hiding their perusal of four or five pretty girls in sheer, wet panties, which did nothing to hide the dark patch of silken hair beneath. Their eyes were, at times, owl-like, their heads turning slowly to catch the next pair of interesting young breasts that swam by. They did the best they could to cover their enjoyment of the girls, but many of the boys could not leave the water at times for fear of everyone seeing their arousement in their wet trunks.
Stacy had noticed that many of the younger women, in their brief bikinis, revealed the letter 'S' on the bare top halves of their breasts. The brands, denoting obviously their slavery service, were now dark brown, but perfectly distinct and sharply defined. They swam for an hour before heading for the locker-room again, and as they passed through the carpeted hallway they saw a clubwoman leading her girl out to the pool. It was a slave, not a servant. The girl wore a collar shackle, her breast brands were fairly fresh and still red-brown, and glistening rings dangled from her erect nipples.
"Wow," said Stacy, softly.
"Me too, wow!" said Sondra. Victoria smiled at her two servants.
"First nipple rings you've seen, girls?" They nodded happily. "That's Nancy Becker. Went into slavery two weeks ago. Nice girl. Getting married after her service. The Mortimers bought her."
Stacy and Sondra were, naturally, in seventh heaven. To swim at The Club, and to get a massage! Just like club members! La de da! The massage room was unoccupied at present except for the three college girls in sheer leotards who were employed as masseuses. Victoria, Sondra and Stacy plopped, naked, onto separate tables.
The college girls were divine in their ministrations. A soothing lotion and tender fingers plied and massaged legs, arms, tummies and backs, as well as upthrust bottoms and warm breasts. The masseuses lingered longer on the breasts for they knew the pleasure it brought, and their expert touch quickly brought the nipples to full erection. The sensual and relaxing feeling of the long, lazy rubdown was drowsily intoxicating, and produced almost a sleep. In the half-daze, Stacy felt her legs gently parted by her masseuse, followed by a warm, wet tongue. It wasn't an eroticism by the masseuses. Just the normal final part of a female rubdown in the better clubs. In the men's locker, three other college girls applied their oral talents as the concluding service also. It was most customary.
Victoria, and her flanking servants, gasped and moaned softly in a trio of sound. The college girls worked at their task until they had wrung the expected orgasms, toweled their charges, and sent them off to a hot shower. The three felt tingly-warm and invigorated when they returned to the car. For Stacy and Sondra, their first day, so far, had been spent sharing the sophistications of the upper class, a pleasure most delightful. Victoria turned on the ignition. Stacy and Sondra pulled up their brief skirts, and snuggled their thighs together.
"Ahem," coughed Stacy.
"Oh, dear," laughed Victoria. "You see, I do forget. Thanks for reminding me, Stacy." She pulled the thigh rope tightly into the flesh of the two, almost sinking out of sight in the young legs. The adjoining shoulders followed.
"Thank you, Miss Victoria." Sondra and Stacy had their thank-yous down to a perfectly timed duet. Stacy let her hand slip inside Victoria's skirt and felt her warm thigh. She glanced quickly at her face to see if her forward action would be met with displeasure, for a domestic was not privileged to initiate such naughtiness without permission. Any kind of a look of concern or disfavor and Stacy would quickly withdraw her hand. Victoria kept her eyes fastened on the road as she drove, but her tongue slowly licked one lip. Stacy was expert at knowing the feeling inherent in the inside of the thigh, and let her caressing finger move slowly, inch by inch, upwards. She knew well that the subtle advancing of her finger would be driving Victoria rather wild. It was indeed, and Victoria bit her lower lip as she tried to concentrate on the road. Eventually, Stacy's finger reached the silken strip of panties between her legs, and found it terribly hot and wet. Victoria pushed her hand away.
"I'm sorry, Miss Victoria. It wasn't too smart when you're driving."
"I'm new at this, Stacy, but please don't take advantage of me. You should never take such liberties unless you're told to. Let's get that straight right now."
"I am sorry, Miss Victoria. I really am. The privileges that I was shown today went to my head, I'm afraid. Rather spoiled us. I just wasn't used to such things and got a little cocky, the Country Club and all. I can assure you that any future trips to The Club will not result in my forgetting my station again. I promise."
"And I should have stopped Stacy when I saw her playing girl games with you, Miss Victoria," said Sondra. "I knew she was wrong, but I just sat here and enjoyed watching the look on your face when her finger got closer and closer. I'm terribly sorry also."
"Well. Very well then. But not again," said Victoria seriously. "You should be whipped hard, the both of you. I wasn't going to whip you for a few days, but I'm afraid you shall have to be lashed when we get home."
The duet spoke. "Yes, Miss Victoria." Sondra and Stacy rubbed their bound thighs together in a silent Western Union message. Both received it loud and clear. Victoria was coming along fine! Sondra put her face in Stacy's hair and whispered into her ear.
"You played with her leg on purpose, didn't you, baby?"
"Shhh . . . yes."
Both girls lay their heads back against the seat.
Each had learned early in their domestic careers that the anticipation of a whipping was unique and magnificent. It was not really an eagerly awaited activity, for it did hurt awfully. But the utter knowledge that it was to come was almost intoxicating. The punishment of waiting was nearly as bad as the actual whipping itself. Stacy could already actually feel the burning leather.
Victoria Palmer glanced over at the two girls who reposed with closed eyes. She knew that they were thinking about the whipping. In truth, Victoria was thinking even harder about it. She had been whipped often, but had never whipped a girl herself as yet. The thought of it caused waves of sexual emotion within her. In truth, Victoria had not planned on whipping them for some time, frightened of her own desires, and afraid that her lack of experience with the whip might be evident. She shook her head in anger at herself. She must get with it. After all she was a mistress and quite responsible for the discipline of these two youngsters! Victoria Palmer was only experiencing the same apprehensions as many other "first-time" mistresses. After the first whipping, it would be easy. Why, that flirty Stacy had actually provoked her into whipping them! Victoria knew that. Very well. I'll whip her so hard she won't ever do that again!
Victoria glanced once again at Stacy. The girl's big brown eyes were looking right back at her. In those eyes were love for Victoria, and they were the submissive eyes of a girl who was going to be whipped looking into the eyes of the girl who would do the whipping. They were eyes of total surrender. The effect on Victoria Palmer was devastating . . . she would have to change panties when she got
- - -
Victoria chose her prettiest white shorts to wear for the whipping, and elected to be bare-breasted. After all, it was the first occasion of whipping for the lovely Georgia young lady. She looked at herself in the mirror and liked what she saw. She had chosen one of the new whips and had tried its pliability in her bedroom, snapping and swishing it in mock reality. Its very sound made her nipples stand up.
Stacy and Sondra sat in the lawn chairs near the post, and the sight of Victoria walking elegantly towards them was exciting. Victoria knew how to walk, and her full breasts bounced perfectly. Stacy reached out for Sondra's hand and squeezed it briefly before the two of them stood up. Girls did not sit when approached by their employers.
They had decided that Stacy would go first by flipping a coin, and as Victoria arrived, she curtsied, straightened up, and removed her clothes. Naked, Stacy went to the post. One didn't wait for such an order. A girl simply went to the place of punishment on her own. Stacy had not been lashed at a post before, nor struck anywhere but on her bottom, and in a way was anxious to sample the traditional Southern-style flogging. Without being told, she put her hands high up to the wrist manacles which hung silently from the top of the heavy oaken post. Victoria adjusted the linkage so that Stacy rested only on her tiptoes. Visions of Civil War plantations flashed through Stacy's thoughts.
Sondra was well trained in whipping formalities among servants. A girl did not sit and watch a sister servant whipped. It was a basic rule. She stood near the recipient and watched every single lash strike. The purpose of such formalities was ancient, and dated back to Roman days. Having to watch the effect of the whip on another girl, preceding one's own whipping, naturally added to the punishment. To watch the weals form, knowing that one's own flesh would soon be so marked similarly, was additional torture. It was why it was better to go first, if possible.
"In the South, the lashes are counted," said Victoria. "When there are two girls, one counts them for the other. Also, by custom, a girl announces her reason for being whipped. Even a wife when she's punished. You may begin, Stacy."
"I put my hand on your thigh, Miss Victoria, while we were driving home. I shouldn't have done so, and should be whipped for taking such liberties without permission."
"Upon my thigh, Stacy? Where? I would say if it was just above my knee it would merit twenty lashes. If your fingers went up further, then it should be more."
"I ... touched you ... all the way up, little by little."
"Goodness, girl. That's at least forty . . . unless you actually got to my underpants . . . then that would be fifty."
"I touched your pants, Miss Victoria . . . you know I did."
Victoria was pleased with herself. The word games certainly added quite a bit to the excitement.
"Fifty lashes it is then. Forty on the backside of you, ten on the breasts. Are you ready to count, Sondra?"
"Yes, Miss Victoria, I'm ready."
"Call her a name, Sondra, and ask that it begin.
You know that she was bad."
"You're a little bitch, Stacy. You shouldn't have done what you did. Whip the little bitch, Miss Victoria."
Stacy knew that word games were a sophisticated addition to whipping. It was, in effect, a performance, which milked all the eroticism possible from the situation. Yet, even though she knew Sondra's words were true and that Sondra meant them, they stung, as they were supposed to. But she knew that a companion servant, even if in love with her, must always honestly urge that punishment be given if needed.
For the first time in her life, Stacy felt a whip slice hotly across her slender back. Victoria waited before issuing the second, for she wished to study the slowly blooming streak. Like anything else, whipping took practice and experience to become perfect and it was, of course, Victoria's first venture into the wealing of girl flesh. The lash mark was not livid enough, she realized. She knew well how a proper mark should appear, having seen many, many whippings, and naturally studying her own striations on plentiful occasions. The second lash brought a hiss from Stacy. Too hard. It had sliced her skin slightly, and a red trickle oozed slowly downwards. The third was much better. The streak was red, and brought the properly raised ridge of skin. Comfortable now with the right amount of strength and the perfect, sharp retort, Victoria settled down to her task while Sondra loudly called out the numbers. Forty lashes would just nicely cover Stacy, from shoulder blades to the middle of her thighs. One, naturally, did not whip a female in a pattern of inch by inch descension. That was indeed much too mechanical and allowed the recipient to gauge where her next reception would occur. Thus the lashes should be varied in alternation, high on the back, the upper thighs, the buttocks. Occasionally, two in the same place. Any unpredictable pattern to keep a female guessing.
Stacy did quite well, it being the tenth stroke before she began her oral response of any significance. Occasionally, one or the other of her legs would bend upwards in response to a particularly punishing reception. If a bystander happened to witness the scene at the post, he or she would of course see the lashes fall, and hear the sound of the whip and the yowls. But the spectator would not be able to see inside the thoughts of the three females who acted out the age-old activity. Each had definite emotions and feelings, quite independent of the actual physical activity involved.
For the girl being whipped, Stacy, the normal feeling of utter and complete submission was quite strong. In addition, a girl always reflected on the significance of what was happening to her and, to a great degree, the eroticism of it. In this case, Stacy's strongest thought was that she was naked, and that another female was whipping her back and bottom with purpose and pleasure. She reflected on the whipping of females since the beginning of man. Why were females whipped almost as a matter of course? Why was the appeal so great that even other females eagerly wished to lash females?
For the whipper, Victoria, her emotions were, quite truthfully, mainly sexual. It was only normal for any girl to be aroused in whipping another. Why deny it? Was there any chance that she would feel at least a tiny bit of sympathy for the striatums which she caused on Stacy's skin? None at all. Females do not for a minute have any reservations about such things, especially a female who herself has tasted the whip. Turnabout is very fair play.
For Sondra, the complexity of her thoughts was probably the most interesting of all three, even though she was the only one not physically involved at the moment. Firstly, she saw the hurt and the results of the lashes on Stacy's flesh, knowing full well that in a short time her body would also be subject to such serious punishment. It was quite significant to be made to watch first Secondly, her thoughts about Stacy's whipping were threefold, and terribly intertwined. Stacy was her friend, sister-servant, and definitely her lover. Thus, in one way, she was not overjoyed to watch her loved one hurt. But, Sondra was a highly trained servant, and a real girl, and she knew that her friend deserved the whipping without question. Thus, in a directly opposing thought, she was pleased to see her whipped to teach her a lesson. Lastly, Sondra's female emotions could not help but be sexually aroused by witnessing the whipping. Like Victoria, she could not help this aspect of it. It was just the way girls are. Indeed, the fact that Stacy was her loved one, aroused her more than if it had been a stranger.
By the twentieth lash, Stacy was nicely into full-throated screams. It was not embarrassing to her. Whipped girls are supposed to yowl. Some domestics bragged that they could go to such and such number of lashes before uttering the first real cry. It was foolish. It did not make a female any more or less a woman to cry out on the fifth lash or the thirtieth. It was irrelevant.
"Forty!" yelled Sondra. Stacy lay against her post for just a moment.
"May I have a moment, Miss Victoria? I haven't been whipped like this before. It hurts very much."
"Of course, Stacy." The moment of rest was quite nice. Stacy took, finally, a deep breath and turned around in her wrist chains to face Victoria. Another deep breath, then thrust her breasts outwards in offering.
"Very nice, Stacy," said Victoria. "I like a female who offers her breasts and keeps them there. A real Southern girl will do so. You belong down here in Georgia, honey."
"Thank you, Miss Victoria."
"You may instruct the commencement, once again, Sondra, and count off the ten."
"Whip the Ditch's tits, Miss Victoria."
"Thank you, Sondra," said Victoria, raising the lash high.
The singing whine struck Stacy expertly.
"Owwwwwwww. Whooee." It had hurt more than she had anticipated. Stacy decided that she better lay her head against her armpit, close her eyes and clench her teeth. For the first time, she realized how the young ladies in the reform room at Woodriding must have felt to be breast-whipped. A girl just simply doesn't know by watching. Some of Victoria's lashes caught one or both nipples, an event which caused them to sprout erect in pain. Besides the terrible hurt, Stacy was surprised to feel the tremendous bouncing of her breasts when they were struck.
"Ten!" said Sondra. Stacy felt herself unshackled. Her first steps were quite wobbly, but she remembered her duty to kneel and thank Victoria.
Stacy and Sondra changed places, with Stacy using some choice words in her turn. In reality, Stacy had just a little more excitement than Sondra did in witnessing, for her whipping was over. She shouted out the numbers in louder than normal enthusiasm.
Victoria's face was flushed in excitement, an observation which efficient servant girls should recognize. Stacy and Sondra were efficient.
"May we have permission to show our submission to the excellent whippings you gave us, Miss Victoria?" asked Stacy.
"Yes." Victoria sighed softly. Sondra pulled off Victoria's shorts, and Stacy peeled down the utterly soaked panties. They eased her gently down onto the warm grass.
Victoria Palmer was taken, first by Sondra, then by Stacy, with an efficiency which carried her shrill cries of completion to the mailman who walked a block away on the county road. Then both took her together, two eager faces nestling side by side between the apex of Victoria's legs. Within a minute, Victoria held a head of hair in each hand and began to squirm and thrash quite nicely.
"That . . . will . .. do . . . just .. . fine . . ." said Victoria eventually. In truth, it had been the very first time Victoria had experienced a long series of wrenching orgasms, one after another. The whipped walked quite perfectly now, back to the house. The whipper walked quite wobbly. Could anything be stranger?
Chapter Four
"Sondra, however can I read my magazine when the bed is bouncing so?" said Stacy.
Stacy was propped up on her pillow reading Fashions and Designs while Sondra caused readability problems beside her. It wasn't all her fault, however, since John Palmer was giving her a mid-morning humping in a fairly energetic manner.
"Sorry, angel. Mr. John will be through in a moment by the feel of things."
Stacy smiled at her friend, and went back to trying to make sense out of the jiggling magazine. Her hand found Sondra's and they held.
"Whoops . . . gettin' the syrup now, hon," said Sondra as John completed his pleasurable task with the tan servant. John disentangled his lean body, recovered his composure and clothes, and withdrew from the room in satisfaction.
"Miss Victoria wishes to take us on a picnic this afternoon," said Sondra from the shower.
"Oh, good," replied Stacy happily. "Sounds like fun."
Victoria drove to a lovely little glade, deep within a stream-crossed stand of Southern pine and birch. Within the serenity and isolation of the setting, the fresh smell of pine was pleasant. The girls had prepared lemonade and sandwiches, and they ate upon a spread blanket.
The girls had become more and more excited about Victoria Palmer as the weeks had gone by. It was, most of all, her age. At twenty-four, she wasn't all that much older than her two servants and, because this was so, she was barely more than a girl herself and still had occasional returns to girl games. Her punishments were accompanied by cleverly erotic teasing and wordages rather than just the simple issuance of physical discomfort. She ordered Sondra and Stacy, at times, to call each other very naughty things and cheer on each other's punishments. These subtle delights were not lost on the two girls, and it made punishment very exciting at such times. During the sexual romps with their mistress, they were most aroused to witness the very girlish responses of Victoria. It was such fun to have so young a mistress, indeed!
"How about a game?" said Victoria, helping the girls put the picnic items back into the basket.
"Of course, Miss Victoria," said Stacy. They would have been disappointed if there had not been a game. Some of Victoria's ideas were quite good.
"It takes two people with breasts to play the game," said Victoria quite seriously. "Naturally only girls have breasts, and boys do not. Not knowing what you are makes the game only a possibility. I simply can't see what you are because of your clothes. I would say that unfortunately you probably are boys who I have picnicked with. Oh well. Shame."
Stacy and Sondra smiled in appreciation at Victoria's happy little come-on. Both girls immediately pulled off their blouses.
"See! We're girls, Miss Victoria! Real honest-to-goodness girls!" said Sondra.
"Well, I do declare, so you are! What a lovely surprise. I suppose then, being girls, that you wear panties."
The excited girls stripped off their little skirts.
"Indeed. How sweet!" said Victoria, enjoying the charade. "Well, it looks like you definitely are girls and can play the game. Stacy, tie Sondra's hands to that high branch over there."
Stacy, happily, had her friend strung quickly in the age-old and ultimately favorite position of captivity. Victoria took the narrow whip from the picnic basket.
"You must aim for a nipple, Stacy. This whip leaves thin but distinct lines. You must earn five points, and a point is given each time a line crosses the nipple or aureola. Those strokes which miss do not count, of course, so it is up to you to aim well to save Sondra a simply awful time of it. You'll find, because of the very pronounced flexibility of the whip, that it is not easy to aim accurately. Quite hard, indeed!"
"Oh, no," said Sondra, realizing the ramification. "Stacy, honey, for gosh sakes, take your time and aim carefully!"
"Do my best, lover," replied Stacy. "Hang on, girl, here we go."
The first swishing attempt was far off the mark, and streaked the bottom half of a breast.
"Golly, Miss Victoria, you're right! Harder than heck to hit her where I aimed. Bet you chose this whip on purpose!"
"Well, I just may have, Stacy. Come on now, buckle down and aim."
It took five strokes before one was even close to a nipple. The last one barely edged the pink-brown aureola.
"A point, Miss Victoria?" asked Stacy. Victoria bent closely to the target area.
"Afraid not, Stacy. Just barely missed. See, look close yourself."
"Hmm. Guess you're right. Sorry, Sondra. No point."
"Well, for gosh sakes, Stacy, get with it," said Sondra. "Golly, my nipples are big enough, how can you keep missing 'em?"
"It's hard, honey. The whip is so damn snaky. It doesn't hold its line. You'll see when it's your turn on me."
"Damn right I will," complained Sondra.
"Sondra," said Victoria, "it might be easier for Stacy if you just lay your head back as far as it will go and just let her whip your breasts, rather than jerking around and trying to see where the line was made. It doesn't help."
It made sense, and Sondra obeyed. Stacy set her lips and concentrated on the points. The eighth lash struck a nipple squarely. Sondra gasped.
"I know that was a point," she moaned. "Golly! Hurt like hell."
The five points were finally garnered. It had not been easy, and were at the expense of a pair of breasts which looked like road maps, and a pair of pain-erect nipples which pointed like two fingers.
"Took you long enough," smiled Sondra, relieved now that it was over. "Now, girl, your turn!"
"Oh, oh," said Stacy. "I don't like the way you said that!"
Stacy lay her head back and offered her lovely targets to the whip. Victoria, happily aroused by the excitement of the game, sat upon the blanket and reveled in the sight of a pair of full breasts bouncing and jerking under the whip. Sondra was obviously more accurate than Stacy, and had four points in but just half the time. The fifth point was strangely hard to come by.
"Hey, Sondra, what's taking you so long to get the fifth point?" whined Stacy. "Geez, that's seven or eight now that you missed. Hey, you're not missing my nipples on purpose, are you?"
"Oh, of course not, darling. I wouldn't dream of such a thing." Sondra winked at Victoria, and her employer winked back. Victoria was delighted with the lovely little idiosyncrasies of girls. Eventually, Sondra caught a nipple. Stacy looked down at her criss-crossed breasts. "Geez, just look at those tits! Just look at 'em! Oh, Sondra, if I ever find out that you were missing on purpose. ..."
"Oh, Stacy. How could you ever think of such a thing?" laughed Sondra.
"Why, you little bitch," said Stacy. But she smiled when she said it, and the warm embrace and kiss showed that neither really minded.
"Oh, my," sighed Victoria. "I am so turned-on, it seems. I'm so sorry I am with a couple of boys right now. If you were girls, I might just this once forget I am the mistress, and see what my tongue could do. But...."
Stacy and Sondra actually squealed in delight at Victoria's little act. Two panties hit the ground. "See/" said Stacy. "We're girls. Look, real pussies and everything!"
"I do declare," smiled Victoria. "Well, how sweet. Come here."
The issuance of physical affection by a mistress is not common. It is a rarity, and certainly not something to be expected. If it occurs, it is a most significant event, and one to be remembered. A domestic so honored can consider herself rather special in the eyes of her mistress. Sexual favor by a mistress to her servant did not mean that she was falling in love with the girl, although there are isolated instances where indeed mistresses and servants do fall in love. But the very fact that a mistress would tend to a servant is significant, for it is not done without some interest in the girl personally. Indeed, it might well be the beginning of a love affair in its early stages.
Thus, Victoria's tongue was meaningful to the two girls whom she favored. The emotion and seriousness of the moment was not overlooked. There were no words of happy chatter or clever asides from the mouths of Stacy and Sondra. They became perfectly serious in recognition of the unique and privileged event, such as the stoic and earnest silence of a student upon the stage who receives his diploma. The occasion was dignified and rare.
It was not the feel of Victoria's tongue down there ... it was the knowledge of who the tongue belonged to that was emotionally shattering. To have your hands in the silken tresses of your mistress as she administered her tongue was, in essence, Shangri-la. To actually climax and realize that your mistress drinks of the wet emission ... a domestic could nearly faint.
Such were the thoughts of both Stacy and Sondra, who were not asked to return the ministrations! It had been a unique and singular occasion where a mistress wished to give her love in appreciation for the many times that she had, and would have, received pleasure from them. Victoria Palmer was a perfect mistress. They would fall in love with her probably. Indeed, when the car arrived back at Briargate, both girls gave her a nice kiss before getting out and said the same thing to her, individually. / love you. What else could they possibly say?
- - -
It was during the second month when the girls actually saw their mistress get her first punishment from her husband. Not that she hadn't received such punishments, it was just that such things were fairly private. Servants weren't called to witness in the South. If the servants were around it wasn't avoided, of course, but a special point of them being there wasn't initiated. Stacy and Sondra had been in the pool when they had heard the unmistakable sound of whip-upon-female emanating from behind the house.
The curiosity of young girls is quite well known. It was just simply impossible to have to hear such things without seeing. Stacy looked at Sondra, and Sondra looked at Stacy. They nodded. They crept carefully to a spot behind a lilac bush.
Victoria was tied by her thumbs to a tree branch and her backside was nicely striated already from the top of her back to her thighs. John was concentrating now on the swelling buttocks. The lovely young wife, well brought up in Georgia tradition, took her whipping beautifully. She had made no sound as yet, but the consistent lashing now of her slim bottom, finally forced her to begin her opera of sound. When it was over, John passed quite close by the lilac bush on his way back to the house. "Enjoy it, girls?"
Stacy and Sondra blushed hotly. Mister John had been aware of their presence all the time!
Would they lose their skin? But John was not annoyed at all.
"Girls, please fix your mistress so that she hangs by her thumbs. Give her . . . let's see . . . half an hour . . . no, make it forty-five minutes . .. before you let her down. I must get to the club for my golf game."
"Yes, Mister John." They breathed a sigh of relief from the thoughts of terrible punishment. Snooping was a serious offense. Good thing Mr. John had his golf game.
"Sorry, Miss Victoria," said Sondra as they shortened her thumb ropes. Sondra adjusted the ropes properly while Stacy held Victoria up off the ground momentarily. Stacy released her armful, and their pretty mistress swung slowly by her thumbs.
"Ooooh," said Victoria, softly. "Gosh, thumb-hanging hurts so. Oh, that's o.k., girls, you're only following orders. How long do I get?"
"I'm afraid forty-five minutes, Miss Victoria," said Stacy seriously.
"Ouch," laughed Victoria. "That's a lot. Oh well, I'm a good strong Georgia filly. Guess it won't kill me. When you come back to untie me I must have another penalty. Tell you about it then. Bye."
The girls left, somewhat unhappily. After all, it was delightful to see their lovely mistress in so elegant a hang. It did wonders for her already perfect figure. The time elapsed quickly, however, and they bounded back into the yard. Victoria's eyes were wet, and she rubbed her aching thumbs upon being released.
"Gee, we're sorry about your punishment, Miss Victoria. Have you been crying?"
"Oh, just a little. It does rather hurt the thumbs. Anyway, I certainly deserved what I got."
Stacy admired Southern ladies so. They never moaned or complained about punishment. Just admitted that it was deserved. Neither Stacy nor Sondra had any misgivings about daring to ask what their mistress had done to be punished. Servants simply don't ask such things. Victoria went into the house and returned in white shorts and a ridiculously tiny, white tank-top. The top was really quite worthless, for her nipples showed rather erotically through the flimsy material, and the back fell so low that it was as nothing at all.
"John has ordered me to go in and get groceries at the supermarket like this, so everyone can see the fresh whip marks on my back. And look what I had to put on the back of my tank-top with a marking pen." She turned around. Stacy was unable to stifle her gasp of sympathy.
I WAS WHIPPED NAKED AND HUNG BY MY THUMBS, said the humiliating printing.
"Oooh," said Sondra. "Gee, Stacy . . . that's rather rough for Miss Victoria."
"Never mind, Sondra, but I appreciate your sympathy," said Victoria. "John often says that degradation hurts more than the whip. It really does, you know. Well, let's get it over with. Why don't you come along to bolster my spirits."
The girls really wanted to. It was a rather cruel punishment. Perhaps they could help her over the rough spots.
The supermarket was crowded, but Victoria held her head high. It was not a unique punishment in the South. It was called "showing" and most everyone had seen a female "show" before, but it still wrenched the desired embarrassment from a misbehaving wife. The glances of appreciation followed Victoria as she tried to ignore the situation by selecting her groceries. The blazing, red streaks on her nearly bare back were almost electric in appearance under the store's fluorescent lights. Other females pointed in pleasure. Females are not known to be sympathetic to one another, and the comments of Victoria's acquaintances were teasing and sharp as intended.
"Beautiful stripes, Victoria."
"Must have been just an hour or so ago."
"Bet your ass is really something, Victoria. Will you show us in the washroom?"
"Sore thumbs, darling?"
"John catch you fucking someone else, Victoria?"
"No, Jeanne, I'll bet John caught her with that little tyke, Julie, over at Martha's store. Everyone in town knows that Victoria wants to get in the kid's pants. Really, Victoria, the girl is only eleven."
Victoria flushed under the audible comments from aisle to aisle. The last one had stung. Victoria had indeed mentioned to a friend once at the Country Club that she thought little Julie rather sexy. How such off-handed comments do get around in a small town!
"If I were John Palmer, I'd have whipped her quite a bit more indeed."
"Looks hardly more than a token whipping. These young wives today just don't know what a real whipping is."
"Victoria, do you know that just everyone in here can see your nipples?"
"These modern wives wear such obscene things, Harriet."
"Gonna show her nipples like that, she ought to have rings put in 'em to teach her a lesson. Make her come to the store wearing rings, I'd say."
"I'll tell you what I think, Mary Lou. I think she ought to serve another six months in slavery. Bid on her myself, and she'd find out what real punishment is."
The comments were not really made in seriousness, but part of the penalty of "showing" was humiliating the recipient. Obviously the town ladies were quite expert at sharply barbed tongue lashings. They were very good, in fact. Victoria's red misty eyes attested to her feelings. Stacy turned to Sondra.
"I think she's gonna cry. I feel sorry for her, Sondra. This is rough. Look at her poor back, golly."
"Really, Victoria, I . . ." began yet another verbal attack from a rather stuffy-looking woman.
"Shut up!" exclaimed Sondra to the flabbergasted woman. "Shut up! Leave her alone!" One could have heard the proverbial pin drop in the store. Sondra took one of Victoria's hands, Stacy the other.
"Well, I never!" said the gasping woman. "Servant girl speaking up like that! Well, it's obvious that Victoria has two very dedicated little sluts to bed with, the way they defend her. The one who mouthed off looks like a half and half. Tell me, Victoria, do black girls eat pussy fantastically, like I've heard?"
Victoria's head snapped up. The game was over! She slapped the woman hard across the jowls.
"Don't you ever start that race stuff, Mildred Van Gill! Sondra's a very beautiful and wonderful girl!"
A strange thing happened after the silence following the confrontation. The teasing adversaries became allies. Applause broke out. Mrs. Van Gill left in a huff.
"Mildred's had that coming, Victoria! Good for you!" said a woman. "And we all think Sondra is precious. The other one too!"
It was a happy ending. The only further comments were nice ones. In the car, Victoria took a moment to embrace Sondra. The kiss was extra special, with tongue and all.
"Wow. That was some kiss, Miss Victoria," squealed Sondra.
"You deserve it, Sondra. Thanks for trying to help. I appreciate it."
"Well, one penalty to go yet," said Victoria on the way home. "John says that I must choose my own tonight. One that punishes me nicely."
Stacy and Sondra wondered what Victoria's fertile imagination would come up with. They found out when they were called to the employers' bedroom at ten. Victoria was chained by her wrists to the bed and wore a blindfold.
"Tell the girls what you decided upon, dear," said John Palmer.
"John is going to fuck you both right alongside me. I won't be able to see, just hear. I'll have to listen to your sexy moans and John will not fuck me tonight. It shall drive me crazy just to listen and feel everything near to me knowing I can't have any myself. A good punishment for a naughty wife."
The girls were stunned at Victoria's punishment decision. They had expected some sort of physical administration. Victoria was fantastic! The punishment was going to be far worse than any whip or rope discomfort. Their admiration for her reached an all-time high.
"Furthermore?" said John.
"Furthermore, I shan't be allowed to have you girls eat me tonight either," sighed Victoria. "Just spend the night chained like this, wanting to get off so badly. As you see, I can't even use my fingers on myself."
John took Stacy first, then Sondra. It was, of course, unavoidable that feminine arms and legs brushed against Victoria, or that she felt the bed bouncing ... or that she heard the familiar cries of passion ... or that she heard the terribly wet sounds of male organ plunging within female sex. At times, Victoria was caused to lick her lips unknowingly, and her squirming and writhing in her chains never ceased. At times she made "ohhs" and "aahs" in desperate want. The bed sheet was soaked at the apex of her legs. It was indeed a most significant and punishing torture for a full-bodied young wife.
In the darkness of their bed, much later, Sondra and Stacy tossed and turned. "Sondra, are you awake?" "Yes, angel."
"I feel sorry for her in there. Chained and hotter than hell. Think we could get away with helping her out? He's probably asleep by now."
"Yep. If we're careful and quiet about it. Lose our tits if he catches us."
The two snuck quietly into the master bedroom. Sondra lay her finger on Victoria's lips. The blindfold was gone, but she was still wrist-chained to the bed.
"Shhh," whispered Sondra. "Want us to eat you?"
"Ohhh, God, yes," whispered the frustrated Victoria. "Oh, do be quiet."
"Can you orgasm quietly, without squirming or making a noise?" asked Stacy in Victoria's ear.
"I . . . I . . . think so . . . yes, I can."
Sondra took her first, then Stacy. It was near pantomime in effect. The eating had to be done softly, quietly and efficiently. Victoria had the hard job. It was unnatural to come in silence. Yet, somehow, she got the job done by clenching her teeth and making tight fists of her hands. Her only offering was the unavoidable emission of her sex cream at the moment of victory. It had been, once again, the age-old love story among girls who would do anything for each other. It was one of the world's most mysterious and hauntingly beautiful philosophies. Females were ultimately unique.
Victoria Palmer motioned the two girls to put their ears close to her face. She whispered very softly.
"This is the second time today you've shown your love for me. I never knew two girls like you. I want to tell you something which I've only said once before ... to my husband ... I love you, Sondra ... I love you, Stacy. Also ... I'm going to take you to the slave sale this Saturday, for being so damn nice to me today."
"We love you very much too," whispered Stacy. "Have a nice night .. . darling."
It was indeed a presumption and a transgression for a servant to call her mistress by a word of endearment. Perhaps Stacy had gone too far in the emotion of the minute.
"I. . . like you to call me . .. that," said Victoria. "I like it very much . . . and since I declared my love for you . . . you may use it . . . but be careful . . . not around John ... or anyone else."
Stacy and Sondra both kissed Victoria lightly on the mouth. "Good night, darling," they both said.
"Good night, darlings," said Victoria. "And ... thank you."
The words had come sincerely from a mistress to her domestic help. It was as rare as a comet in the sky or a sun eclipse. Most domestics would never hear such words in their lifetime.
Slavery had existed since the beginning of time. It was something that the world had always known, and always wanted. Humans of both sexes had been slaves, but, for the most part, it was the female who served in staggering numbers in every corner of the planet and in every age. Perhaps it was because male captives rebelled, and even died, in their fight against the chain. Females, however, were found to be receptive to captivity and thus created fewer problems for their owners. A male had constantly to be watched and guarded against escape and rebellion, for it did not suit his being. Females fought capture too, with their limited capabilities, but once roped or chained became at once adaptable to their fate without much further rebellion. Unlike males, the female adjusted nicely to the rope and chain, and was quickly trainable. Within a short period of time, a female slave could easily be left unfettered and unguarded without fear of escape. It was, in truth, as if they relished captivity once shown its virtues. Males hated captivity, while females not only accepted it but seemed to thrive upon it. Punishment, too, did not suit the male species, but the female accepted it without question.
It was so in the court of the Roman emperor Vitatus in 56 B.C. when Cyros of Athens and his wife Lelia were sentenced to double whippings for treachery. Upon application of the first, and during a move to another post, Cyros made a break for freedom and had to be speared by a guard. Lelia simply went to her assigned place, raised her hands to the shackles, and took the second whipping without complaint. Indeed, Vitatus proclaimed that she should accept the lost second flogging of her slain husband. After a short respite, she walked again to the post with upraised wrists, and took a third lashing. History records many identical stories of fact.
Slavery, then, existed in full glory from early man to the late nineteenth century. A veritable eon of time. For some reason then, society decided to abolish the practice for well over a century. This was, however, only a short, brief respite as compared with the countless centuries before. It was a respite which was ill fated, for it returned again in many places in many nations with the full sanction of society. It was so in most of the Southern states of this nation, where it was deemed advisable and helpful for each young lady to serve a brief stint as a slave. It was found to round out her womanhood and improve her natural charms and capabilities. Few people objected. Most of all, the females who had served.
Victoria chose to wear a lovely yellow summer dress to visit the slave sale at the county seat, and granted Stacy and Sondra the privilege of also wearing dresses rather than their maid's costumes. It was a special day of fun for the females of Briar-gate, and the two servants weren't bound together as usual. Indeed, Victoria had suggested that they go as three girls rather than mistress and maids, an exception which produced excitement for all three. Thus the three were happy larks as the car wound its way through the bottomlands of the Bigbee River. Girl games were sure to be played before the day was over.
"Wanta exchange panties, Sondra?" asked Stacy near Brownville.
"Sure, honey. Sounds like fun," said Sondra.
"I'd like to play too," said Victoria.
"Gosh, darling. You're our mistress!" said Stacy.
"Well, not really for today, Stacy darling. We're just three gals today." "Super!" said Sondra.
Victoria pulled into a roadside spot, and the three went into the woods. Skirts went up, white and pink intimates flashed and changed hands, and found new bottoms to cover.
"Sondra, your pants are wet. Shame on you," laughed Victoria.
"Sorry, darling. I've just been thinking a lot about what we're gonna see."
"That's o.k., honey. Feels rather sexy on me."
It was a rather meaningless little diversion, but who can rationalize girl games? They thought it was cute, and that was really all that mattered.
Stacy had thought considerably about slavery during most of her teen years. There had been a modicum of concern and objection from some quarters when slavery was re-initiated a decade ago, but a national ballot had given the states authority to either introduce it or reject it as they saw fit. Twenty three states initiated some form of slavery provisions, all varying in format and requirements. No two states were exactly alike. Other states took a wait-and-see approach, and several of them added the provision over the years.
The initial objections from certain groups and legislative bodies were easily overcome. After all, most states required only a very short term of slavery service and, in addition, a young lady could choose her own time. Thus, it was not like the olden days when persons were cast into lifelong slavery against their will. Surprisingly, it was the women's groups who had manifested approval of the legislation, and therefore the objectors had little ground to stand on. If females themselves approved of their own slavery, who could possibly object? In addition, it was a matter of equality of service. The equal rights legislations of the 1970s had brought military service drafts to both male and female. This travesty failed in short order, for the military life and the loss of several thousand young women during the short conflict in the Near East raised a hue and cry of protest. Young ladies should not be killed as soldiers. Thus, military service for women was eliminated but social doctrine and equality called for service of some type. Short-term slavery was suggested, and approved.
In Stacy's home state in the north, slavery was not as yet adopted, but naturally the application of it in other states was most familiar to everyone. It would only be a matter of time before it was national. Even in Stacy's home state, however, provision was made for voluntary slavery. If a young lady wished to go into slavery she could. Many placed ads in the papers in the same columns as domestics. Stacy knew several who had served.
The difference between slavery service and domestic service was basic. Domestics need have a well-trained ability in housework, cooking, social amenities, child care and family orientation. Punishments, although sometimes issued for the employer's pleasure, mainly occurred as a result of sloppy work, mistakes or other household errors. Too, domestic work was a paid position, and a well-paying one at that. After all, if a young lady was expected to accept the discomforting feel of the whip, her salary should be commensurate with the obligation. Lastly, she could quit her position at any time.
Slavery was somewhat different. A girl could not quit until her term was up, and naturally there was no salary involved. It was, more or less, purely captivity. Obviously, slaves were not expected to be domestics. Their task was to provide pleasure and to be available for punishment delights. Sexual requirements were roughly the same for both domestics and slaves, although domestics did have a choice to refuse such obligations. Few did, however, for it normally resulted in loss of position.
It was natural, then, that most young women preferred to go into domestic service over voluntary slavery, for it was a well-paid profession. Those who went into voluntary slavery in non-slave states were those who had no domestic training and merely wished to derive the inherent benefits that a woman reaps through serving. A self-improvement program.
Domestics could begin at fifteen, slavery at twenty-one. In the slave states, domestic service did not preclude the required slavery term before marriage, and when of age, they must also accept their slavery term.
In a definite sense, a domestic was a much higher level girl than a slave, such as a secretary would be over a female truck driver. On the other hand, the proof of slavery was the ultimate compliment for a woman. Her esteem was great in the eyes of others, for she had accepted the ultimate submission that a female can make. The permanent mark of slavery, seen by virtue of low-cut blouses and swim-suits, was a badge of honor and respect. A girl who had served in slavery did not cover her brands, she showed them with pride.
In Stacy's new state, Georgia, a six-month slavery term was required before marriage of all young ladies. Some waited until the year before their marriage, some got the requirement out of the way as soon as they were twenty-one. A young lady who desired to marry before twenty-one, as many did, had a choice. She could serve her term at the younger age immediately, or she could marry and serve when she reached twenty-one. It was a fair doctrine.
As Stacy grew in her years she became more and more proud of being a girl, especially as she learned about their unique talents in respect to domestic and slave service. Could boys accept the things that went with it? Hardly. Naturally the cane and the whip hurt. Who said it didn't? But females accepted the hurt beautifully. They had accepted it since Eve, and always would. Stacy remembered her first domestic position, and her first whipping. Slightly trembling, bound over a chair, panties exposed. She would of course die. But twenty strokes of a crop later she arose from her punishment, looked about, and went on to other things. Just like her domestic teacher, Miss Cummins, said a girl would do. Of course it hurt quite a bit during the application, and it stung for a day afterwards but, heck, there she was, still in one piece, and surprisingly happy, and actually quite proud of the whole thing. A boy certainly wouldn't have reacted the same!
And slavery! That made girls extra special.
After all, the branding iron and rings put through the nipples? Wow. Yet, Stacy had never heard of a girl having to be dragged kicking and screaming into the preparation room. They just took it as a natural part of slavery. Was it any wonder then that girls felt so special towards one another? Was it any wonder that they made love with each other at any chance they got? No, definitely, girls had something special going for them.
- - -
Victoria parked the car near the county court house and the three of them entered the stately elm-cloaked old building. Others too were arriving, and Stacy was immediately aware of the dignity and good taste which was apparent in the people. She had thought perhaps, not having been to a slave sale before, that people would be lined up for hours to get in, bustling and shoving for good seats. It certainly must be a very sexual thing. Yet, slavery was not that new anymore, and the well-dressed people were calm and polite. If there was excitement, it didn't show in their leisurely pace and conversation.
An attractive court page met the people as they came in, trim in her pretty blue outfit. Victoria asked her the pertinent questions.
"Well, the slave sale starts at three, ma'm, in the assembly hall downstairs. The branding and nipple-ringing of the young ladies will be at 2:30 in Room B, adjoining the assembly hall. If you wish to attend that function, you must apply for a pass from the County Clerk, Room F, right over there. Room B holds only thirty people, so we must limit the number of passes to the preparation of the young ladies. Also, children aren't allowed for the preparation, but they may attend the actual sale and see the completed branding and ringing there, of course. You are early enough, however, and I'm sure that all the passes for Room B aren't gone yet."
"Thank you," said Victoria. "How many females are on sale today?"
"Seven, at last count," answered the page.
The necessary passes were obtained and Victoria, Stacy and Sondra made their way to the basement room where they selected a first row trio of seats. None of the slaves had arrived as yet, for it was just after two, but slowly the audience grew and one by one the various young ladies arrived and sat in a special row of chairs on one side of the open floor at the front. Stacy studied the young women. All seven were in their early twenties, perhaps not more than three years apart from the youngest to the oldest. Obviously on this day there did not happen to be any young ones in their teens who planned early marriage. Stacy had hoped that perhaps there might be one or two her own age today, for Victoria had mentioned that two months ago she had seen a sixteen-year-old sold and Stacy had visions of seeing a young one with her rings and brands. No matter, the seven that were here were quite nice, and young enough. It would be fun.
Shortly before 2:30 a young nurse arrived with her carrying case and laid out her equipment on a table. There was the branding iron, electric, with a long cord, which she plugged into a wall socket. The piercing needle and a small case of shiny rings followed, and then her application of cotton dabs, alcohol, burn ointment and towels. Stacy started to tingle.
"Sandy Bennett?" asked the nurse. A young lady with medium-brown hair stood up. She wore glasses and was extremely attractive.
"You may hang your clothes on the rack there, Sandy, and pick them up after the sale," said the nurse.
The young lady reaffirmed Stacy's love for girls. She undressed without hesitation, no particular blushing apparent, until only her white panties remained. She put her clothes on the rack, and her glasses on top. She was lovely! She came over to the nurse and put her hands behind her, for the handcuffs, without being told. Stacy sighed in admiration. After all, the branding and ringing could be done in private without an audience. But why waste such an exciting event on just the nurse? It would be done to a girl either way; so why not let others enjoy it? Women voters had approved of an audience. Stacy sighed again. Weren't girls wonderful!
The young woman was handcuffed, and brought to the center of the room to face the spectators. Her panties showed the triangle of brown hair. The nurse worked as much from the side as possible so as to not block the vision of everyone. The modern piercing needles were quite efficient. Unlike the old days where piercing was a laborious probing and thrusting, the current tool was spring-operated. The nurse centered the tip at the base of a fine-looking nipple, flipped the tiny button, and the needle shot through with a loud click. The hole had been clean, large and perfect.
No one expected the young lady to show no sign of discomfort or reaction, of course, and she did so. It was more of a gasp, or hiss, than anything else, but all in all very beautifully accepted. The second pierce was made quickly, and the nurse dabbed away the tiny trickle of blood. Various states used various size rings. It really didn't make much difference to the recipient whether the holes were large or small, probably. Victoria had explained that in Georgia rings of one-inch diameter and of one-eighth-inch thickness were used, a fairly common variety of good strength and showability. A pair was inserted by the nurse.
The magnificent sight of the shiny rings was most arousing to Stacy, and she held Sondra's hand in excitement. The young woman looked gorgeous with her rings!
The branding, of course, was more discomforting. The young lady, knowing this, closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. The nurse held the glowing "S" to each breast top for the required three seconds to produce a permanently deep mark. The bottom loop of the "S" was placed only a sixteenth of an inch above the top of the pink aureolas. The young lady screamed, very naturally, without reservation or shame. What else was she to do during the burning?"
It was expected by all, and delivered. It didn't make her any less a woman. False courage was not very feminine at all. Females are supposed to yowl. The quickly applied ointment all but dulled and eliminated the girl's hurt, and she re-took her seat. Her branded breasts were lovely!
"Joan Beckett?" said the nurse. Another arose.
The preparation of the seven young women was even more arousing and exciting than either Stacy or Sondra had anticipated. In fact, it was downright a turn-on! It was no less for Victoria Palmer, for although she had seen it several times before, such delights never became any less arousing. The seven were led out to the assembly hall, and the spectators in Room B followed them.
For Stacy, the pleasures of the sale were every bit as exciting as the administration of the rings and brand, although quite different in nature from one another. The viewing of the preparations had been purely quasi-sadistic in the pleasure it brought. It was simply a matter of receiving voyeuristic delight from seeing physical application of hurt and punishment given to the young ladies' bodies. It had been a meaningful experience for Stacy as well, for she was well aware that in the near future, somewhere, someplace, her breasts would receive the same insignias of slave service. In a strange sort of way, she looked forward to it very much.
The slave sale's enjoyment was just as exciting, but in a different way. It was actually more mentally satisfying than visual. It was initially the display of the first young woman at the two posts. The binding was quite simple, for the female was shackled by each wrist high to the top of the spread posts forming the well-known Y. Yet, was there any more perfect way to display a female than the Y position? It enhanced every line and every charm delightfully, and had been used down through the ages.
But it was not really the sight of the girl that mattered. It was the very knowledge of what the scene meant that was so terribly erotic. Here was a perfect specimen of young womanhood being sold as merchandise! With her full acceptance! It was not a furtive, clandestine sale in some basement. Here were men, women and children present with full knowledge and acceptance of the offered girl. Indeed, for possibly some of the children in the seats, it was the first time they had seen a lovely young woman stripped to just pants for display and sold like items in the store. More than that, it was the marvelous philosophy of the ones sold, which was so tremendously erotic. Before spectators, they had accepted the hurt of the piercings and the brands without shame. Now, spread and displayed before families, they awaited their sale, inherent in which was the knowledge of many whippings and sexual perversions to come. It was the ultimate emotion for a young lady to be displayed, nearly naked, realizing that everyone in the place knew how well and how often she would be sexually used very soon. Stacy marveled at the very being of females!
The slaves themselves were required to announce their own statistics from their binding posts.
"I'm Sandy Bennett, twenty-two years old, single, not previously married, no childbirths, five-foot-two, one-hundred ten pounds, 35-23-34 in measurement, bisexual, first sex with male at age thirteen, first sex with female at age fourteen. My term of slavery is six months of total captivity and obedience. I hereby agree to any and all punishments I may receive, and sexual usage. I agree to my sale at this time and place."
To some it may have been a bit much, but the law required such specific statements so as to preclude any misunderstandings, and Stacy thought the required sentences were quite erotic. The bidding was enthusiastic, but unimportant to Stacy. Some of the merchandise was sold to men, others to women, some to families. Upon completion of the sale, the owner bound the item, and took her home. It was as simple as that. But, oh the very idea of the whole thing was so lovely!
"What did you think of the whole thing?" asked Victoria on the way home.
"I thought it was super!" said Sondra.
"I think I'm in love with every girl in the world," said Stacy.
"Suppose we should stop again, and get our own pants back on?" smiled Victoria.
"Might be rather sloppy of an affair, darling," laughed Stacy. "I'm sure I can't have any cream left in me after all that back there."
"So?" smiled Victoria, pulling into a dirt lane.
- - -
June was wonderfully warm that year in Georgia, and the pool at Briargate was well used by all three females in residence. Victoria was a marvelous enigma during these weeks. In the pool she splashed nakedly with her two servants, playing the cute girl games in a manner far below her age of twenty-four. In bed, too, she squirmed and squealed more befitting a teenager than a married woman. She was careful not to forget her station outside of bed and pool, however, and played her mistress role with ever-increasing efficiency. She applied the whip firmly, and often, lest the triangular love affair becloud their relationship. Being in love with the girls did not in any way release them from their domestic level, nor earn them any less punishment. In truth, Victoria's punishments were harder than normal because of the love affair. She knew that they would understand, and they did.
There were the occasional delightful afternoons at the Country Club pool as well, an event which Stacy and Sondra eagerly looked forward to. It gave them a chance to meet other young female domestics, as well as some handsome young boys. The latter were pleasantly looked forward to, for the life of domestics tend to be very lesbian-oriented and boys are rather missed at times. Thus, the Club pool gave Sondra and Stacy a chance to meet some boys, arrange some dates on off days, and of course get nicely laid by someone their own age. They quickly learned to play the game at the Club, as did the other servant girls who might be there.
You wore your sheerest underpants for one thing, making yourself as desirable as possible when swimming. Secondly, you picked your "targets" early. A handsome boy for a date, a cute domestic for hand games under the water. One obviously did not go after daughters of clubwomen. That was a no-no, unless one of them approached you for water fun or a secretive later date. Many of the club daughters did approach and ask for dates, wanting to make a servant girl. But you didn't go after them. It was impossible to make a mistake, for club member females wore swimsuits and the servants wore panties only. Club member boys, on the other hand, were permissible game.
Victoria, Stacy and Sondra lay sunning on the pool deck at the Club when approached by little Julie Moreland. The tyke wore a bikini, and like everything else she wore, it was tiny. Julie was eleven, but looked like nine.
"Hello, Mrs. Palmer. Hi, Stacy. Hi, Sondra."
"Well, hello, Julie," said Victoria. "Where's your mom?"
"She's over playing tennis with Mrs. Bonner. I like tennis, but I'd rather hang around the pool and look at the dreamy boys and pretty girls. Gee, the servant girls are an eyeful, aren't they? I mean . . . gosh, you can see just all of them!"
"Why, Julie," smiled Victoria, "you mean you're starting to think about boys and girls now?"
"Sure, Mrs. Palmer. Gosh, I am eleven."
"Been out on a date with a boy yet, Julie?"
"No, not really. Mom says I'm still too young. Parents, yuchh! See that boy over there? Tim Hillary. He's kinda my boyfriend. Got kissed by him, once. Gee, I liked it a lot. We swim here together quite a bit, and sometimes he kinda holds me by the waist in the water. He's dreamy!"
"Have any . . . girlfriends, Julie?"
"Well, no, to be honest. Boys are my big interest now. Kinda like to look at the servants here though . . . I mean, all but naked, you know. Have had some thoughts about girls lately. Maybe that means I'm growing up. Then again, I know what boys and girls do together, and I'm not really sure about girls yet . . . you know ... I mean . . . what they do together and all.''
"Well, they do have fun, Julie, believe me," said Victoria, fantasizing about the moppet. Victoria simply couldn't help it. There was just something appealing about young Julie Moreland. For the last year, Victoria had visited Martha's Boutique more than necessary.
"Well, anyway, Mrs. Palmer, I have been meaning to ask you, how were the wrist and ankle fittings on the chains for Stacy and Sondra?"
"Oh, Julie, I have meant to tell Martha what a good job you did on them. They fit the girls perfectly, don't they, girls?"
"Just perfect, Julie," said Sondra. "Miss Victoria uses them on us quite a bit and you really can't tell they're on. No squeezing, no chafing. Just right!"
"Oh, I'm glad. I try to be so careful with the measurements. Martha is going to let me start making whips this fall. I'm very good with leather.
Would you buy my first one, Mrs. Palmer, to use on Stacy and Sondra? I'll make it perfect!"
"Of course, Julie. By the way, your mom and I are very close friends, so would you mind calling me Victoria?"
"No, if that's what you wish. Better tell my mom you gave me permission, though. Tells us young ones to respect our elders."
"That's very correct, Julie, but heavens, you make me sound ancient when you say 'elders.' I'm only twenty-four . . . still a girl myself."
"Yes ... I can see that . . . Victoria."
Victoria tingled. Julie had not meant anything by the statement, but Victoria read a fantasy into it. The tyke didn't know the least thing about lesbianism. Maybe somehow, she the spider, could lead this little fly into the trap. Someday.
"Getting spanked by Martha, Julie?"
"Not as much anymore. Don't make as many goofs as I used to. Guess I got tired of sitting on pillows." Julie laughed. "Oh, heck, 'bout forgot to ask you what I came over here for, Victoria. As you know, Mom is in charge of the Plantation Charity Day coming up a week from Saturday. Be held at Bush River Plantation, you know, the Wilson's place. She wants to know if you'll volunteer your services again this year, Victoria."
"Of course I will, Julie. Do you get to come?"
"No, darn it. Have to be fourteen, us kids. What a gyp! Anyway, Mom wants to know what you'll do this year."
"Doesn't matter, Julie. Tell her whatever she wants I'll do. Does she have any preference?"
"She said you served as one of the whipping girls last year . . . took an awful lacing most of the day . . . Mom thought maybe you'd like a change this year and serve in the whore tent."
"You can tell her I'll be glad to sell my pussy for charity, Julie."
The Plantation Charity Days were held in June and October. They had begun several years before and were one of the highlights of the local higher society echelon. Indeed, only the top-register socialites and families took part in the affairs. The general riff-raff of public certainly were not included in the exclusive sophistication which took place at one of the immediate plantations. The invitation-only events brought perhaps a hundred and fifty of Georgia's finest blueblood lines together, twice a year, in what was certainly appealing circumstances.
The young ladies who volunteered their services to provide the interesting entertainment were, of course, also wives of this same social register, plus some rather lovely debutantes within the family structures. Considerable funds were raised for charities and organizations, thanks to the willingness of these blooms of Southern womanhood to suffer the trials and tribulations for good cause. It was indeed a credit to these fine young ladies, and volunteers were never lacking. To be asked and refuse was certain to cause repercussions and a rather prompt deletion from the social lists as well as a nonrenewal of Country Club membership. This as yet had not been necessary. The willingness was unanimous. It might be mentioned that the Charity Day affairs were not covered by the media. In fact, media personnel were not invited at all. It was an exclusive, discreet and private function. However, it was not a secretive function. Charity Days were quite common in the South in most areas, and the public as a whole was well aware of the activities which took place, and naturally was envious of being excluded by lack of social standing.
Victoria, Stacy and Sondra arrived at Bush River Plantation at noon as required, parked, and began to mingle with the many guests, most of whom already carried mint juleps in frosty glasses. The "entertainment" girls were readily obvious among the crowd, for, by tradition they wore lovely Civil War period gowns of taffeta and silk with shiny bodices and full, flowing skirts. They looked marvelous and delightful, and could have stepped from the pages of Gone With the Wind. They were the South's greatest treasures. There were, perhaps, a dozen of them.
Victoria Palmer looked stunning in lavender taffeta, her lacy bodice revealing the majority of her fine breasts with their perfectly centered "S" brands. Stacy and Sondra had gasped at her beauty when they had helped her dress earlier.
Victoria mingled, her two servants tagging along, with many friends and acquaintances who properly fawned over her costume and her two employees. Of course there were also those few who were not particularly friends. Pretty young women within the same local society occasionally had their differences of opinion, normally initiated by some petty jealousy between them. Such was the case of Nancy Lee Smythe, a particularly ravishing brunette and wife of the Country Club manager. It had started in the pool over the attentions of a new member, an elegant little blonde from Carolina, who seemed unable to make up her mind between the obvious attentions of Victoria and Nancy Lee.
In truth, the newly married flirt, happily and craftily, encouraged the ongoing tussle over her, hoping to reduce her two admirers to combatants. She succeeded. The fight took place one evening in, of all places, the Country Club parking lot in front of an ever-increasing audience of delighted club members. Even the husbands of the two were not about to stop the excitement. Nothing like a good old-fashioned Southern catfight. There had been hair-pulling, fists thrown, biting, scratching, clawing, snarling, cursing and yowling. Lovely clothes were reduced to shreds and, by the end, they were both in their skin, still swinging away. Victoria had given Nancy Lee a frightful pummeling. Ironically, the mischievous instigator from Carolina turned her attentions to another young lady the very next day. The fight, however, had not been forgotten, especially by Nancy Lee Smythe, and the two ladies had not spoken at the Club since.
Victoria saw Nancy Lee approaching with a tall drink in her hand.
"Why, Victoria darling! How nice to see you." The words were cooler than her mint julep. "I understand you'll be in the whore tent today. How nice, and how very fitting! I was rather hoping you'd be a whipping girl today. I was prepared to write a rather large check to see you get your skin peeled off, inch by inch. In fact, I might have underwritten the whole afternoon of it. Wonder if a girl ever took a thousand lashes?"
"Why, Nancy Lee, aren't you sweet! How nice to see you. My, your black eyes have healed nicely, haven't they? How come you're not on the entertainment committee this time? Cold feet?"
"Not at all, darling. Agatha Moreland put me on finance. I did volunteer for entertainment. I'll serve there in October. Well, it's a shame I won't see you get hided, but the whore tent is just your style anyway. I'll buy your services, believe me, and you'll earn every dollar of it!" Nancy Lee left, smiling smugly.
"I'm afraid I'm in for a rough time with her when she lays down her money," laughed Victoria to her two girls. "Oh, well. By the way, girls, it's almost one o'clock. Have to get my pussy over to my work station. You're on your own until five when it's over. Walk around, see the sights, enjoy yourselves. Here's fifty dollars each for you. Spend it wisely. Come get me at five to go home. Might have to carry me to the car!" Victoria laughed sweetly. In the eyes of Stacy and Sondra, she was the ultimate woman. How they loved her! "Bye, darlings. I'll miss you," she said. The festivities started soon, and Stacy and Sondra walked around the large lawn and gardens, dotted by several tents, mint julep stands and booths.
"Hey, look, honey ... a kissing booth!" said Stacy.
"Oooh, she looks nice," said Sondra. "Five dollars a kiss. Want to try her out?"
"Sure. Let's go."
"Hi!" said the dark-haired Georgia peach within the booth. "First customers!"
The girl could kiss. Her arms went around them in turn, her warm body pressed delightfully into theirs. It was a money's-worth kiss which lasted well over a minute, and included some fancy tongue acrobatics. The day was starting out fine!
The whipping posts were arrayed along the row of forsythia bushes near the rock garden. There were five posts, and naturally, five young ladies.
Each, in her colorful gown, stood in front of her own post, generally smiling and trying to look as pretty as possible. As the afternoon wore on, the smiles would be harder to come by.
The rules were very clear and simple. Each lash sold for ten dollars. The contributor, however, did not perform the exquisite punishment. As the day went along, and copious amounts of juleps were consumed, to allow the contributor to apply the strokes became rather risky. The girls were to be flogged, not peeled into bits. Thus, college girls who volunteered themselves for many county works without pay, were rewarded by doing the whipping. Sober and enthusiastic, they did the task efficiently and delightfully. There was no charge obviously for onlookers, so one could enjoy an afternoon watching the world's oldest punishment for free. However, this was not taken advantage of. It was quite undignified to stand around without contributing. One whipping, or two, was allowed without eyebrows raised, but then a bystander was expected to move along, and not return until later perhaps, and then definitely contribute. One who expected such delights for free was not invited back next time. There was certainly no money problem among the guests, however, and most watched only when they paid.
Stacy and Sondra arrived to find the second girl in line peeling off her gown. A donator had chosen her, and had written his check in behalf. A donator paid only for the number of lashes given, and he or she had no privilege in selecting where the lashes would be placed. This was determined by the college girl who applied the lash, and she obviously placed them in equal ratios on back, bottom and breasts so that the poor girl wasn't used up in one spot.
If one spot was well used, the college girl avoided it the best she could. Additionally, if one or two particularly interesting girls were being selected more than the others, it was the right of the college girls to choose another. This was to be avoided if possible, for the contributor was expected to be able to select his or her choice, but sometimes it was necessary if one girl became obviously over-whipped.
Indeed, this was a further reason for using the college girls. Sober and alert and efficient, they were able to determine when a girl had had enough for a while. Not that they were fooled by tears and yowls and entreaties. Not at all. Being females themselves, they knew well how much each girl could and should take. Screams, moans and bawling of tears meant nothing. The marks on the skin were the telling criterion. Thus, the college girls were excellent choices to handle the task. There was one college girl for each recipient, and they talked and chatted together while awaiting customers. To a passing person, one would never think that one would soon be whipping the other. Girls were so unique.
Stacy and Sondra watched the girl undress. It was lovely as she peeled off bodice, skirt and petticoats on the lawn. Only the girl's modern panties deviated from the period costume. Pantaloons would have been a bit much, and not very sensual. Her whipper, dressed in white shorts and T-shirt like all the college girls, carefully took her clothes as they were handed to her and lay them carefully on the grass, for they need be put on again each time. The stripping was part of the delight. The recipient stretched her slender arms upwards to the top of the post, where the hands were tied with good old-fashioned rope.
To Stacy and Sondra, the exciting scene could have been right out of the middle nineteenth century on a provincial plantation. In truth, that was the general idea of the whole thing. A period whipping in the old tradition. If only the college girl wore a silk blouse and riding breeches! In fact, such costumes for the college girls were being considered for the next Charity Day.
The girl at the post could have been from any century or history book. They had varied little from Eve. The slender back, creased with its delightful narrow valley, the swelling bottom, perfectly devoid of any unintended lines, the firm thighs and calves, the well-nippled breasts panting slightly in anticipation of the whipping to come, the soft face of submission and acceptance, the pouting mouth, the flickering eyelids.
The first lash was always the important one to a recipient. The anticipation was great, and the gasp or hiss which it brought was more a gasp of relief than pain. From then on, it was a matter of working into the hurt until the yowls came easily and often. The contributor had paid two hundred dollars, so it would be twenty for the girl. The college girl was very good with her whip, lacing the back and the bottom about equally, before asking the girl to turn around. She did so nicely, and took the last portion upon her breasts which bounced properly under the well-applied strokes. She was untied, and her punisher sweetly helped her with her clothes. The girl licked her lips to eliminate the dryness there, and took her place at her post again to await further selection.
It had been exciting for Stacy and Sondra, and without realizing it, they joined hands somewhere during the whipping. When they were aroused they had an unconscious habit of holding hands.
"I want the fifth girl whipped," said an attractive debutante type of rather tender age. "We're roommates in nurses' training and very, very close friends.''
The onlookers murmured their approval. The girl's meaning was delightfully clear. Well, why not, thought Stacy. I'd have Sondra whipped if she were there.
The recipient was under twenty-one, and was the only one of such age. She was, perhaps, eighteen or nineteen. Even Charity Days were governed by a few regulations, and by law only females over twenty-one could be whipped totally nude in "public" functions. In private, no such regulations applied, of course, and no age rules. So, unlike the first girl, this one left her panty on. The regulations, of course, only pertained to the beginning of the whipping. If the poor girl lost her underpants piece by piece as the day went on, well, that just couldn't be helped. Couldn't expect a girl to bring along extra panties just to abide by a regulation.
"Three hundred dollars," said the young contributor. "Twenty-five lashes."
The recipient turned her head back from her bondage at the post, and stuck her tongue out at her purchasing friend.
"Vetta, you fink, you said you only had a hundred dollars!" It was said with a smile, however.
"Surprise, Judy! All of this week's wages!"
"Oh, I'll get you, I will!"
The girl howled nicely under her lashes, which were urged on to greater force by the prodding requests of her cheering friend. Since it was early in the day, the college girl obliged and lay the whip on heavily, especially in front, where two rather swollen nipples testified to their punishment. When it was over, the girl once again stuck her tongue out at her satisfied friend.
Stacy and Sondra decided that they had used up their welcome at the posts, at least for now, and partook of a julep near the fish ponds.
The "special" tents were scattered about the lawn. Here, a onetime punishment would be offered and spectators were charged admission. The fees were set according to the scope of the "punishment" and signs on the tents indicated the punishment, fee, and time of performance.
The girls decided to spend ten dollars at two thirty to watch a long-haired beauty have her hair cut off. Surprisingly, Stacy became very aroused, dampening her panties quite well, at the punishment. There are punishments and there are punishments. Some hurt physically, some hurt mentally. Some of the latter are actually more exciting as Stacy soon realized. The college girl clipped with scissors, sheared with a barber's electric razor, and the dark-brown tresses flew everywhere. Lastly, there was shaving foam and a razor until the squirming girl was beautifully bare on her lovely head. Her hands had been tied to the back of her chair to add eroticism. The girl was obviously aroused by her punishment. Stacy and Sondra stood in front of her and the girl just couldn't keep her legs from squirming apart occasionally. By virtue of her widely spread skirt and petticoats at times, Stacy and Sondra could see back to her panties once or twice and the pink nylon crotch was wet.
"Now," said the college girl, "it will be ten dollars more if you wish to stay and see this lovely girl lose her pussy hair as well. She'll be tied naked atop that table. Ten dollars for shaving it off, twenty dollars if you would like to see it pulled out with pliers."
The spectators murmured and babbled together.
"How much hair is she gonna lose?" asked a woman.
"All of it," said the college girl. The decision was unanimous. The fund would be excellent from this tent!
The college girl did it slowly and expertly, and it took nearly twenty minutes. It hurt the bound girl very much, it appeared. She was plucked, strand by strand, tuft by tuft, with pliers, and her screams were extremely forceful. She cried quite a bit.
At the end, she gave a terribly deep sigh and proclaimed, "Oh my God."
The performance had taken its toll. Several of the men made their way to the men's room to repair themselves with paper towels.
"Sondra, what's the matter?" asked Stacy. "You're standing there all funny-like."
"Came in my pants, hon. Gee, that turned me on!"
Stacy took a minute to talk with the depilated girl as she dressed.
"Miss, I think you're wonderful to go through . . . that. You had such a beautiful head of hair. That was a fantastic sacrifice for the fund."
"Oh, thanks. It'll grow back. I appreciate your nice words."
"I just think girls are fantastic!" bubbled Stacy.
"Aren't we, though."
"Gosh, we've spent thirty-five dollars already!" said Stacy. "Thirty dollars in that tent. But it was worth it!"
"You know it, angel. We'll have to go easy though."
They walked around for a while, making one brief foray back to the whipping posts. It was now three thirty, and the toll of the whips was obvious. The girl who was just finishing was a zebra from neck to thighs, on both sides. Her punished breasts were covered so perfectly that one could not really make out her nipples anymore. The girls had long since stopped putting on their clothes, so discomforting were they now, and stood naked. The young fifth girl had lost her panties to the whip, only a ragged waistband remaining, and she revealed now her furry triangle like the rest of her compatriots.
"Geez, look at 'em," sighed Stacy. "And an hour and a half to go yet!"
"Yeh. I'm in love with them all," said Sondra. "Are they ever gettin' it."
The girl who had just been whipped was selected again, but her whipper was sympathetic, and suggested another choice.
"It's o.k., Betti," she said softly. "I'll go again." She put her hands up to the post. The college girl tied them. The lash was half strength on her bottom.
"Do it right, hon," sighed the girl. The next sounded like a gunshot across her quivering buttocks. The girl was yowled out by now. She merely slumped against her post and took the lashing in silence. The college girl had to turn her for the breast lashes, and the hapless girl merely looked down and watched her breasts bounce. Stacy and Sondra left with a sigh of admiration for all females everywhere.
"Wonder how Miss Victoria is doing," said Stacy as they walked along. "Probably pretty good," said Sondra. "She's a real woman! Hey, look over at that booth! Breast milk, ten dollars! Geez, we just gotta try that, angel!"
"Holy cow, I'll say. Come on, Sondra. Gosh, always wondered about how it would taste! It'll be super sexy. Did you ever see Lanya of the Jungle on TV?"
"Sure have, hon. Marlene Parkins is some classy chick. Gosh, I used to just die when she spurted her milk all over. That girl is like a faucet! Made me have a climax once even. Just on TV! Let's go . . . I'm tingling."
"Hi!" said the two young women in the booth. "Going to buy our wares?"
"You bet!" laughed Stacy. "Gosh, have you two been here since it started? You must be regular dairies!"
"No . . .of course not. We come on at three. Four shifts of us creamers. Well, how do you want it, in a paper cup or straight from the tap?"
"Paper cup?" laughed Sondra. "Blah, that's no fun at all."
"Well, some of the stuffier customers don't wish to lower their 'dignity.' But it's a lot more fun natural. Get our bodices undone . . . there . . . o.k., hop up on our laps and slurp away."
Stacy and Sondra nearly squealed in joy as they plopped themselves on the lovely laps.
"How much do we get for our ten dollars?" asked Stacy.
"Well, within reason, you know. There are other customers to come along."
It was magnificent! Utterly magnificent. Stacy actually squirmed as she nursed. The sensuality was marvelous, helped along nicely by the young lady's arms which encircled Stacy. In time, the girl's response to Stacy's feeding became rather obvious, and her hands twisted and toyed with Stacy's tresses.
"Oh, that was super!" sighed Stacy. "You taste delicious!"
"Better for you than mint juleps too," smiled the volunteer. "You're the youngest I've suckled so far. You were fun, honey girl. Got me turned on a little. Well, thanks for your contribution, girls. Bye, and have fun."
Stacy and Sondra walked in a happy daze across the lawn.
"Aren't females just wonderful?" bubbled Stacy. "There's just so much they have to offer, golly!"
"Yeah, and we're down to five bucks, angel," said Sondra.
The sign at the tent proclaimed: BRANDING-FOUR P.M.-MELANIE WILLIAMS-TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS.
"Oh, gosh, and we're right of funds, darling!" pouted Sondra.
It was still fifteen minutes early, and no one was at the branding tent as yet except the college girl. She poked and prodded the red coals within a portable camping stove wherein the iron rested.
"Maybe . . . just maybe ..." said Stacy.
"What idea has struck your naughty head now, Stacy?"
Stacy went up to the attractive student with her sexiest smile. She couldn't have stood any closer to the surprised girl.
"We do want to see the young lady get branded, but we only have ten dollars between us," she pouted prettily.
"Sorry, honey. It's twenty-five apiece. The girl has her hide on the line and we want to take in a lot of funds here."
"Oh, I see . . . darn it. . . we're only servants ... and we don't earn much."
"Servant girls? Hmm. Gee, I don't know. . . ."
Stacy flattened herself against the girl. "We could make it. . . worth your while, darling."
If there were any full-bodied young females who could resist a Stacy and a Sondra, they would be rare. The college girl surrendered easily. She looked around the area quickly.
"We have fifteen minutes. Close the tent flap and latch it."
Stacy and Sondra did a job on the girl. It had to be brief, but it was highly efficient. They got in for ten dollars.
The tent was full. The recipient was tied face down on a table and the college girl gave one last shuffling of the iron in the fire. Branding was fairly common in the South these days. All slave-service girls and a few servants were adorned, the former with the "S" on their breasts, and the latter with employer's marks on various bodily choices. As in the court house sales, branding was done with a modern electric iron. Here, however, it would be done in the old tradition with coals and iron. It fit the format of the Plantation period theme, thus it was very exciting to anticipate.
A great show or performance was not necessary by the college girl. It was just a simple matter of pushing up the full taffeta skirt, pulling down the wispy panties, and laying the brand on one lovely buttock. When it was over, the recipient bore "C-D" for Charity Day on her right cheek. The oral response was satisfying but unusual, for it came forth in the form of a gurgle of sound, uttered probably by the unexpectedly terrible hurt involved. The girl's strange cry was almost as if she didn't believe the pain could be so intense. But, of course, it was. She had swung her hair back and forth and hissed like a snake before the college girl applied the relieving salve. But then she lay quiet like a good girl, and people applauded.
"The slave girls we saw at the court house took their brandings better," mused Stacy afterwards. "And they got it twice."
"Yeah, hon, but don't forget, this one was a 'high-society' filly and probably a little spoiled as compared to those 'real' everyday chicks at the slave sale. Give me a working girl anytime. Besides, give the gal credit. That old-time branding iron must hurt more too."
"Suppose you're right, Sondra. Hey, it's almost four thirty. Why don't we check out Victoria?"
The girl at the whore tent advised the two that the viewing of the sexual gymnastics inside was not free.
"But one of the whores, Victoria Palmer, is our mistress," pointed out Stacy. "Oh, sorry. Go ahead in."
It might have been an Arabian harem or a Roman bed chamber. Six young ladies lay on six cots, au naturel. All were in various poses of rest and weariness. It was most obvious that they had worked hard since one o'clock. A sign on the main tent pole proclaimed the various fees involved in using any one of three possible delights that a female could offer to a man. The smallest female entrance was the most expensive. There were no customers at present, for it was near day's end and the well-juleped male customers had all, by now, exhausted both their funds and abilities. The sign also offered ministration to female customers for a moderate fee.
Victoria was sprawled out full length on her cot, an obviously tired young woman. Her face, chin and thighs all bore wet evidence of the male animal, a thick mess which Victoria was simply too tired to bother about anymore.
"Hi, Miss Victoria," cooed Stacy. "Gosh, you're a mess. You should see yourself. Sondra and I will clean you up a bit."
"Thanks, girls. Wooee, I'm bushed. This poor cot hasn't stopped bouncing since I got here! Bet I took a quart of gunk in every hole I have. Not only that, but it seemed like the 'biggest' men used my smallest hole all the time. Oh well, that's what it's there for, I guess. Been so wacked out the last hour I didn't know whether I was eating a male or a female at times. I even said, 'thank you, sir' to a girl customer once! Made a lot of money, though. Had just as many girls as guys, I'll bet."
Stacy and Sondra cleaned up their employer with love and tenderness, hoping that there would indeed be no more customers for their loved one. Unfortunately, there was one more. Nancy Lee Smythe.
"Well, look at the lovely slut," came the cool voice. "Aw, isn't that sweet to have your two love children clean you up. Looks like you've been ravished quite well, darling. Hope you get pregnant, of course. I came last because I wanted you tired and submissive, my dear. Tell me, slut, what can you offer a female?"
"It's on the sign, Nancy Lee. Twenty dollars for female customers."
"I don't like to read, bitch, tell me what you will do for twenty dollars."
Stacy and Sondra shivered. Victoria was paying the price.
Victoria gave a sigh of resignation. "I'll eat your pussy, Nancy Lee."
"That's better, slut. I've waited a long time for this, believe me."
The beauteous young woman stripped and handed Stacy a camera from her purse.
"Take a shot of her sucking my pussy, Stacy dear. I'm going to put it up in the women's locker-room at the Country Club where even the grade-school girls will see it."
Victoria did not blush often, but she did now. Terribly.
"O.K., slut, on your knees in front of me. I'll take it standing."
Nancy Lee was in her glory of revenge. As Victoria ate, she grabbed her hair painfully and shoved her face against the target.
"Eat it, bitch! Eat it! Make some noise down there!"
Victoria burbled and slurped shamefully at her wet meal. Stacy took a photo.
The photo definitely was put up in the locker-room at the Club the following Monday.
Chapter Five
A warm September afternoon brought a telephone call to Briargate. It was at noon on Friday.
"Hello?" said Victoria. "Who? Oh, Julie. How are you? You're calling from school? . . . You did? Oh, good for you. How did the whip turn out? . . . Yes, I remember I said I'd buy it when you made your first one . . . Martha must be proud of you, Julie, they're not easy to make . . . but I'll bet you did a fine job . . . yes . . . sure, I'll buy it today . . . I'll come in for it. . . what? . . . you want to see if it works okay? . . . well, tell you what, Julie, why don't you bring it out after school on your bike . . . I can use it on Stacy or Sondra and we'll see how good a whip you made ... we can all have a swim too, it's awfully warm today. . . sure... in our pool . . . okay, see you then, Julie."
Sondra and Stacy sat smiling, listening to the conversation. Victoria laughed. "All right, darlings, what's the funny looks for?"
"You really do want to get in that imp's panties, don't you, Victoria?" teased Stacy.
"Well... to be honest. . . yes . . . for some time now. I don't know what it is about her. You two are the youngest I've ever slept with, but you're young ladies. This tyke just does something for me. Gosh, she doesn't even have much breasts yet. I don't know what the matter with me is. Am I wrong?"
"Look, darling," said Stacy. "These things just happen. There doesn't have to be a reason. So she's eleven . . . she's still girl with all the right bodily parts. I think all of us young women, sooner or later, have an urge to rob the cradle . . . maybe just to see what it's like, you know. Frankly I think it would be a turn-on with Julie. She hasn't been made by boy or girl yet. Two-way virgin. On the other hand, Sondra and I feel a little jealousy."
Victoria held both their hands and kissed them lightly.
"Now listen to me," said Victoria sweetly. "I love you two. I mean, really love. Almost like my husband. You're special to me. Julie has nothing to do with that. It's just an infatuation with me. I think just once with her, and I'll get it out of my system. Understand?"
Stacy and Sondra beamed in relief and happiness.
"We'll help you snare her," they promised. Victoria hugged them in love.
Julie Moreland arrived on her bike at three. The muffin was the epitome of tomboyishness. She wore shorts and a tank-top, and possibly if one looked close enough it could be determined that her legs were slightly softer and curvier than boys. But not much. Also, the two little mounds under her top could be assumed to be female breasts in their sapling stage. However, should Julie More-land be wearing jeans, and a jacket, and some kind of a cap or helmet, she could easily be mistaken for one of either sex.
The whip, which her apprentice hands had made at Martha's Boutique, was taken from its bag and shown to Victoria Palmer with pride on the front lawn.
"Well, it looks o.k., Julie. Shall we try it and see?"
"Sure, Victoria. I'll keep my fingers crossed."
"I'll let you pick the servant."
"Oh, it doesn't matter. How about Sondra? I've never seen a girl whipped, so I'll enjoy whatever girl gets it."
The four females walked around the house to the whipping post, and Sondra removed her costume and pants. Sondra's lovely nudity was nothing new to Julie, for her numerous visits to the Country Club pool had long ago acquainted her with the delightful bodies of various servant girls. Still, she hadn't seen a nude one tied prettily to a whipping post, and it rather pleased her.
Victoria's first effort left a good mark across Sondra's bottom. Julie was pleased.
"See ... it made a real nice streak on Sondra, and it sounded nice too," she beamed.
"Yes, Julie," cautioned Victoria. "But let's wait and see."
The following dozen strokes seemed all right, and brought the proper gasps and squeals from Sondra.
"What do you think, Sondra?" asked Julie. "Does it hurt enough?"
"Well. . . owww! ... I'd say that. . . owwwww! . . . it does . . . owwwww! . . . so far . . . ohh! . . . yes . . . it's . . . very . . . oww! . . good, Julie."
Unfortunately, by the twentieth lash, the end of the whip began to unravel. Julie was crushed and close to tears in embarrassment.
"Well, Julie," sighed Victoria, "I'm afraid it just won't do. You must be sure to braid the end very tightly and use very strong glue there in addition."
"Oh, wow, Victoria. I feel terrible! My first one too. Martha counted on me. I suppose you'll have to tell her and it will be the last whip I make for her. Darn it, I get commission on ones I make too. Be lucky to keep my job after this goof. Looks like 'spanking time' at the very least from Martha. Darn!"
"Well, I think a girl should always have another chance, Julie. The whip wasn't that bad. It did the job on Sondra, but you'll have to do better with the end braiding next time. I'm sure you will through this experience. Maybe I shouldn't tell Martha about it, and buy it anyway. I can cut it down and make a crop out of it. Make a nice spanking item. What do you think, Stacy?"
"Oh, it would make a lovely crop. Sondra and I will cut it down. Should hurt our bottoms nicely. It's up to you, Victoria, but I'd give her another chance." Stacy was right on cue.
"Well, what about Julie's spanking for her mistake?" asked Victoria, almost script-like.
"Well, there's no getting around that," said Stacy, appearing serious. "A girl has to be punished when she goofs. Guess you'll have to tell Martha, after all."
"No. Please, Victoria," pouted Julie. "Hey, I know! Maybe if you spanked me instead, then I'd be punished, and Martha wouldn't have to be told."
The response had been cleverly anticipated by all concerned. Julie didn't realize it, of course, but she was following the baited trap.
"Well, I don't know, Julie," said Victoria, pretending deep thought. "After all, you're not my daughter or my employee."
Young Julie pleaded, "Oh, please, Victoria?"
Stacy and Sondra sighed together. Julie was so young and so gullible. It had been easy, so far. They were pleased for Victoria, and rather excited about it all.
"Very well then, Julie. But it will be a very good spanking. Can't let you off easy," said Victoria.
"Oh, I don't expect you to, Victoria. Give me a good one, please . . . and thanks awfully much."
The web was beautiful. The fly even asked for it! Sondra smiled at Stacy, and Victoria went into the house for cigarettes. In truth, she merely wanted more time to enjoy thinking about her clever manipulations and what they would bring. While she was gone, the servants talked to Julie. They had prepared no course of events with Victoria before Julie arrived, but they would use their own feminine wiles to feed the bait to their adorable mistress. Girls were very clever when it came to things like this!
"Julie, can we make a suggestion?" said Stacy. "How does Martha spank you?"
"On my underpants."
"Yes, well, Julie, that's rather juvenile, isn't it? I mean, if you're a real grown-up girl you take a spanking on the bare like Sondra and I do. Miss Victoria thinks you're such a 'mature' girl for your age, Julie. She likes you a lot. You wouldn't want to let her think you're still just a kid."
"Gosh. Victoria thinks I'm mature? She likes me? Well, barebottom it is then. Pants don't help stop the hurt much anyway. Guess you're right. Time I grew up. Thanks for the advice, Stacy."
Stacy smiled to herself. The girl could be played like a violin, and she even gave her thanks! The game was getting interesting.
Victoria, of course, had not instructed Stacy and Sondra to urge such a thing. She would have been well satisfied to spank her little morsel on her pants. Thus, when she sat on the lawn bench to administer the paddling, she was surprised to see Julie step out of both her shorts and her panties. Surprised and aroused. She glanced quickly at Stacy and Sondra, who winked at her in reply. Her two partners in crime were doing their job! She would reward them nicely. How she loved them for helping her!
Julie Moreland had no hair, as yet, at her sex, thus what she did have there was delightfully obvious. In fact, it was almost stark. She climbed aboard Victoria's lap with a little squirm and twist. Victoria's emotions were quite tingly at the sight of the compact little bottom awaiting its punishment. She had not been intimate with so small a pair of buttocks before. Her pulse quickened.
The fact that Julie neither moved nor gasped for the first eight or nine smacks only added to Victoria's excitement. The spanking settled into a staccato rhythm of hand against bottom, a visual pleasure not lost on Stacy or Sondra. Once again, unconsciously, they held hands as they watched. Eventually, Julie began to bounce nicely under the forceful blows, her slender little body reacting helplessly to the weight of Victoria's hand. Her first sounds were little gasps, and grew into substantial "Owws" before too much longer. Her cream-colored bottom had changed to a rather vivid pink-red and her thighs opened and closed in response to the increasing hurt. Stacy and Sondra saw on Victoria's face the evidence of her pleasure. It was quite flushed, and not from the warm afternoon. They were pleased for Victoria.
"Had enough, Julie?" sighed Victoria.
"Well, I am getting to be a big girl now, Victoria," said Julie, obviously trying to impress Victoria with her "maturity." "I really suppose I should be made to cry, don't you think?"
"Why, Julie, you are growing up, aren't you?" said Victoria. "Good girl."
The pride of the compliment and the recognition of her "maturity" was worth the extra twenty smacks to Julie. At the finish, she was crying loudly.
"How about a swim, Julie, to cool off your bottom?" laughed Sondra. "We usually play 'Country Club' on warm afternoons."
"Wooee ... it needs cooling," replied Julie. "Swim would be fun. But, I don't have my swim-suit."
"Well, Julie, you don't need a suit here. This is a private pool, not the real Club one. Don't you know that at private pools, girls always swim naked together?"
"They do? Well, o.k., then. But how about Mr. Palmer?"
"Oh, my husband is away on business this weekend, Julie," said Victoria. "Nobody but us girls around."
The four splashed into the pool, delightfully nude, and although the two servants played their usual girly-girly games in the water, Victoria did not opt to put her hands on young Julie just yet. They swam for an hour before Stacy went to a pool-side cabinet and took out the body lotion.
"O.K., time to play masseuse, just like at the Club," said Stacy. "Want to play, Julie?"
"Sure. I know that the ladies in the locker-room give rubdowns to the members in the anterooms. Mom says it's a lot of fun, but she never went into it in detail. Says I have to be fourteen to get a rub-down in there. Club rules. Let's play!"
"O.K.," said Sondra. "Stacy and I will do each other, and you and Victoria can be partners."
Victoria chose an elegant shady spot behind a flowering bush. The grass was soft and warm there, and Victoria thought that perhaps this little pleasure should be done privately. No use scaring Julie this early in the game. She might be self-conscious in front of the other two.
"O.K., Julie darling, just lie there on your tummy. I'll do your backside first." Victoria nearly purred as she spread the lotion on the slender back and the perfectly rounded bottom.
"Take some of the heat out of your bottom, Julie?"
"Oh, yes, Victoria. Feels great! I like it."
"O.K., Julie, flip over on your back now. That's it. No, honey, keep your legs open . . . that's it. . . we're all girls here ... we know what girls look like, don't we?"
"Sure." The seduction was coming along nicely. Victoria massaged the tender young figure from toes to neck, spending considerable time on the sprouting breasts. Julie hadn't objected.
"Masseuses always work on the breasts more," Victoria explained. "They're so pretty and special to a female, and they need considerable massaging to keep them nice."
"Oh, I see. Well, gee thanks, Victoria. You've done them very well. You're very nice to take such good care of me." Julie's innocence seemed only to excite Victoria more.
"O.K., time for your licking, Julie. Open your legs wide." "Licking?"
"Sure! Don't you know that's what all masseuses do? They always finish up that way. Makes a female feel wonderful. Ask any woman at the Club."
"Well... to be honest... I did hear something about something like that from Bunny Adams. But I don't know really what it means. What do I do?"
"Nothing, Julie. The masseuse does all the work. Just lie back and enjoy it."
When Victoria's tongue touched Julie's virgin sex the girl nearly bounced off the grass in response.
"Just lie back and relax, Julie."
Victoria licked, and then probed. Julie began to squirm and made funny little noises.
"Feel good, Julie?"
"Oh, geez, it feels . . . super. Gosh! Oooh!"
"Well, if your masseuse is doing a good job of making you feel good, you always let her know by putting your hands in her hair and playing with it. Tells her you're appreciating it." Julie's hands began to play with Victoria's hair at once.
The tyke was getting surprisingly wet under Victoria's tonguing and Victoria went into third gear. She ate.
Victoria could tell when Julie was getting close. Her hands were painfully pulling at Victoria's hair. Julie Moreland arched, squealed, thrashed and bounced when it happened.
"My God!" gasped Julie. "What happened? I never felt anything like that! It felt. . . fantastic."
"You had an orgasm, Julie," smiled Victoria. "A girl is supposed to. That's why masseuses do it.
See, I told you it would feel wonderful."
"Wow! My very first orgasm!" Little Julie couldn't believe it, yet.
"O.K., my turn," said Victoria.
Victoria, naturally, was in heaven. She had fantasized about this moppet for such a long time. The fantasy was now being acted out. The tyke's hands felt like silk on her body, and when the slender fingers fondled and massaged her breasts, her nipples shot into erection. Julie spent much time on the full breasts, squeezing, pulling and kneading.
"Well, here I go, Victoria. Tell me if I don't do it right."
Victoria could not restrain a loud moan at the first touch of Julie's tongue.
"Oh, sorry," said Julie. "Did I hurt you?"
"Oh, no, Julie ... no, darling . . . it .. . just felt nice ... go right ahead."
Victoria had the quickest orgasm she ever had. Not that Julie was good, for her ministrations were childish and inexperienced. It was the realization of who was doing it, Julie was pleased that her tongue had brought success.
"Oh, I'm so glad I made you come," beamed Julie. "I was hoping I wouldn't goof up again. Did I do okay?"
"You did great, Julie. Now, want to do some nipple exercises? Girls often do it to each other to increase their length. Good suckings really help them grow, you know."
"Well, I'm for that," laughed Julie. "Mine are rather childish yet. Hope to have them like yours someday."
"You will, honey. Just be patient. They'll grow. I'll help them along, then you can do mine. Mine are long, but a female can always have them longer, you know. The longer the better."
Victoria sampled Julie's tips for a pleasant moment or two.
"Hey . . . look, Victoria. . . you made them longer already!"
"You're precious," Victoria laughed. "No, hon, they're just excited from my mouth. Takes a couple of months of mouth exercises."
Julie laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm really not too up on these things yet. Your turn now."
When the situation had been milked about as far as it would go, they held hands and went to find Stacy and Sondra. The two servants lay resting on the grass.
"Well, how did it go, Julie?" asked Stacy.
"Oh, Stacy . . . just super! It was . . . really great! Girls are just wonderful together. They can have so much fun! Geez, you've really got some pussy, Stacy. Holy cow. Never saw you naked before. Geez, wish mine was like that. How'd it get so nice?"
"My last mistress hung weights on the lips, Julie. Up in Vermont."
"Golly. Do you think if I did that. . . ?"
"Better wait for a few years, Julie," laughed Stacy.
They dressed and had cokes near the pool.
Sondra had started the "slave" format, on a cue from Stacy. With wide eyes, Julie listened to the two girls exalt the pleasures of slave-service.
"Well, I can hardly wait," said Sondra.
"Me too," replied Stacy on cue. "But darn it, we'll have to be servants for a while yet. If we weren't working for a living, Sondra, I'd sure volunteer for six months of slavery. Oh, what an honor for a girl! Even if I was just Julie's age I'd go into slavery. Such fun!"
"I hear a lot about it," said Julie, taking the bait. "And of course I see the 'S' marks on a lot of women's tits at the Club. Their bikini tops don't cover the letters. Had a real good chance to see Victoria's Ss when I massaged her tits a while ago. Is slavery really fun?"
"Oh, it sure is!" chimed in Victoria. "I should know."
Julie was visibly excited, probably still by the rubdown games she had just played with Victoria.
"Gee, it sounds exciting. Maybe I should give it a try. Must be very sexy."
"Well, you have to be a real girl, Julie. It's not kid stuff, you know," prompted Sondra.
"I am a real girl," Julie proclaimed proudly. "Did girl things with Victoria, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did, Julie," said Stacy. "I know, why don't you call home and ask your mom if you can stay overnight here at Briargate. You can serve in slavery for one day. Won't have to be for six months this time. We'll make it real official and all. Sondra and I will sell you to Victoria and she'll own you. You can keep the money she bids for you."
"Can I? Oooh, I could use the money a lot. Well . . . o.k. . . . I'm game."
Victoria was squirming in her chair. Stacy and Sondra would get a nice raise in salary come Monday!
"You go in the house, Victoria," said Stacy. "We'll capture Julie and bring her to the door for sale. Make a real thing out of it!" Everyone, including young Julie, was getting turned on by now.
Alone with Julie, Stacy and Sondra proceeded with the exciting charade.
"Run, Julie, like you're trying to escape capture!"
The tomboy ran helter-skelter across the lawn and gardens but was soon caught by the pursuing girls.
"Well, look what we've caught!" said Stacy. "A girl! She'll bring a good price. Strip, girl, to be bound! Down to your panties, and be quick about it!"
Julie, happily caught up in the exciting game, obliged.
"You see, Julie," said Sondra taking an aside briefly, "a captive girl always is stripped before she's tied. Remember that if you play capture games at girl scout camp. Always strip a girl down to her pants at least."
"I'll remember," said Julie. "I join scouts next summer, and I know they play capture games in the woods."
"And here's how you tie a female, Julie," said Stacy. "Pay attention. First you tie her wrists behind her like . . . this. Then you tie her elbows and pull them together like . . . this . . . see . . . makes a girl's tits stand right out nice and sexy like. . . then you tie a rope around her waist. . . like this . . . and bring the long end up under her legs and tie it to her wrist ropes in back . . . like this . . . then pull it tight, like this, so it goes right up in her pussy . . . there! You are properly tied, Julie!"
Julie had squeaked when the rope had invaded her sex.
"Wow! I'll say!" she gasped. "Makes you feel like a girl, doesn't it? Know what? I'm kinda get-tin' turned on. Never been tied before."
"You're supposed to get turned on ... if you're a real girl, Julie. Well, Sondra, what shall we do with this cute piece of girl-flesh?" Back to the game.
"Let's sell her into slavery. Look, there's a house over there. I think a very beautiful young woman lives there, name of Victoria Palmer. Think she'd like to buy a cute little girl for a slave?"
"Well, I don't know. Depends. She wouldn't want an innocent schoolgirl, I wouldn't think. Have you ever eaten a female, captive?"
"Yes," said Julie softly and seriously. She was deep into the game. "I know how to eat pussy."
"Well, there is a possibility then. Let's take her to the door and see."
"Hello, madam," said Stacy after the knock was answered. "Would you be interested in buying a girl today? We've just captured this one."
"Hmmm," said Victoria, playing her role. "She looks awfully young to me. Couldn't use another servant. I have two now. But possibly I could use a slave. Tell me, captive girl, would you be servant or slave?"
"Oh, I'll be a slave, madam. I shouldn't have let myself be captured like this," smiled Julie. "I'll be a good one."
"Well, I just don't know. Maybe if I see more of her," said Victoria.
"If you have some binding posts, madam, we'll present her to you properly," said Sondra.
"Very well. Bring her in." The scene was being played beautifully. Even Julie was perfectly serious.
Victoria Palmer sat in her chair in the- living room. Julie was displayed directly in front of her, bound spread-eagled between two portable binding posts.
Thin cords were attached to her thumbs and big toes, pulling her tautly and delightfully. Victoria had never seen so thrilling a sight and her panty was very damp.
"Maybe we should call her mother first," said Stacy, remembering that technicality which nearly had been overlooked. Victoria dialed the number and held the phone up to Julie.
"Mom . . . this is Julie ... I'm out at Mrs. Palmer's home. Had to deliver a whip. Say . . . could I spend the night out here? Yes, sure she invited me! Stacy and Sondra are so nice to play with . . . and Mr. Palmer's gone away on business .. . what? ... oh, we'll play games and things . . . we're playing one now, in fact, but I'm all thumbs, it seems."
Stacy covered a giggle. Julie was precious!
"Oh, please, Mom. They have such a nice pool . . . did we swim? Yes we did, a little while ago .. . no, of course not, Mom, I did leave my underpants on . . . no, they all wore their panties too in the pool . . . yes, even Victoria . . . we're all female, Mom. . . it was O.K.. . . gosh, no different than the servants at the Club pool . . . well, I'll stay until tomorrow afternoon, O.K.? Oh thanks, Mom, you're a dear! She wants to speak with you, Vic. . . Mrs. Palmer."
"Yes, Abby?" said Victoria. "Oh no, not at all. Julie's a dear and so well behaved. She'll be no trouble at all. It's been so long since there's been any children around my life. She's a delight. What is she doing now? Well, she's quite happily occupied, being very quiet and still. Isn't moving a muscle . . . no . . . she was telling the truth, Abby ... we all wore our pants in the pool because of her age and everything . . . no, she'll be fine. Thanks, Abby. Bye."
"Well, Madam, now that that is over, what do you think of this item for sale?" said Sondra. "She's asking twenty-five dollars for herself. We are allowing her to keep the money."
"Twenty-five dollars!" said Victoria, properly indignant. "For this little slip of a girl?"
"Well, she is little, it's true, and only eleven, but as you can see, she is a girl and rather attractive in a compelling sort of way. Like a rose ready to bloom, so to speak. See, her tits aren't large, but they are rather nice. The nipples are perfectly centered, and I'm sure they respond nicely to a touch or a tongue. Of course, she has no pussy hair yet, but then again, it makes it so much easier to see. Her sex lips are just blossoming out."
"Hmm," said Victoria. "Well, what can she offer me?"
"Well, she is an expert at sucking pussy. She's done it at least. . . once. And she's very spankable. Marvelous little bottom, just meant for paddling. Might be a bit young for whipping yet, but she'll make a good spank."
"Well, all right. Twenty-five dollars, then," sighed Victoria.
"Oh, thank you for buying me, Mistress!" squealed Julie. "It's the most money I ever earned. I'll be a very good slave."
"Well, Stacy, better get the electric branding iron started, and Sondra, get the rings and the piercing needle," said Victoria in all seriousness.
The Adam's apple in Julie's throat actually jiggled as she gulped.
"Oooh, I forgot about . . . that part of it," she said..
Victoria acted very surprised and disappointed. "By state law, a slave has to have the S branded on her breasts, and rings put in her nipples, slavegirl. You know that. Oh, well. Bring back an older girl next time, Stacy and Sondra. Untie her and send her home."
"Oh, darn!" said Julie. "I so wanted to play slave . . . and the money . . . well ... I started the game ... I'll finish it . . . have to grow up sometime. Brand me and ring me then. You bought me in good faith."
Victoria had assumed, naturally, that the game would end here. But she had not counted on the tyke's courage and honesty. She winked at her two servants who went off to fetch the items needed.
The two rings and the piercing needle were laid on the table in front of Julie so that she could see them. Her eyes were like an owl's, in apprehension. Victoria held a ring up to one of Julie's nipples.
"Hmm. Seems quite large for her little nipple."
"It'll. . . be . . . okay," croaked Julie. "They'll fit in there." Julie obviously wanted to be somewhere else right now!
"Well, maybe if I put them right at the base of her nipples, partly through the aureolas." Julie's mouth quivered in uneasiness. "Shall we brand her or ring her first, girls?" asked Victoria.
"Why don't you brand her first, Victoria," said Stacy. "The brand is all ready."
Victoria brought the brand near Julie. The glowing "S" was almost larger than the young breasts.
"Well, come on, slave-girl," said Victoria firmly, "are you a child or a girl? . . . stick those breasts out to be branded like a real woman."
The poor girl thrust out her innocent mounds. Her hands made fists, her eyes closed tightly, and her teeth clenched themselves together in anticipation of the pain. Victoria lowered the brand until some of the dainty little child-silk on Julie's breast curled and browned under the heat. Victoria awaited the scream of halt from Julie. It did not come! The tyke actually was going to let herself be breast-branded! Victoria shook her head in disbelief and admiration.
Stacy showed admiration, but not surprise. She long since had stopped being surprised by anything girls accepted in life. Girls were the best things in the world.
"Wait!" said Stacy, on cue. "Before you brand her breasts, Madam, I want to check something in the law book in the library." She left, and returned quickly. The brand was still close enough for Julie to feel the heat of it. Stacy had the law book opened.
"Afraid you can't brand her, Madam, or ring her nipples either. In Georgia Statutes, Book Nine, Page Eleven, Paragraph Two, it says that a slave-girl can't be branded and/or ringed until she's fifteen. She may be a slave at any age, but not branded or ringed."
"Oh, darn!" said Victoria.
All could see Julie actually slump in her ropes. Her eyes opened once again. Her little breasts and chest heaved in relief. She wouldn't admit it, however. Not Julie Moreland. In truth, the tyke had been scared to death. She had been one second away from shamefully wetting the floor. Now, of course, her reprieve made her brave.
"Heck," she said. "A slave-girl should have her tits branded and ringed. Those stupid lawmakers! Eleven is old enough!" Victoria had to turn around to hide her smile. Yet, Julie had once again aroused her greatly.
"Well, get a marking pen, Stacy. I'll put the 'S' on her breasts with that."
Victoria drew two lovely script S's on Julie's young breasts. Julie was pleased with them. They were painless.
"Does the law book say anything about what age a slave-girl has to be before a mistress can torture her?" asked Victoria. Stacy thumbed through the pages.
"No, Madam. Guess you can torture her."
"Would you like to be tortured, slave-girl?" asked Victoria.
Julie's answer probably would have been no, ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But so relieved was she at escaping the branding, that torture seemed like a respite to her!
"If you wish, Mistress. I belong to you," said Julie properly.
The clothespins looked huge on Julie's little nipples, and had nearly flattened them in the forceful grasp. It was, of course, the girl's first torture. She had given a rather adult moan to each application, and now lay her head against one shoulder as the pain intensified. Stacy and Sondra began to hold hands again, and their excitement was evident in their moistened pants.
"Probably should gag your slave before putting clothespins on her pussy, Madam," suggested Sondra.
Victoria reached up under her skirt and peeled off her panties.
"Open, slave-girl," she commanded of Julie.
"Ooh, your pants look rather wet, Mistress," complained Julie.
"Slave girls don't talk back!" snapped Victoria. "Besides, you know what I taste like. Open!" Julie opened her mouth like a baby bird expecting a worm. The pants were popped into her mouth with force. Julie's face flushed as she tasted Victoria Palmer once again. Victoria put clothespins on her sex lips.
It was now that young Julie Moreland felt the first real submission-domination emotion of her tender life. This sophistication usually was not experienced until teenage years, but at eleven it was more than possible. In Julie's case, it was occurring. The full realization finally sank home to her as Victoria and her two servants sat in easy chairs and admired the view which she presented them. Naked, spread open, bound by thumbs and toes, painful clothespins on nipples and sex lips, a woman's damp panty in her mouth. A slave!
Julie gave out a muffled moan as it hit her. Victoria was well aware of the moment. She was experiencing the sight of a very young girl feeling the excitement of submission and bondage for the first time. She stared at Julie's sex expectantly, and eventually was rewarded. Small drops of liquid oozed out and fell to the floor. A spanking should do it.
She stood behind Julie and applied the spanking full force. They were gunshots in volume.
"When you're ready to eat my pussy, and Stacy's and Sondra's too, just nod your head, you little slut." Victoria intentionally issued the crude words to further excite Julie's submission. It worked. Especially being called a slut. At the next loud smack of hand against her bottom, Julie burbled into her gag. Following this, she began to chew on the panties, jerked, orgasmed terribly, and fell limp in her ropes. Her thighs were soaked from the emission.
Victoria removed the clothespins and the ropes, and Julie sat like a child on the floor to get her senses back. Her eyes were big and blue, and very, very submissive.
"Thank your mistress for the spanking, Julie," said Stacy.
"Thank you for spanking . . . my ass, Mistress." It came out very adult and very exciting.
"You're welcome, bitch," said Victoria, continuing the delightful game. "Now, little slut, beg to eat our pussies until we come!"
"Mistress, may I please eat your pussy . . . until you orgasm?"
"You have permission, slave-girl," sighed Victoria. She was near exploding in sexual excitement. "I want to hear a lot of wet slurping when you eat, too!"
Julie Moreland squealed in ultimate submission and threw herself into her task. First it was her mistress, and then Sondra and Stacy, and Victoria once again. When she had finished, she was quite a little expert in the art of girlability.
- - -
Saturday morning breakfast was delightful. Victoria in her crisp white shorts and sweater, and the two servants in their attractive outfits were a lovely contrast to Julie who ate her cereal clad only in ankle chains. Her pixie face radiated happiness.
"I really feel like a . . . woman this morning, Mistress."
"You are a woman, Julie," said Victoria. "Very much so, now."
"What are the games this morning, Mistress?" asked Julie. "Do I get some more to eat after my cereal?"
"Afraid not, Julie," smiled Victoria. "I'm quite worn out from your efforts all night long. You gave me little sleep, you know. I think your cereal will have to suffice this morning. We are going to play thumb-hang, though. I want to see if you can break the record set by Sondra. One hour and eight minutes."
It was a lovely morning to play thumb-hang outdoors, and Victoria selected the oak tree branch.
"I think you'd look terribly pretty if you wore the clothespins on your nipples, Julie, while you hang. Here, put them on yourself while I find some thumb cord."
Julie was, on this her second day, well into the delights of sophisticated bondage, and she snapped the wooden pins onto her nipples without hesitation. Stacy and Sondra held hands as the tyke was pulled upwards. Arousement was beginning quite early on this warm morning. It would be another exciting day, it appeared. Victoria left to read the paper, and for Stacy and Sondra, it was the breakfast dishes and a kitchen cleanup. They returned in an hour to check the progress of the young slave and her assault on the Briargate thumb-hang record. Julie hung quietly, her impish face nestled forward on her chest. Her nipples, within the forceful confines of the clothespins, were swollen slightly as would be expected.
At an hour and a half, Julie finally began to squirm a bit, and at two hours and eleven minutes she spoke her first words.
"Well, guess that's probably it, Mistress. I'm hurting quite a bit now. If it wasn't for the darn clothespins on my nipples I think I could make at least another hour. But. ..."
"Very good, Julie!" exclaimed Victoria. "A new record for Briargate. Sorry, Sondra."
Sondra pouted. "Well, of course Julie is just a little thing. Not much weight there at all. Oh, heck, congratulations, Julie!"
It was a great day. Julie finally went home in late afternoon, very much now a young lady, and infatuated with the delights of submission and slavery. The game would be repeated on another weekend, Victoria had promised, and it would be.
- - -
What started out to be a perfect day ended in total misery at Briargate. The first indication of trouble came during John and Victoria Palmer's late-afternoon cocktail hour. Even in the kitchen Stacy and Sondra could hear them arguing. Not only that, but they heard Victoria crying, and shortly thereafter their mistress ran weeping up to her room. The servants threw down their dish towels and ran up to the master bedroom for, after all, consoling their mistress was indeed a primary duty.
Victoria lay sobbing on the bed. Stacy stroked her hair and Sondra dabbed at her wet cheeks with a handkerchief, waiting patiently for her to speak. When it came, it was total disaster.
"My husband has decided to transfer your service to his business partner and wife in Birmingham. Owes them a financial favor, it seems. Middle-aged couple, not at all attractive. You go next week!" Suddenly, Victoria began to wail helplessly. "Oh, I love you both so... I can't bear it. . . I argued and pleaded . . . but husbands have the last say in the South . . . Oh! . . . there's nothing I can do ... I shall just die without you!"
Stacy and Sondra collapsed into the arms of Victoria, their world crushed Their wails joined Victoria's, and it was a symphony of grief. Later, in their room, Stacy and Sondra wept for hours. Until after midnight. That's when Stacy got the idea. She explained it to Sondra, and the two hugged and kissed each other in total happiness.
The next morning they went into the fruit cellar to put their plan into effect, after gathering the necessary items. It took perseverance to keep their secret quiet, but they managed, and uttered only muffled sounds which could not be heard upstairs. Naturally, they performed their task on each other.
They found Victoria sitting disconsolately by the pool.
"What are you two looking so happy for this morning?" she said. "I thought you loved me?"
"We do love you, darling," beamed Stacy. "That's why we're happy! As of right now, Sondra and I resign from domestic service, as is our right. We quit! We won't go to Birmingham. Instead, we are going into voluntary slave-service as is also our right by law. Under voluntary slave-service we can choose who we wish to serve. We choose you, darling!"
Victoria's mouth hung open in stunned delight.
"But . . . but
"
Stacy and Sondra turned their backs to Victoria while they peeled off their blouses. When they turned back, Victoria screamed in joy.
Four delightful breasts bore freshly branded S's above the nipples. The nipples themselves sported glistening rings, centered perfectly through the exact middle! One of Stacy's still oozed a tiny red droplet.
"And look!" squealed Stacy. The two girls lifted up their skirts, yanked down their pants, and exhibited one cheek to Victoria. In the exact center was a livid V. For Victoria, of course. A personal brand, as it were.
Tears rolled down Victoria's happy face.
"I ... I ... I .. . don't know what to say . . . I'm so happy . . . what can I say . . . I. . . ."
"Well, Mistress," sighed Stacy, "we won't be able to call you darling, and you'll simply have to stop being so sweet to us . . . and punish us awfully. We have been quite spoiled by you, you know. We need to learn our station once again. In fact, we branded and ringed each other without your permission just now. I would imagine that calls for a simply terrible whipping. Don't you agree, Sondra?"
"Oh yes, Stacy," said Sondra. "Just terrible. I would say at least a hundred lashes."
"Perhaps two hundred," mused Stacy.
"Yes, of course," said Sondra. "Two hundred at the very least."
