'Bella pulled up her drawers and continued to listen as she dressed. " 'Rudolph Bravantz is a genius. He has promised an audition in return for a virgin. Have faith, Bella. It is the only way at this time. Virginity is a burdensome virtue at any rate; a small price for an opportunity to become a great singer.' "Bella had finished dressing, and suddenly threw herself at the professor."
INTRODUCTION
The lady who confided her memoirs to me was at that time already a grandmother and could look back on her life with equanimity. She had achieved international recognition as a great singer many years before and that part of her life is well known. What she told me was of her early years as a student and of her efforts to become the celebrated diva her audiences loved and revered.
Bella Janus lives now in retirement, looking jack sometimes wistfully, and sometimes joyfully at her private life which had given her so much pleasure and sorrow.
One day, during our long interviews, I asked her, "Madame, would you have changed any of the events in your past life, now that you see it in retrospect."
Without so much as a pause, she answered, "Ha, ha, my good man. Not one adventure would I change by so much as a comma." She threw back her head and laughed lustily. "Whatever the gods chose to put on my plate, I have tasted with great appetite. Even the bitterness added much nourishment to my life."
And so here we have the incredible tale of Bella Janus, as the great lady chose to tell it to her humble servant.
P. L. D.
CHAPTER ONE
Even as a small child Bella showed some great talent in music and as the only offspring of Otto and Gwyneth Janus, was coddled and encouraged to study her art. Her earliest years were without incident as the three of them lived comfortably in a small frame cottage on the outskirts of a pleasant village. She attended the local school with her neighbors where she was a good student and the teacher, Mrs. Walden, doubled as a piano instructor.
Otto Janus worked hard in his modest general store in the village to provide not only the necessities for his wife and daughter, but also to purchase a fine piano for the girl's musical studies.
At thirteen, Bella was a beautiful child; almost woman. She stood as tall as her mother though much more slender than her attractive, matronly parent. Her jet black hair hung in a thick plait down to the center of her back. Her brown, almost black eyes belied a temperament of the diva she was destined to become. Her well developed breasts snuggled unnoticed beneath the coarse tunic which was apparel for a genteel young lady of the day.
It was in that year Mrs. Walden noticed the beauty and clarity of Bella's voice and encouraged the family to allow the child to study singing as well as piano. Mrs. Walden persuaded the parents to allow her to accompany Bella to the city and try to obtain an audition with the great Professor Ger-rard whose tutoring was well known even in the village.
His students numbered the most illustrious names in the world of music and to be accepted by this great mentor was almost a guarantee of success.
Bella was beside herself with excitement as on that late spring morning she waited on the platform of the railway terminal with her parents and Mrs. Walden. Her delight was manifold, for it was to be her first train journey to anywhere, let alone the big city. Too, she had never ventured further from her home village than to attend the Church socials at a neighboring town only a few miles up the road. Only thin was the hope that she might be accepted to study with Prof. Gerrard, though it was of some importance even to the child.
There were many tears and much laughter as the girl and her teacher boarded the coach, waving and calling goodbyes. In a moment the train was moving and soon, Bella and Mrs. Walden were settled comfortably in their seats, impatient to reach the end of their journey.
Bella was full of questions as to when they would arrive, what was the city like, and did Mrs. Walden think they would truly get an audition.
"Child! Child! One question at a time," countered the teacher sternly. "We'll arrive in time for dinner, you'll see the city when we get there, and I don't know whether or not we shall be able to obtain an audition until we try." She sat back and sighed, and patted the hand of her little friend.
Mrs. Donna Walden was a widow in her early thirties, having lost her husband of only two weeks, many years before. Deryk Walden had been the victim of a diphtheria epidemic before the marriage had been consummated. True, he had tried to do right by his wife in the conjugal bed, but in the few days before he was stricken by the dread disease, could not rouse his sex tool despite his desire. Mrs. Walden attributed this (in later years) to the fact that he had already contracted the diphtheria and was thus affected.
Though she was an attractive woman, tall and manishly broad in the shoulders, she had never taken another husband or any lovers but lived in abstinence in honor of her dead spouse. The sternness of her face was increased by the severity of her hair style; thick greying blonde locks drawn tightly into a chignon at the base of her neck. Her dress was black and stark, unadorned by any frivolity as was customary for a school teacher. Mrs. Walden, though she would not admit it, was very excited about going to the city. She had not made this trip for some years and already had begun to feel the stirrings of joy in her breast as they neared their destination. She would not be required at the school until after the fall harvest when the rural students would be back. Reaching over to grasp Bella's hand, she gave it an impulsive squeeze and was surprised that she felt a shiver of excitement run through her.
Bella squeezed back and threw herself into the older woman's arms, hugging her tightly as she pressed her pretty face against Mrs. Walden's ample breasts. As she snuggled, she cried, "Oh, Mrs. Walden, I'm so happy, I could just hug you forever and ever. How can I ever thank you."
Mrs. Walden knew she should disengage herself from the embrace, but instead pressed the child closer to her, not trusting herself to speak, for so strong were the hot emotions in her. She squirmed in her seat, feeling a flashing warmth in her crotch, a sensation longer forgotten than known. As she returned the child's affections, her hand rested lightly on the girl's gentle rise of breast. Unaware of her own desires, she gave the breast a rub and a squeeze.
"Ooohhh, Mrs. Walden," squealed Bella. "That feels nice when you squeeze my titty. I get all hot in my bottom when you do that."
"Now, Bella. That will do," gasped the woman and tore herself away from this public display of affection, fighting to regain her lost composure. Reaching into her hand case, she lifted out a theory book and ordered briskly, "We'll get on with our studies rather than waste time, young lady. You've got a lot to learn, and remember I've been given permission to discipline you any way I choose if you don't mind."
They spent the rest of the time on the journey deeply engrossed in music theory.
* * *
It was nearing dusk when they registered at the Morpeth Hostel for Ladies and were shown to a large, comfortable double room with bath. Bella bounced on the monstrous bed with glee.
"It feels so soft and nice, I can hardly wait to get to bed, Mrs. Walden. And the pillows! They're as fluffy as a baby chick's bottom!"
"Bella! Watch your language or you'll find yourself over my knee before dinner!" cautioned the woman.
"Now let's get cleaned up and I'll have dinner sent up to our room for tonight."
"Please, Mrs. Walden," begged Bella. "Can't we go out on our first night, please, can't we. I want to see the city at night." She continued to bounce, messing up the satin spread on the bed.
"I think, young lady, I will be the judge of your activities. Now do as you're told. Get off that bed this instant!" admonished the teacher.
"I don't have to do everything you say, meanie!" she snapped. "My parents are paying you to take care of me, not to be my jailer. I'm not staying in this old room to eat my supper!" And with one bound was off the bed and at the door.
Caught by surprise for a moment, Mrs. Walden stood breathless at this display of defiance. Then with the swiftness of a panther reached the angry youngster a split second later, grasping her by the wrists, giving her a good shaking. She pulled her into the center of the room and flung her roughly on to the bed, amazed at her own temper.
"Bella, you have more to learn than just music, and I'm just the one to do the teaching. Words obviously have no meaning for you; perhaps it is true that actions do speak louder than words!" Without further hesitation, she sat on the bed and pulled the struggling girl, arms first, over her waiting lap.
"What are you doing?" screamed Bella. "You let go of me or I'll tell my parents!"
"Tell your parents all you wish, young lady," replied the woman calmly, "after I've finished with you." She smacked her palm hard down onto the well protected buttocks. Even through the heavy tunic and bloomers, Bella felt the sting of the first spank and howled with displeasure.
"This won't do at all," decided Mrs. Walden and then wordlessly, fucked up the girl's skirt, and petticoat, and slowly and deliberately unbuttoned her drawers, pulling them down below the thighs.
Of course, Bella would have none of this and set to yelling as though she were being murdered, unable to escape from the older woman's firm grasp; she could only flail her arms and kick her legs, thereby kicking off her bloomers entirely so that above her rough black stockings and below the raised petticoat lay in all its splendor, her rounded, pale and beautiful bottom cheeks.
SMACK! The woman's palm came down full force on the yet unviolated butt and it jiggled naughtily as it received its first blow. Just as Mrs. Walden was about to bring her palm down again, there was a knock on the door, and before she could call out, the door opened and there stood the bellboy who had carried their bags to their room. He was perhaps the same age as Bella, or more-likely a year or two older, sandy-haired and freckle faced.
"Uh, oh," his eyes opened wide and his freckles melted into a blush. "I'm sorry. Is ... is ... Oh, yes! Everything IS all right, isn't it!"
He was about to turn and leave, when Mrs. Walden stopped him in his tracks. "Young man. Come in and close the door."
The boy did as he was bid and waited.
"What's your name, young man?" questioned the woman.
"Uh, Rolf, ma'am."
"Well now Rolf, have you ever seen anybody spanked before?"
"Oh, yes ma'am. My daddy used to spank me and my sisters all the time." He faltered.
"My sisters and me is correct," offered Mrs. Walden.
"Yes, ma'am." Rolf could not take his eyes from the delicious ass that peeked out from the mass of clothing on the bed. Although he could not see Bella's face, he felt it must really be something to match that ass, and could scarcely restrain a smile at his own little bid at humor.
Bella could feel hot flashes around her neck and face, and then as she became aware that the boy watched her, she felt another warmth between her legs, similar to that she had felt on the train when her teacher had rubbed her titties. Nonetheless, she would not give in gracefully and continued to kick her legs violently.
"Rolf, come and help me with this naughty girl so we can spank her properly. Do you have a handkerchief?"
"Yes'm. Here." He pulled a soiled handkerchief from his pocket.
"Tie the naughty girl's wrists together. That's a good lad, just tight enough to keep them still."
Bella's wrists were bound a little too tightly for comfort, raised high above her head so that she could move them only a few inches upward without feeling pain in her shoulders.
"Kneel down Rolf and hold her ankles firm now, so we can get on to business."
As he grasped her ankles he could not help but take a peek at the hint of a pretty little pink butt-hole peeking back at him between those beauteous globes of white flesh. Oh, how he wished that he could spank that tasty ass and watch the rounds bounce back at him, turning red under his palm. His own rod hardened in his pants as he gazed in wonderment, pushing against the restrictive garments. He would have to pull at it plenty to bring it down again after this.
SMACK! SMACK! Hard slaps reined down on Bella's poor unprotected backside as she struggled to escape her degradation and pain. But Mrs. Walden continued to smack that naughty bit of flesh until it had turned from white to pink. In her struggles she pushed her little cunt down on Mrs. Walden's lap, rubbing and pushing until it had its own warmth from the irritation of the hard cloth, and another kind of warmth that she did not yet understand.
"Ow! You stop it, you bitch!" she screamed.
SLAP! Harder than ever came the slaps.
"We must teach you some manners, young lady." Slap, slap, slap. As the young girl rubbed into her lap, Mrs. Walden could feel her own sex getting warm and wet but she would not cease her lesson giving.
"Ohhhhh, please. Stop! Let me up! Let me up!"
"Humility is a hard (SMACK) lesson." SMACK! SMACK! "I can see that my hand is not a worthy teacher. Rolf! Get up and open that small bag on the chair."
He was loathe to give up his vantage point, but perhaps he would be rewarded with an even better view if he were patient. On opening the bag he saw the reason for his mission lying innocently on top of the clothing. It was a regulation school strap, gray and rough, about eighteen inches long, two inches wide and one-quarter inch thick. This would be a much better teacher than the palm, he thought to himself.
"Bring me the strap Rolf, and take up your position!" ordered the teacher.
Bella turned her face round and let out a screech as she guessed that her tender buns would be kissed by so menacing a tongue. But she had never been whipped and could not anticipate the searing pain that seemed to reach the very depths of her being as it cut sharply across the dual globes.
SWISH ... SMACK! "Aaaagh, oh my bummy, my bummy, please ... Oooooooww, aaaarghhhh!" The hot strap burnt its message deeply into the softest, most resillient part of her body. She tried to kick her legs to escape, but Rolf held her fast as the strap continued to swish down across her tormented ass. Where the palm had only made it pink, the harsh rough surface of the swishing leather caused angry red welts to rise after each delivery of the black snaky monster.
Mrs. Walden, half crazed with arousal, smacked the strap down with all her might as she wriggled up against the unprotected cunt of her punishee, her crotch burning with unfulfilled desire, moist and hungry.
"Oooh, please, please, M ... M ... Mrs. Walden, I'm sorry! Please don't smack my bummy anymore ... Oohhh, Aaarggg! Oh, God ... god ... help ... please." And yet the strap smacked down.
Rolf's young cock was at the bursting point, so aroused was he, not only by the view of so delightful a bottom getting strapped, but also by the sparkling eyes and the hard breathing of the mistress.
"Ma'am. Ma'am," he offered. "I think she has learned her lesson pretty good now." He had begun to feel sorry for that young girl whose ravaged backside had already given him much pleasure.
Mrs. Walden flung the strap down on the floor and cried, "Oh, my god, what have I done?"
"Naughty bottoms need hard lessons, ma'am," said Rolf. "That's what my daddy used to tell us, that's the truth. Don't feel bad ma'am. The young lady won't when the fires in her ass cool down."
Recovering, Mrs. Walden called sharply. "That will be enough Rolf. Rude language in the presence of ladies might get you some of the same."
"It might at that," quipped the boy cheerfully.
"We'll have our dinner served in our room, Rolf. Would you be good enough to take our order, now."
As Rolf left the room, he glanced back wistfully at the scene. The teacher had unbound the girl's wrists and stood beside the bed, looking down at the sobbing, crying Bella, who lay face down, not caring who saw her bare behind, as she tried to rub away some of the pain.
"Bella dear," began Mrs. Walden. "I'm sorry it had to be such a hard lesson. Oh, your poor tender ass. Come. Let's get you out of those clothes."
She undressed Bella as though she were fragile child; forgotten was the punishment in the mind of the mistress. Now she was there to offer only comfort. Guiding Bella to the bathroom, she filled the tub with warm water and rubbed perfumed soap on her kneeling body. The young girl could not sit, so sore was her posterior, and she welcomed the gentle ministrations of her punisher, who rubbed her breasts, kneading the soap into the pink-tipped mounds. She lingered as she rubbed soap over the young girl's fuzz covered pubic mound, fingering the orifices, soaping and rinsing.
"I'm going to get soaked," decided Mrs. Walden, and promptly removed her clothing, carefully hanging her dress on the door hook. Despite her discomfort, Bella could not contain her pleasure at seeing the woman in a glorious state of undress. Her firm breasts jutted out proudly as the restricting binder was removed; the remarkably slender waist giving way to full, rounded buttocks. As she resumed her job of bathing her ward, Bella invited:
"Why don't you come in the bath too, Mrs. Walden?"
Passion and desire had robbed the woman of much reason and she stepped into the soothing bath. The young girl soaped and rinsed the older woman, probing and investigating the large breasts, so unlike her own; rubbing the harsh, wiry hair of the genital region. She did not dare to poke her own finger inside yet, but she fervently hoped she would be allowed to. She wondered what it would feel like in another person. She had investigated her own body and knew how her hole felt inside and was curious to learn whether insides changed as a woman got older.
Mrs. Walden tried vainly to control her rising passions, but the ministrations of the girl were too much even for this stoic lady. Her breath choked in her lungs as she struggled to breathe. She tried to pull herself away from the probing caresses of Bella, but instead pushed herself closer and closer; she impulsively leaned over and kissed the rosy tip of Bella's little tittie making it leap up and stand at attention. Then she sucked at it as though she were an infant and the girl her mother. Both moaned in pleasure; Bella rubbing and poking her slender fingers into Mrs. Walden's crotch; the elder sucking one small breast while she caressed the other. So inflamed did their passions make them that they lost balance and splashed awkwardly into the bathwater.
Gasping nearly incoherently, Mrs. Walden suggested they leave the tub and dry off so they might dress for dinner by the time it was delivered.
The two women dried each other caressingly and lovingly; two women now because Bella had tasted of the desire which burns into the love pot of a mature female and might be considered such.
Mrs. Walden put on a silken robe and helped Bella to the bed and big her to lie naked on her tummy so that her sore and ravaged bummy might receive some soothing attention.
"Let's put these pillows under your tummy child, so I can rub some of this lotion into that darling little backside," cooed the disciplinarian as she began gently caressing the cool cream over the bruised mounds.
"Mmmmmm, that feels nice on my bottom, Mrs. Walden. Ooooh, don't rub too hard," she laughed. "It still hurts from those love taps you gave me before."
"You poor child," cried the mistress. "I am so sorry for having hurt you so."
"No, no, Mrs. Walden," countered Bella. "I should be sorry for being so rude. And besides, I've never been whipped before. I didn't mind it at first, it made me hot in my cunty hole ... it was awful though when you smacked me with that strap. I didn't like that one little bit."
She moaned, now in pleasure as the rubbing and massaging of her butt caused a kindling in her privates and she pushed herself up, arching to get closer to the woman.
Mrs. Walden's eyes took on a new glisten as she rubbed the lower globes and moved her hands down until they reached the apex of the girl's legs; she rubbed and rubbed, the girl spread her legs exposing a tidy little butt and beneath it a rapidly juicing cunt which yet was patient.
Then Mrs. Walden surprised even herself. She flung off her robe and knelt at the side of the bed as she showered kisses over the entire buttock area of the girl; kissing passionately each raw bruise, kissing the pain out of existence. The anus winked naughtily at the woman, contracting with pleasure as she flicked her tongue over the tight little hole. Bella squealed, now with pleasure instead of pain as the inexperienced mouth of her mentor fell to kissing the hole, and the tongue pushed and pushed until the tip had bored its way past the ring of muscles right into the butt hole. The girl wriggled and squirmed, moaning and burning with an appetite for more and more of the same.
Both women were startled into statue like immobility at the sound of a cough. Standing just inside the door was Rolf, carrying a tray laden with dinner, smiling and clicking his tongue obscenely.
"Ma'am, I've brought your dinner," he said innocently, as he placed the tray on the table.
"Just leave it and get out of here, young man. And in future, please knock before you enter." Mrs. Walden attempted to inject an air of authority.
"I did knock ma'am," said Rolf and winked broadly, "but I guess you were too busy to hear. Ha ... ha."
"Get out of here!" screamed the woman.
"Well ma'am, it seems to me you figure good behavior pretty important ... and it seems to me yours ain't so hot. You're a very naughty lady and deserve to get that big beautiful ass blistered." Rolf just stood watching the two naked women with a grin on his face and a hardening poker in his pants.
"I'll report you to your superior, young man, if you don't get out of here this instant," gasped Mrs. Walden.
"All right by me," he replied flippantly. "Only you better tell the boss why, 'cause I sure will!"
The teacher knew when she was beaten and gave up. She slipped on her robe and handed Bella hers to do the same. "What is it you want, you impertinent cur," she whispered hoarsely. "I don't have any money to pay you."
"I don't want nothin", his eyes gleamed with victory. "I just think you should have that ass paddled for being bad, and I'm the one to do it. You better have your supper first though, 'cause you won't be able to sit down after."
It was a solemn dinner for the two women, Mrs. Walden anticipating the degradation that would follow, Bella sitting gingerly on the edge of the chair so as to put down the least surface of her tortured bottom. Rolf watched in silence, rubbing his knees together in an effort to cause his pole to subside.
When they finished eating, he took up the tray and said, "I'll take these things back to the kitchen but I'll be back at eight o'clock when I get off duty, and you lady, you had better have that ass ready for me." And with that he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
There was more than an hour to wait until the punishment appointment and Mrs. Walden paced the floor nervously.
"Have you ever been whipped, Mrs. Walden?" asked Bella curiously.
"Not since I was a child, and then only a hand spanking from my mother. Bella, we're going back. I will not stay here and be humiliated. Pack your things!" she ordered.
"But we can't. What will we tell mummy and daddy? And Mrs. Walden, you were naughty. I guess we were naughty, but I've already got mine and it's only fair that you get yours," she quipped.
"Enough impertinence, young lady," chided the teacher. "You can still get another whipping if I so choose." She sat down and mulled over the problem at hand. "I suppose you're quite right Bella, I do deserve the punishment."
"You're a good sport, Mrs. Walden," said Bella. "And it really isn't all bad." She reached over and placed her hand on the lady's crotch which was peeping out through an opening in the robe. "It makes you feel warm and cuddly right there at first."
Bella was fascinated by the woman's crotch and rubbed first the mound and moved her hand in between the slightly parted legs, forcing them even further apart as her middle finger probed the recesses of the cunt, finding a hole and pushing experimentally into it, amazed to learn how easily her finger gained entrance.
"Oohh, Mrs. Walden, that feels so nice and warm and wet. Does it feel nice to you?" she asked.
"Yes, child, yes," she moaned, for she was too far into the throes of sexual desire to care about morals or propriety. Her once dead nest had come alive and was tasting of the frigging finger with tremendous appetite. She moved her cunt up to meet every plunge of the slender finger, in a rhythm that was so naturally established. So aroused was she that she knew instinctively that she would explode if the girl continued.
And indeed she would have done, had not Rolf arrived at that very moment for his eight o'clock appointment. Mrs. Walden lay spread legged on the bed panting in unfulfilled sex, having fallen back on her passion, as Bella glanced guiltily up at the boy who shook his head in mock annoyance.
"You girls certainly are itching in your muffs. But ma'am, you're supposed to get your ass smacked, not your cunt frigged. That's no punishment at all. You'll just have to wait. Now let's get to the whipping," he ordered.
Mrs. Walden had not yet collected her wits about her after her intense arousal and submitted without argument to being positioned full length, naked on the bed, her buttocks raised in much the same way as she had done for Bella, the two pillows tucked neatly beneath her marble hips. Rolf's own prick hardened at the sight of this magnificent body stretched out before him, the well formed butt arched up to his full advantage.
"Here miss, tie her ankle to the far bedpost," he ordered as he tossed a handkerchief to Bella and proceeded to tie the woman's other ankle to the pose nearest him; thus spreading Mrs. Walden's legs wide apart leaving an unprotected cunt open to surveillance.
"Now ma'am, do you want your hands tied too, or will you keep them to yourself?" he asked.
"I ... I ... Oh God, I'll be good, honestly," sobbed the yet unwhipped woman.
"Mis ... Miss Bella, isn't it?" she nodded.
"Miss Bella, would you like to spank this naughty big backside a few warm ones for what you got?" he asked mischievously.
Bella clapped her hands in gleeful delight at the prospect of spanking her teacher. "Oh yes, but not hard. We don't want to hurt Mrs. Walden. I really deserved what I got."
"I'll bet," smirked the lad.
SMACK ... SMACK ... SMACK ... Bella brought her delicate hand down on the massive, jiggling mounds, scarcely affecting the warmth of so wide a target. It took little urging for her to spank harder and over the entire surface until her hand was sore and Mrs. Walden was the proud possessor of a rosy tinted backside.
Despite the humiliation of the experience, Mrs. Walden remained tight lipped and silent throughout the spanking. She would not give in to pleadings and beggings to be let off, and she decided Bella was correct in one thing. It truly wasn't all bad, for the smarting on the butt brought a delicious warmth to her virgin cunt which was the cause of her squirming and pushing into the pillows.
"Those were love taps, ma'am, from your lover kid." commented Rolf acidly. "Now for a whipping with your little black snake."
"No! I will not have it! You will not whip me with the strap young man!" asserted the woman in her most teacher like voice.
"You better tie her hands too, Miss Bella, and stick a hankie in her mouth so she don't yell." Rolf was not to be dissuaded.
"No, don't. I ... I ... won't move. Please, for the love of heaven, don't use the strap, please ... please," wailed Mrs. Walden.
"Sorry ma'am, it's your strap and you use it on other folks. Guess it's fair to have it used on you," and before he even finished his comment, he brought the strap down, SWISH! across the fullest part of the twin globes, which shimmied in reply.
"Aaaeeee, god, help ... stop..." screeched the tormented woman.
SWISH, smack ... the black snake again kissed the smooth, quickly reddening area with each visit. The angry red splotches turned quickly to bluish welts, rising up and swelling; again and again the strap kissed the paining buttocks, the agonizing blows falling forcefully on the woman's tender skin.
SMACK, "That big red ass will be a lot sorer before I'm done. (SMACK!) It gets more beautiful with each bruise. (SMACK!) Naughty behinds get naughty whippings." SMACK!
"Aaaggh, please have mercy. Please, no ... no ... SMACK ... oooaaaa ... no more. PI ... please," wailed Mrs. Walden, the pain cutting into her very bowels, burning, cutting and torturing her body. Soon, she could not even fathom the pain, so agonizing was each blow. It was then she threw back her hands to cover the poor searing globes.
"Hold her hands, Miss Bella," ordered Rolf, without so much as missing a stroke, and sharply brought the strap across vertically, so that it nestled in stingingly between the woman's legs, biting viciously into her crotch.
"Eeeeeeeeaa, ... not ... not there, please, not there," pleaded the unfortunate victim.
"Not where, Ma'am," SMACK, again it kissed the outer rims of her nectar pot. "Not on your cunt? Is that what you mean? SMACK! Is your lovely cunty hurting from my whip fucking?"
"Aaaaa, no, no, not there ... please, oh please god, not. . . SMACK!"
"Tell me not where, ma'am, SMACK! Tell me where my whip fucking is hurting your cunty ... SMACK ... tell me out loud!"
"Please, please stop, not there ... SMACK ... SMACK ... Aaaaarrr," she had never known such searing pain, such agony.
"Tell me where!" The crazed boy strapped the lady's cunny hole relentlessly.
"My ... my ... cu ... cunt ... please ... oh please, SMACK..."
"What about your cunt, ma'am? Tell me what I'm doing to it." He strapped a hard smack so that the corner invaded the door of the love kiln.
"Please, please, don't ... whip ... f ... fu ... fuck my cunty. Please, please, my cunty, my cunty," moaned the woman in utter subjugation. Anything to escape further torment.
"Rolf, don't whip her anymore," pleaded Bella. "You've hurt her." She threw herself in the way and placed her hand protectively over the woman's vulva, drawing another scream of pain for so sensitive was this portion of her privates.
"She'll be all right. A good whipping never did nothing but help a lady. You'll see," declared the knowing boy. They untied the ankle bonds, but even so Mrs. Walden dared not change position, for every move caused further ache to her tortured body. Her cunt throbbed from the pain inflicted upon it, yet there was another throbbing there too, which she would have to understand more fully before she could deal with it. She was brought to full consciousness by the feel of soothing cream being rubbed tenderly into her bruised and battered buttocks; she didn't even care who was doing it, enough that it brought temporary comfort from the raging fires that her very soul.
The relief was superceded by another sensation, a lapping at her cunt that removed all the outer pain and increased the pang of wanting on the in-hips slightly to give him full play, and was sucking side. Rolf had dived between her legs, lifted her and tonguing the honey pot onto which he had so recently inflicted so much pain. His tongue darted expertly in and out of the contracting vagina, while he sniffed and probed her virgin butt hole with his nose. The slurping and sucking noises filled the room as Rolf ate voraciously of the free flowing juices.
"Ohhhh, ahhh, God, god, I'm ... I'mmm ... Oh, my cunt ... I..." called Mrs. Walden as she to the very depths of her belly. She pushed her crotch, wriggling and rubbing her juices into the boy's face.
Rolf got up and wordlessly removed his clothing till he stood stark naked before the two; leering at Bella, gazing hungrily at Mrs. Walden. His pole stood at erect, needing immediate attention.
Bella could feel burning heat in her own cunt and shamelessly plunged her finger into the warm little hole which was amazingly wet. She rubbed and prodded in a lonesome rhythm bouncing and bobbing for greater effect as she sat on the edge of the boudoir chair.
"What a hot little cunt you have, Miss Bella, croaked the boy. "I'd like to shove my tool right up and cream you good inside."
Mrs. Walden, still lying on her tummy, turned her head and pleaded, "Mercy, Rolf, no. She's but a child!"
Rolf turned his attention to the spent woman reassuring her, and all the while preparing for the next onslaught upon her unsuspecting body.
"No Ma'am. I wouldn't pick her cherry, not would I make her belly swell with my cock juice. I ain't so bad, you know," he said, and pushed his rock like cock against the woman's tight arsehole so deliciously displayed in her helpless position
"Aeee! What are you doing? No more! No more!" gasped the woman. "My bottom, please, please...."
Finding entry difficult, Rolf removed the rod for a moment and spat on the wriggling orifice, and with a finger rubbed his saliva around the opening, inserting his index finger, twisting and stretching until the woman howled in unfamiliar pain. Now he was ready to strike with his red hot weapon. He pushed against the unyielding barrier, until it opened against his cock. He was inside and pushing till her ass hole swallowed the entire length of him. With his belly smacking against her mountainous buttocks, he rode her without mercy and it was not long before he shot his load of cream deep into her bowels. He collapsed as though dead, in a crumpled heap on Mrs. Walden's poor ravaged backside, causing her to moan in agony.
Bella was breathing in hot spurts, reaming her own little virgin cunt helplessly with her fingers, trying desperately to cool the fires of her womb.
"Ooohh, my little cunty," she cried in frustration. "Uuungggh, Oooooohhh." She rubbed and turned her finger faster and harder into the hot little hole, until she felt an onrush of passion bursting inside her virgin belly. An explosion of her juices caused her to rear up like a wild colt and scream out in an agony of satiation.
"My ... my ... oh, my belly. I'm dying ... aaaaaaahhh, I'm melting ... Aaaaaeee," she cried in the very first orgasm which ever shook her little body. Then she sat back, savoring this tremendous release of energy, a sensation she had never before experienced.
The older woman and the boy watched in wonderment at this beauteous display of blossoming womanhood in so lovely and so young a child.
Rolf dressed and as he was leaving called, "Good night Ma'am. It was nice to come," and with a smirk was out the door.
Mrs. Walden and Bella slept soundly that night.
CHAPTER TWO
It was with some trepidation that Bella and Mrs. Walden waited in the darkly lit foyer of Prof. Gerrard's academy. A stern faced, white-haired woman received them curtly and told them, "Sit down and wait. I'll see if the Professor can see you," implying that he might not see them today, or ever for that matter.
The room was little more than an entrance hall, brown paneled with only one dim lamp casting ominous shadows on the three hard backed chairs against one wall. There was no other furniture. A staircase leading to a second story took up all but the width of a door way at the far end. Opposite the chairs, another door through which the housekeeper had gone, stayed firmly closed.
"Mrs. Walden," whispered Bella. "How long will we have to wait?"
"Hush, child," replied the teacher reverently. "The great professor will let us know if he can see us. We must be patient.
And so they waited still as mice and as wordlessly as the chairs on which they sat.
In perhaps an hour or two, the old woman entered and ordered, "You will go in now."
Mrs. Walden rose to accompany her ward and was motioned back to her seat.
"Not you. Her! This way miss."
Bella followed tremulously, casting a frightened glance back to Mrs. Walden who made a reassuring gesture, urging her onward without delay.
The bright sunlight streaming through the French windows caused Bella to blink, rendering her all but blind. The housekeeper continued through the room, and exited through a far door, leaving the young girl alone except for a formidable figure who sat erectly in a heavy oak armchair, eyes appraising the youngster standing quivering before him.
The scene remained thus for what seemed to Bella at least half an hour, though in reality it was but a few short minutes. She mustered all her courage and tried to look brave and strong before this giant among musicians. She would not betray her inner fears; she wanted to study with the master and if he wanted her to stand before him so he could look at her, then that is what she would do.
The silence was broken when Prof. Gerrard coughed and said, "So you want to be a singer."
"Y-yes, sir." replied the girl.
"Why?"
"Because ... because," faltered the girl. "Because I want to sing."
"What? Not because you want to be a great star? Not because you wish to be a diva? You do not want the footlights, the fame of a great singer? Why?" he ordered.
"I ... I don't know," said the flustered Bella for she had never thought why she wanted to be a singer. She just wanted to sing.
"Speak up child!"
"Sir, I don't know what a diva is," she burst into tears. "I ... I've never seen a great star. I just want to sing." And knowing she had disappointed the professor even before her audition she turned to leave this hallowed room.
"Wait." His word stopped her mid turn. "All the better for you. You probably won't be a star-and you probably have no more than a thimble full of talent. Sing."
"Wh ... what shall I sing, sir?" she asked tentatively.
"I don't care. Sing for your breakfast if you wish, but don't waste my time." He already looked like he had lost interest.
For the first time since she had entered, she looked at the great man. He was not nearly as frightening when one looked at him, so gentle was his mien. A massive halo of silver hair surrounded a pink, somewhat lined face. His deep blue eyes seemed to twinkle even when he barked so viciously, so that he looked more like a kitten, all fat and furry, than he did a tiger. Only the growl suggested the strength.
Bella had not planned on so informal an audition. She and Mrs. Walden had practiced an operatic aria from II Travatore, "D'amor, sull' ali rosee." Mrs. Walden was to play Ruiz' part on the piano, and Bella would sing the role of Leonora for the recitative and then Bella would sing the "Quel suon, quelle preci," aria, with accompaniment, of course. To do this alone would certainly sound odd, if indeed not silly. And suddenly she could think of nothing except the nursery rhymes of her childhood.
Prof. Gerrard sat like a Buddha, his round belly resting on his thighs, eyes nearly closed, and waited for the girl to begin singing.
Bella took a deep breath and began to sing the only piece that came readily to mind, an ancient folk song taught her by her mother years ago. "I'll sing you one-o, Green Grow the Rushes-o, what is your one-o, one is one and all alone and ever more shall be so...."
Quite embarrassed, now that she had started so simple a song for this important audition, she flushed as she began the next verse. "I'll sing you two-o...."
"Come tomorrow at three!" barked the professor. "That will be all." And with those four words he dismissed Bella.
"But ... but..." she began.
"Mrs. Heinrick, come in," he called out as though the young girl were not even in the room. The housekeeper entered and glared at Bella, who then sheepishly picked up her reticule from the side table and waited.
"Show this child out, Mrs. Heinrick ... What's your name, girl?"
"Bella, sir. Bella Janus. And thank you sir ... I..." she began.
"Come," ordered Mrs. Heinrick sternly and practically pushed Bella through the door.
"Uh ... M ... Mrs. Heinrick, please, is ... is ... Did ... I ... " stammered the child
Mrs. Heinrick nodded knowingly and whispered, "All is well child. You have succeeded on the first step," and smiled through her harsh features.
Mrs. Walden jumped up, for she had been sitting nervously wringing her handkerchief, distressed beyond words by what she could hear through the door. When she had heard Delia begin her inconsequential song she nearly fainted. All her plans and painful preparations for this important day seemed in vain. How could Bella be so stupid, but then she must not jump to false conclusions. She tried to reassure herself, for the girl had spent some minutes inside with the master himself. As Bella was ushered into the dank little waiting room, Mrs. Walden could not even ask her what had happened. It was not until they had descended the front steps of this shabby brick house that she dared to inquire.
Bella herself was so stunned that she found it difficult to speak, but was able to mutter, "I think it's all right Mrs. Walden. I think I have a chance. He told me to come tomorrow at three."
Walking down the street, the older woman impulsively hugged the young girl. "Why, he's going to accept you. You are to have the finest teacher in this part of the world!" The two of them took up a brisk pace through the streets of the city, each preoccupied with her own thoughts.
Near the Hostel, Bella spied a quaint tea shoppe and begged they might go in for lunch by way of a celebration. Against her better teacherly judgment, Mrs. Walden agreed and the two of them were soon seated at a small window table laid daintily with a checkered cloth.
When the polite waiter suggested that, "Madame would like a glass of sherry, perhaps, before lunch," Madame gave in. She was soon feeling deliciously uninhibited and free as a bird, given almost to twittering but for her strict background.
Bella herself was intoxicated with the heady pleasure of having tasted her first success in the city. Mrs. Walden, not given to strong spirits, felt the warmth of her sherry.
After a pleasurable walk through the park, they returned to the Hostel so that Bella might be put through her scales and study her music theory. On entering the room, Bella in her joy leaped around like a gazelle, pirouetting and singing gaily.
"Now you naughty girl, settle down," chided Mrs. Walden as she gave her a playful slap across the buttocks.
"Ouch! My bummy is still sore, no more spanks please," she laughed. "Look!" she invited, nipping the skirt of her tunic up as she slipped down her drawers to display an ass still showing bruises from the strapping she had received the night before.
Mrs. Walden rubbed lightly and quipped, "I'll bet it isn't as bad as mine. I could scarcely sit on those hard chairs at the academy."
"Let me see, please." begged Bella. And soon both were investigating each other's ravaged backsides, trying to decide whose posterior was the worse for wear.
"Your skirt keeps slipping down, Mrs. Walden, and I can't see your bummy. Take off your dress so I can see. I'll take mine off."
Mrs. Walden and her ward undressed; Mrs. Walden to her chemise that fell loosely to her waist, Bella completely naked except for her black stockings. She had kicked off her shoes.
Bella grasped her mistress by the hands and pulled her into the middle of the room for an impromptu dance of ring around the rosy. So surprised was the older woman that she tripped and fell across the bed, bouncing indelicately.
"Your asking for another spanking young lady," she cautioned as she pulled the girl down on to the bed with her. Bella fell full length on top of the woman, so that the soft furry bush of her own sex mound touched the harsher wiry nest beneath her. Both started, for suddenly what had started as playful cavorting had touched their inner desires and shock waves seemed to communicate one to the other.
Bella pushed up Mrs. Walden's chemise and began caressing the large firm breasts. The nipples jumped to attention so she glued her mouth to it and began to suck, flicking her tongue over the nibs.
"Oh, child, no you mustn't," called the woman weakly. She was somewhat overcome first by the unfamiliar sherry at lunch, and second by the excitement of having her breasts kissed and sucked. Involuntarily, her hand moved into Bella's crotch and began to caress the waiting bush. Already the Venus juices had moistened the well, and as she rubbed the girl's love button with her thumb Bella writhed at the touch, pushing upward in an effort to get the woman's finger to enter her private pavilion of love.
Bella tore herself away from the woman's tit and having seen how Rolf sucked her mistress' cunt, thirsted for a drink from the woman's own font. She took a moment to look carefully at the puffy lips before her, parted them with her fingers to see the juicy cunt hole clicking in response to her playful probes. Then bringing her face down between the woman's legs, attached her mouth to the cunt so that the wiry hair tickled her chin, and sucked, experimentally sticking her tongue into the hole and pulling it out, swallowing and tasting of the woman's well, pleased with the unusual taste of the liquid. She pulled herself over the woman, so that her own little crotch was over Mrs. Walden's face, hoping her ministrations would be reciprocated.
Mrs. Walden grasped the girl by the two mounds of her buttocks and pulled the virgin cunt down onto her mouth, her tongue already extended for its probing delight. She tongued and lapped at the girl's cunt, while with one hand she located the girl's tight little pink butt hold and inserted her index finger. The pain made the girl jump for a moment, but the erotic pleasure it afforded soon took the place of any discomfort as she felt the finger reaming in and out the one hole, pushing against the wall which was the barrier between the butt frigging and the tongue loving of the woman.
She herself followed the lead and pushed her finger sharply into the woman's back hole, while she tongued and sucked the front one. Both women rocked and pushed up and down on each other, drinking deeply from each other, aroused beyond the point of no return. All that could be heard were the moans and sighs as the women lapped hungrily at each other's sex, heightening the arousal by the reaming of each other's butt holes, until in one lunge Mrs. Walden almost unseated the girl who at that moment was also experiencing her own gigantic come.
Bella rubbed her cunt hard into Mrs. Walden's face in her climax, while the woman pushed her own crotch hard up against the girl's mouth.
They fell back, spent and emotionless. Pulling back the covers, Mrs. Walden invited Bella to come and lie naked beside her in the huge bed.
"I'd better take my stockings off first," she laughed as the woman removed her chemise and they lay quietly beside each other.
Mrs. Walden's thoughts were confused, she had made love to young Bella, yet it was something she had not ever done even with a man. She had proved experimentally into her love pot, but with no result, so that orgasm was a new experience to her. She knew it was wrong, yet how could anything that felt so good be wholly wrong. The devil was mocking her, that she could understand and perhaps she should get guidance from a priest to save herself, but in the meantime she could not turn away from these pleasures.
Bella was not to be badgered by conscience, for at her tender age she believed that teacher was always right, and if Mrs. Walden liked cunt games, it must be the right thing to do. She herself was delighted by life in the big city.
Together, almost as one, Mrs. Walden and Bella brought their mouths together in a kiss, the woman pushed her tongue between the girl's lips, the girl did the same, and now they mingled their own juices with themselves as well as with each other. They fell asleep then, embracing each other, pressing their bodies close together.
* * *
When they awakened dusk had overtaken the bright sunlight of the day and it was time to bathe and dress for dinner. Rolf, the bell hop, was not to be found on the hostel premises and they wondered if he had been found out and dismissed. Mrs. Walden sincerely hoped not for in this way, she herself would be found out.
After dinner she ordered Bella to her room to resume her studies while she went for a walk in the dark streets of the city to think on her transgressions of the past two days. Indeed, guilt and remorse had overtaken her and she sought to find respite from the burden she carried. It was thus when she noticed a small church nestled amid the tall dank buildings, she decided to enter and seek guidance in her time of grave sinning. Though it was not a church of her faith she felt sure that a man of God, whatever his religion, could give her the help she so needed.
She knocked timidly at the vestry door; it was answered directly by a man of the cloth, middle aged, balding and carrying a most prosperous looking paunch.
"Yes?" inquired the man.
"Oh Most Reverend Father, I need help. Please may I confess? Please help me, Father." she implored.
"Madam, I fear you seek another church, for I am not called 'Father', but I am here for the guidance of all God's lambs. Come in if you wish." he invited.
"Thank you, uh, Fath ... I mean ... Thank you," stuttered Mrs. Walden.
"You may call me pastor, child. We are all children together. Here, sit by the fire and tell me what I may do for you."
"I have committed the gravest of sins. I have had evil desires for my ward, a child but thirteen, and what is worse, I have yielded to the temptations of the devil himself and ... and..." Mrs. Walden could not go on.
"There, there," comforted the pastor. "Just take it one step at a time and tell me in your own words."
"I ... I ... put my mouth on her ... oh God, on her very self, sir."
"Madam, there is no need to be shy. There is no one to hear us. Tell me in simple language to make it as clear as possible. You put your mouth on what? Her breasts? Her cunt?" he urged her on.
"Oh yes, yes sir. I kissed her little cuntie and I frigged her ... her other hole with my finger and my tongue ... Aaahh, God, ... I can't..." she faltered.
"Will you take a cup of tea Madam, to settle your nerves. Then you may tell me exactly what has happened." And with that he poured her a cup of strong, hot tea which was brewing over the fire.
"Now then, tell me child, did you feel great tormenting arousal when you tongued her little cunt, and kissed her butt? Did you beg her to do the same to you? Did she suck you too?" the pastor questioned in detail and though Mrs. Walden could not notice, a great bulge had come up beneath his concealing robes, so clearly and concisely did the woman begin to unfold her curious tale of lust.
He sighed deeply and slipped one hand beneath his robe to cool the fire in his own loins as she continued to tell her story. She left out not one detail, including the whipping and the ass fucking she received from Rolf.
"Indeed Madam, you have sinned, but not without reason, for surely you have missed the feel of a great cock within you since you were widowed so many years ago. And abstinence is as difficult for a woman to maintain as for the most capable cock-smith..." he reassured.
"But sir, uh, pastor, I did not feel the rod of my husband for he died before it ever happened. I ... I ... have not been penetrated." she confessed somewhat shyly.
"What? A woman of your age still a virgin? And you did not lead a cloistered life. That is amazing," he murmured to himself this last phrase and could feel his turgid rod inflate even further.
"What shall I do?" wailed Mrs. Walden.
"Madam, you have confessed your sin fully and shall serve suitable penance to erase it from your soul. You shall submit to 12 cuts of the cane. You will see, the cane has a most cleansing effect on the soul. Raise your skirts high and bend over this stool," he instructed.
The stool was of mid thigh height, so that when the woman bent over her feet scarcely touched the floor and she had to grasp the rungs on the opposite side to keep balanced. Her skirts were fucked up to her waist leaving her behind sticking saucily up in the air.
With one deft motion, the pastor had unfastened her drawers and pulled them over and down from the round, firm and still bruised buttocks which lay before him in shapely beauty. He sucked in his breath at the beauty of so finely moulded a backside, the like of which he had not seen for a long time. He would enjoy this chastisement immensely.
He walked to a cupboard and leisurely chose a thin, whippy Malacca cane and swished it through the air several times to test the give, so to speak.
The swishing sound of the cane sent shivers up Mrs. Walden's spine causing her pale white skin to be covered with goose bumps. Noticing this, the pastor offered, "I'll soon warm up that bare bottom of yours madam, have no fear."
Taking his time to deliver the first blow effectively the pastor aimed, then with an expert flick of the wrist, brought the cane down sharply over both bouncing mounds with a sharp cut. At initial contact, Mrs. Walden could not feel anything, but a split second later, a fire erupted in a thin line where already a red scar had appeared. "Yyyoooowweee, ooooooohhh, aaawrrr," she cried.
Again, a second blow cut through the top layer and bit deeply into her flesh, and a second red line appeared. The cane bounced up, so springy was the material and the tilt of the blow. Three and four right up to twelve with only enough time between cuts for the woman to feel full value of each swish. By the time the twelfth cut was administered tears streamed down her eyes and she sobbed unashamedly for so great was her pain. However, throughout the ordeal, she not once moved her position, nor let go of the rung which she grasped now so tightly with her hands. Her once pale buttocks were streaked with deep red lines which had begun to turn to a blue-purple which they would inevitably become.
The pastor, now breathing both in arousal and effort expended on the caning pulled the woman's drawers up and ordered her to stand before him while he fastened them in position.
"Now Madam, you will eat of the seed of life, so that you will not think of this life lightly, that you might reflect further on the next life. Kneel before me." continued the pastor. He removed his frock coat and unbuttoned the front of his trousers releasing a massive cock from its constricting nest.
Mrs. Walden looked in awe and wonderment at this magnificent tool, long and hard, easily twice the size of young Rolf's, both in width and in length, topped off by a fire-red bulbous knob. Surely this great thing would choke her if she were to take it into her mouth, but it was required of her and she did as she was bid, reaching with her hands to hold the monstrous balls firmly in her hands, guiding the knob into her mouth. Flicking her tongue across the end, she noted this made the pastor shiver slightly and so while sucking she manipulated her tongue around the tip of his penis. He had grasped her by the back of the head and shoved her face into his crotch rhythmically as he fucked her in her mouth right down to her throat.
She noted curiously that the taste of a man was very different than the taste of Bella; not quite so sweet, but with an interesting pungence that was not at all unpleasant. She got so carried away by her task that she was not aware when he had started to shoot thick creamy spunk down her throat, filling her mouth, and shoving her face onto his cock so hard that she had no choice but to swallow his torrent of come as it erupted from within his balls.
Mrs. Walden had to keep swallowing, for there was no place else for the liquid to go and on the third or fourth swallow decided man's come was a tasty addition to her diet and resolved to do it again sometime.
When the pastor collected himself, he wiped his tool dry and replaced it tenderly in his trousers.
"Madam, your sins have been absolved. I want you to feel you can come to me whenever you have the need to unburden yourself to a man of understanding. Perhaps you might bring the child along with you for guidance another time," he added.
Mrs. Walden bid him good-night and thanked him profusely for his ministrations, then left for the Morpeth Hostel where she hoped Bella was deeply engrossed in her studies. For above all, Bella was going to study and become a great singer. She, Mrs. Walden, was only there to see this task accomplished.
CHAPTER THREE
The next day found Bella and Mrs. Walden waiting patiently in the dank foyer of the academy an hour before the specified time for the first lesson with Prof. Gerrard. Bella clutched a sheaf of musical studies which she supposed would be of some value in showing the professor what she had done with her previous teacher, but later was to find that everything she had learned was to be unlearned before she could begin to study in earnest.
At three o'clock exactly, Mrs. Heinrick entered from the studio and commanded, "You will come now miss." Then with an exasperated look at Mrs. Walden, stated rudely, "You may leave now. Your presence is not necessary."
"But," faltered the woman, "I should wait for Bella. She doesn't know the way back to the hotel. I'll not be troublesome."
"Return at four if you wish," replied the housekeeper curtly and shoved young Bella through the door, and stayed in the foyer until Mrs. Walden had left.
On entering the studio Bella noticed that Prof. Gerrard still sat in the heavy oak arm chair, in the same position as the day before. The only difference in the scene was that a pale, delicate young man was seated at the grand piano, waiting quietly for his instructions.
"Good afternoon, sir," said Bella politely.
"Let us begin," replied the kindly looking, stern sounding mentor.
"I have my books with me, sir. Shall I....? " began the girl, handing her books and papers to the seated Buddha.
In one swift motion he received the material and flung it into the fireplace where the flames ate up the papers hungrily. "That's what I think of your music. Now shall we begin?"
Open mouthed at so wasteful an action, Bella stood before him afraid to move and at a point very near tears, for she knew how hard her parents worked to buy all her music for her, and to see it all go up in a puff of smoke was incredible to her.
"You are not ready for music yet, child," relented the professor slightly. "You must learn to sing first then there will be plenty of music for you."
At a signal, the young man at the piano began to play a scale, and at another signal directed at Bella, she presumed she was to begin.
"Ah ... ah..." she began as she had learned to do her practicing.
"Stop!" ordered Prof. Gerrard. "You sound like you have a mouth full of cock. Aaaaah! Try once more."
Blushingly Bella began again. C. C sharp. D. E flat.
"Let it come out! Now sing Eeeii. Same keys Petersen," he informed the pianist.
"Eeeee," began Bella. "Aaaheeee!" she howled, for searing pain cut into her stockinged calves. The professor had calmly reached beside his chair and picked up a whippy cane from his collection ominously housed in an umbrella stand and had given her a sharp cut in one stroke.
"That's more like it. That's the sound I want, and now do it without howling!" he said.
Brushing the tears from her eyes Bella continued her scales, careful now to produce the requested sound. She managed two and a half octaves without effort, but it was not enough for her master who believed she could reach the full three octaves.
Oh her "Ooooo" sound scale, he again was not pleased and this time his cane informed her of the fact, this time across her buttocks. This was not as painful for the heavy serge tunic she wore offered some protection, but not for long.
"Remove that ugly dress child, it is too tight and too heavy to give you freedom."
Her hesitation to oblige brought her another sharp cut across the calves and instantly she was lifting the garment over her head, laying it carefully on the side table. Now all that protected her from the whippy cane were her thin bloomers.
The professor remained sitting in his chair, Bella standing within cane's reach as she labored over the simple scales to which he tried to give some body. Each time her sounds offended him, she was rewarded with a sharp cut of the swishy cane across her thinly clad backside so that by the time four o'clock arrived, she had erred at least six times and she had six marks decorating her lovely bottom.
When the time arrived to leave the professor relented and barely smiled as he said, "You may come tomorrow at the same hour. I think, child, you may learn to sing," he conceded.
"Mrs. Heinrick!" he called, and it seemed as though the woman waited constantly on the other side of the door for she was inside the studio in a moment. "Show the child out!"
Bella was embarrassed at standing before the great man with only her chemise and bloomers, but Mrs. Heinrick seemed to accept this as a matter of course, and simply helped her don her tunic, then
Bella was at first embarrassed to tell her teacher ushered her out the opposite door to the foyer where Mrs. Walden sat waiting for her ward.
Bella was at first embarrassed to tell her teacher the events of the first lesson, but after much urging was persuaded to describe the entire hour in detail. Mrs. Walden was shocked but Prof. Gerrard's fame was known the world over and she would not argue with established success. Perhaps that is how he trained his singers to have such self-discipline.
When they returned to their Hostel, they found Rolf waiting for them, resplendent in a freshly pressed uniform, holding a well laden tea tray.
"Ma'am," he said, "I thought maybe you and Miss Bella would like to have tea in your room today, so I brought it in for you."
"Young man," said Mrs. Walden sternly. "I demand that you do not enter our rooms when we are not present, nor unless you knock and are admitted if we are present."
"I'm sorry ma'am. I thought ... I..." he stammered.
"You didn't think, Rolf. You have taken liberties that are not extended to you or your kind. I have a good notion to report you to the manager and have you dismissed immediately," threatened the woman.
"Oh Ma'am, you can't do that. I need my work. I have to support my widowed mother and without a job I fear we would both starve. We are very poor but for my job here at the hostel."
"I thought perhaps you had already lost your job Rolf. You weren't here yesterday," queried Mrs. Walden.
"No ma'am. It was my day off and I visit my mother on that day every week. I live at the hostel the rest of the time ma'am. Oh please, don't tell the manager," he pleaded.
"Very well, but you will submit to my punishment for having trespassed on our privacy. And now!" she ordered.
"You really will get it now, Rolf," quipped Bella, who was delighted at the prospect of seeing Rolf naked again, or at least to see his bare backside well blistered.
"Enough," cautioned the teacher, "or you will find yourself with a very sore bottom, miss."
"But ma'am, I'm on duty. I c ... can't stay now," he begged.
"You will go to the manager's office at once, and tell him I've asked you to run an errand for me. It shouldn't take more than an hour," she smiled.
"Yes, ma'am," and with that he was off.
By the time he returned, both Bella and Mrs. Walden had removed their street clothes and were dressed only in their robes.
The door opened and Rolf entered.
"I thought I told you to knock in future, young man," chided the teacher. "That will get you an extra kiss or two on your posterior."
"Sorry ma'am. The ... the ... manager said it was all right. He doesn't expect me back for an hour," offered the boy contritely.
"Take off your clothes, Rolf," ordered Mrs. Walden. "All of them."
The boy removed his uniform, underwear, stockings and shoes so that he stood before them sud-denls very shy for this was not an erotic display, but one of discipline. His limp cock nestled in his protective furry aerie like a fledgling starling not yet given to flying.
"How funny your little cock looks," cried Bella gleefully.
"Young lady! You are asking for a warm bottom," warned Mrs. Walden.
"Rolf, do you know why you are to be punished?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am. For coming into your room without knocking."
"And why else? Answer!"
"And for coming in when your not here," he sobbed.
"Lie down on the bed. Face down and that naughty bottom up. Bella put the pillows down so that he can rest his naughty tool on them," she ordered.
The two women prepared the unfortunate victim thoroughly. With ropes from their luggage they tied his wrists to the upper bed posts, then spreading his legs apart they tied each ankle to opposite sides so that he lay defenseless before them.
"Bella, you may begin. After all he has offended both of us and we shall both punish him. How would you like to begin, child?" she asked.
"May I spank him with my hand a little," requested the girl, for she longed to feel the chubby bottom against her bare palm. Rolf looked almost like a little girl, so full and rounded with his milk white buttocks, flaring up and out from a slender waist.
SMACK! She brought her hand down sharply over one mound so that a pink splotch remained where she had spanked. SMACK! Again on the other hemisphere and now two pink splotches appeared.
"You have a very sensitive backside," commented Mrs. Walden. "It is going to develop calluses by the time we have finished with you. Continue Bella."
SPANK! SPANK! Twice more the child playfully smacked the bouncing bare flesh. At the first smack Rolf's wilted cock had begun to come to life as it twitched a reply to the erotic playful spanks of the young girl. So carried away had Bella become that she down rained her palm spanks recklessly and over the entire rounded surface. Rolf's cock was now at full attention as he squirmed into the pillows longing to fuck the softness of them.
Mrs. Walden reached between his legs and gave his tool a pinch. "So, you like that gentle spanking, do you, naughty boy? We'll have to do something you don't like so well."
So aroused was the boy that he tugged at his bonds in an effort to give his throbbing cock some relief from the overwhelming desire caused by the hand spanking, but he was held tightly. He moaned in passion for there was virtually no pain yet.
SWISH! Smack! The cruel, vicious teacher's strap smacked down dully on his buttocks.
"Aaaaaeee..." cried the boy in unexpected anguish.
"You're not very brave, SMACK! Rolf." commented Mrs. Walden who had now taken over the punishment. SMACK, SMACK ... SMACK...
"Oh, please ... pi ... pi ... please ma'am, not so hard. Aaaaaaaeee, Ooooooooooohhhh," he wailed.
"You mustn't make so much noise Rolf, or the manager will know you haven't gone on an errand. SMACK ... SMACK ... SMACK..." She punished the fast reddening globes relentlessly.
Try as he might, Rolf could not contain the yelling and the wailing that unconsciously escaped from his lips. Then the strapping ceased for a moment and he felt something being shoved into his mouth. Opening his eyes, he saw that Mrs. Walden had crumpled up one of Bella's old stockings and shoved it into his mouth so that he could make no sound except to moan practically soundlessly. The acrid taste of sweat and soil in the impromptu gag practically made him vomit, but there would be no place for it unless he were to swallow it, so he tried to be brave. Before he had time to reflect on the taste of Bella's soiled stocking in his mouth, Mrs. Walden again began her tireless attack on his pained backside. Again and again she brought the weal making strap down on his ravaged buttocks so that he felt as though the entire area was afire, and could sense that it was already covered with welts, which indeed it was.
"Mmmmmmmgggfff, Rrrrffffgggg," incoherent sounds escaped from his nose and mouth and tears flowed freely from his eyes which he blinked as though the blinking might stop the wicked strap. Then finally it stopped and Rolf lay there still and sobbing through his gag, with relief surging through him that the painful ordeal was over. His turgid little cock had gone somewhat from his mind but had lost none of its erection. His butt throbbed from pain while his prick had its own brand of throbbing. He could sense movement behind him but didn't care what was happening as he lay sobbing and crying shamelessly trying to let the pain drain from him through his tears. A sudden feeling of cold brought him to a more conscious state and looking around as much as his position would allow he saw that both women were rubbing soothing ointment into his wounded loins, rubbing and caressing which increased his prick-longing and eased the pain in his rear. He moaned in pleasure as a thin finger found its way into his arsehole and rubbed ointment inside, the finger going in and out until he nearly screamed with desire.
"You like that, don't you Rolf," chirped Bella gaily. "You like my little finger in your shit hole, don't you."
"Bella!" chided Mrs. Walden, but she laughed nonetheless in her pleasure at seeing the boy so aroused.
"Now my dear, what do you suppose we ought to do next?" she asked innocently.
"May I hand spank him some more," asked Bella.
"Oh no, my dear. After the strapping he got, he wouldn't even feel your little hand." They spoke as though he were some 'inanimate object for their pleasure, disregarding his presence except for his unprotected and defenseless ass. "I think something stronger would be better."
Rolf struggled helplessly against the bonds that held him fast, gurgling his objection to anymore punishment. He felt he would die of any further torture to his flaming backside, which had begun to ache unbearably even after the brief escape into the soothing ointment.
"The young man seems to be impatient for more, Bella. Go fetch my hairbrush from the dressing table, like a good girl," ordered the woman.
Bella did so and asked, "Oh, may I, Mrs. Walden, please may I?"
"All right, child. It's your turn. But mind now, lay it on strongly, or I'll have to finish the task at hand," warned the teacher.
SPLAT! The sound was dull as the back of the large wooden hairbrush smacked down on the bruised behind of the bell boy.
"MMmmmmmggggg, Gggggggggmmmm," cried Rolf softly. He felt that he would black out into unconsciousness if the hairbrush came down once more. But again it came down methodically, kissing first one cheek and then the other a full dozen times. Mrs. Walden chose to finish the punishment and took the hairbrush from her young ward to deliver a resounding SMACK lower down, just over the testicles so that it smacked with full force against the arsehole. So great was the pain that Rolf involuntarily let out a long, noisy fart.
"My, my, you naughty boy," commented the woman, and brought down four more hard smacks to the offending hole.
Mrs. Walden then removed the ropes from the boy's ankles and ordered Bella to take out the gag so that Rolf might now cry more freely, however warned that if he made too much noise the gag would be replaced instantly.
She let him sob for a few minutes before continuing her orgy of pain and pleasure, then instructed him to move forward, his wrists still bound to the bed posts so that he was positioned on his elbows and knees. His hard little cock sticking out, begging for attention.
Mrs. Walden adjusted the pillows and slipped her head between his parted knees so that by urging ever so gently with her hands on his buttocks, the hard cock slipped into her waiting open mouth.
Rolf needed little urging to press down his lower torso and feed his hard little cock into the gaping mouth of the woman whose head was elevated by the pillows. Lying thus on her back, her own legs parted and knees bent so they rested on the thin board at the foot of the bed, her wet, hot cunt gaped as did her mouth which soon fixed itself on the cock and began to suck hungrily for the juices she knew would spurt out and down her thirsty, parched throat.
So enflamed did young Bella become by the sight and the gurgling sounds emitting from Mrs. Walden's sucking, tonguing mouth as she was being mouth fucked by the frenzied youth, she threw herself on her knees at the foot of the bed and put her mouth to the woman's exposed crotch. She inserted her little tongue as deeply as it would probe into the juicy well of her mistress, in and out, her teeth gently nipping at the woman's love button, so that she heaved in a steady rhythm, her mouth onto the boy's cock, and her cunt up into the child's sucking mouth until the fires of her passion consumed her very innards and she burst into a great orgasm. A moment later, before her own climax had reached its end, the boy's fountain spurted semen from the depths of his testicles, and she had to pull him down fiercely on to her mouth and suck deeply so that she might not miss a drop of this life giving elixir. When she had swallowed it all, satisfied that no more would be squeezed from the tasty rod, she fell back on her pillows, gasping and sighing with satiation.
Bella's little cunt burned for some attention. She was loathe to frig herself to a climax with her finger as she had so recently learned to do, having experienced an unearthly come at the mouth of her teacher. Without delay she quickly untied Rolf's wrists, and cried-
"Rolf, suck my cuntie for me, please. It's so hot and burny inside. I can't wait any more." she begged. She clumsily tried to mount the boy's face, but his position did not afford him the vantage point. Mrs. Walden, spent from her gigantic come, didn't seem to care what happened now, so drained was she of passion and reason.
Rolf then told the girl to stand naked and spread legged as he kneeled before her. He could not bear to have anything touch his sore and ravaged backside. Then holding firmly, one hand to each splendid globe, he pulled the young girl to his waiting mouth and first titillated her love lips with his tongue before inserting it inside the flaming kiln. He licked and sucked her dear little cunt noisily as she bounced up and down, backwards and forwards over his face, rubbing and pushing in enormous pleasure for so young a maiden.
She nearly lost her balance as the fire inside her began an explosion that started deep within her cunny hole and spread out in waves of shocks throughout her whole belly. It was only the firm hold Rolf had on her bottom cheeks that kept her from falling backwards in a swoon of joy.
Rolf washed himself in the bathroom before attempting to put on the clothes he had folded so neatly on the chair. He cringed as harsh underwear cut into his tattered buttocks which were bruised and already turning an angry purple, a medal he would wear for many a day to come.
Yet, he reflected as he warily donned his uniform, it was not a wholly unpleasant hour in the middle of a hard day. The punishment suited the pleasure. He was surprised that indeed an hour had already gone by, most of it given to whipping and spanking which had more than prepared him to accept the joyous come he had sent down the throat of Mrs. Walden.
When he left, the teacher and her ward were sitting at the table, munching delicately at the scrumptious tea he had brought earlier. Young cucumber sandwiches, butter cakes and lemonade, none the worse for having to sit on the table through the punishment period.
"More lemonade, dear?" asked Mrs. Walden.
"Mmmmmnn, yes. I am so thirsty for something cold for a change," laughed Bella.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bella worked hard at her studies and had actually received some little praise from the great master. Within a month Prof. Gerrard decreed that she would indeed be a great singer and increased her lesson time to two hours a day at no extra cost to her family. Mrs. Walden was beside herself with parental pride for her ward. So involved had the woman become, that she decided she would not return to the village when the school term opened, but instead would stay in the city with the girl. She secured studio quarters on the ground floor of the Morpeth Hostel which consisted of a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and sitting room, which she converted into a studio with the addition of an old upright piano. Through connections with the Academy she secured sufficient music pupils, those of lesser talent which were turned away from the great Master himself, to take care of her modest expenses.
Needless to say, Bella's parents were delighted that this virtuous woman would remain in the city to chaperone their daughter and increased the girl's allowance to provide the remaining living costs. They would live comfortably for the time it would take Bella to train for her career.
Bella had learned the way to and from the Academy and Mrs. Walden's presence was no longer required on her journey to and from Prof. Gerrard's studio.
One day early in that summer, Bella arrived ahead of time for her lesson and instead of waiting for Mrs. Heinrick to show her into the studio, entered alone. The sight which greeted her nearly made her faint, for she did not think of Prof. Gerrard as being quite the same as other humans. He was a god in Bella's young eyes.
The professor sat in his chair as always, but slumped back a little and before him protruded his large, vein lined cock, pushing its way obscenely from it's resting place through the man's unbuttoned trousers. Petersen, the pianist was positioned before the professor, trousers and underwear crumpled at his ankles, and lying bare assed over a music stool.
"Oh, ah, I..." stumbled Bella, afraid to stay, yet afraid to leave.
"Come in child. Blunder in rudely and you get what you deserve," muttered the professor. "You will learn a new lesson today. A lesson in cock and efficiency."
It seemed that Petersen had played listlessly for the last student and was about to be punished. The professor believed in killing two birds with one stone-his own bird along with any other that may exist.
"Are you ready, Petersen?" asked the master. "R ... r ... ready, sir."
"You will count one dozen on the cane!" and he reached down to the umbrella stand and selected the whippiest cane of all.
SWISH! The master was an expert with the cane as well, for it seemed the instrument had barely touched the pale white buttocks of the child-like Petersen, yet a blood red line appeared instantly.
"One!" he called in a hoarse whisper.
SWISH! Again the thin line appeared, and Bella was amazed that Petersen did not cry out. It was not until he had counted ten, did the young man sob aloud and counted through his tears. On the twelfth stroke of the cane he almost fell from the stool as it cut into the lower portion of his delicately moulded ass. The entire buttock area was covered with thin red lines, from top to bottom, perhaps one inch apart and not one line crossing another, so sure was the professor's aim.
"Now Petersen, bring me the cream," instructed the older man, and was rewarded as Petersen, hobbling to the piano and back, for his trousers were around his ankles, handed him a jar of cream. Bella supposed it was to cool Petersen's angry red backside but was surprised to see the professor rub it onto his massive bulb topped prick. When he was finished he dabbed a spot of cream on Petersen's butt hole, as the young man stood with his back to his punisher. With his hands supporting him on the music stool, Petersen lowered himself on to the seated wizard who guided his immense pole into the oncoming creamed arsehole.
Up and down bounced Petersen, aiding his movements by distributing his weight evenly between the stool and the cock below him and by changing the ratio, was able to have his arsehole reamed by a mouse still cock. The professor barely moved, letting Petersen do all the work, until he had begun to breathe hard, panting and gasping. Then with a series of grunts and clumsy movements to meet the hole he shot his load deep into the bowels of his pianist.
Petersen's own thin scrawny cock was straight as a ramrod, though not as strong looking. Bella almost laughed for it was not much bigger than her middle finger even when it was hard and ready for action. It bobbed rhythmically while its master was being buggered by the sitting Buddha.
Noticing Bella's rapt attention on the small cock, the professor said derisively, "Not much there, eh Girl. Well no matter, Mrs. Heinrick will like it, huh Petersen." Prof. Gerrard's crotch was stained with his own spunk and it trickled down between his legs.
"Mrs. Heinrick!" he yelled and the woman came bustling in, carrying a damp cloth as though she had been watching and knew what he wanted. "Wipe me dry, woman."
She wiped him carefully without so much as a glance at either Petersen or Bella, then proceeded to button up her master's trousers.
"Mrs. Heinrick, we have a very rude student here. She entered the studio without knocking and almost spoiled our discipline. You can have Petersen after you take care of the child," he decreed.
Bella paled for she had not thought she would be included in this demonstration. Petersen apparently was familiar with the routine, for he smirked at the girl. He had not dared pull up his trousers yet, for he had not been so instructed and stood by the master with the pants still crumpled round his ankles.
Mrs. Heinrick sat down on the piano stool and beckoned for Bella to come to her. Though frightened, Bella did. so and stood meekly before this massive woman who went about her task wordlessly. She pulled the girl over her broad lap, and with a deft motion, pulled up the tunic and lowered the drawers before Bella realized what was happening. Then SMACK! The woman's ham-like hand delivered a stinging slap to the girl's quivering backside. Quick, darting little smacks, carrying tremendous force showered the area until it was all hot and stinging from the spanking.
"That will do, Mrs. Heinrick, we must get on to work," ordered the professor. Before the woman let Bella up from her lap she managed to slip her hand between the girl's legs and rub the cunny borough obscenely, pushing one finger into the hole to feel the moist wetness of the aroused young cunt.
"Another time, Mrs. Heinrick. We have a lesson," smiled the professor. Then added, "Hot little cunt, has she?"
Mrs. Heinrick nodded, turned and left the room. The professor then instructed Petersen to pull up his trousers and begin to play the scales. "Mrs. Heinrick will get you later, don't look so disappointed."
Petersen could barely sit on the stool so tender was his behind, but sit he did and play like he had never played before as far as Bella could tell. Professor Gerrard's ways may be strange, she thought to herself, but he certainly is effective. She gingerly rubbed her own sore backside and burst forth into the best scales ever.
* * *
Bella arrived back at the Morpeth late that afternoon, hoping she might lie down for a much needed rest from her rigorous studies, but found that Mrs. Walden was giving a piano lesson to a gentle youth, Henry Morrison. She crept through the room quietly so that she might not disturb the teacher and her student, nodding only a perfunctory greeting to both.
She undressed and lay atop the bed, for the hot weather had permeated even the thick stone walls of the hostel building and a gentle breeze wafting through the open window caressed her perspiring body deliriously. She was about to doze off when she suddenly was brought to attention by the quietness in the next door studio. Curious, she rose from the bed and peeked cautiously through the crack in the nearly closed door. Kneeling, so that she might see better, she saw a most exciting tableau, and could hear low murmurs coming from both the student Henry and Mrs. Walden.
Mrs. Walden had been sitting on a high stool next to the piano so that she faced the boy as he sat practicing. Her legs were spread and bent and she wore no undergarments so Henry could see right up to her crotch and see her bare cunt if he raised his eyes from the music. So fascinated was he by this unexpected treat that he could not concentrate on his lesson; his eyes wandered to the open crotch before him and his playing was very sloppy.
"You're not paying attention to your playing," chided Mrs. Walden teasingly. "Is there something distracting you?"
"No, uh, yes, I mean, I guess so, Mrs. Walden," stammered the pale, slender youth. Henry was perhaps thirteen or fourteen and but for an inherent reticence in his personality might have become a fine pianist. As it was he attacked his studies as he did life, tentatively.
"Have you never seen a woman's pussy?" asked the woman coquettishly, knowing full well that he had most-likely not.
Henry shook his head, burning with embarrassment.
"Would you like to see mine?"
"Oh yes, madame. I mean, oh dear," try as he might he could not tear his eyes away from the tempting mature crotch before him.
"Come," invited his teacher as she slipped from the stool and sat open legged on the divan. "Come and put your hand on mine, if you like."
The boy clumsily slipped from the piano stool and shyly approached the divan. She motioned for him to sit on the floor before her so that he had a clear view of her cunt. She pulled her skirts high so that the furry bush was fully exposed and her gaping, throbbing cunt lay open to the boy's sight and touch.
He reached his slender, childish hand up and touched her love lips, surprised that they were so warm. Then instinctively, he spread the fatty cunt mouth and felt into the crevice between.
"Would you like to kiss it?" asked the woman, already aroused by the youthful touch to her privates. The boy pulled away momentarily.
"It's all right," she murmured reassuringly. "All boys like to kiss a lady's pussy. Go ahead, Henry, kiss it and see how it feels."
The boy did so and was delighted that what he expected to be distasteful was a pleasant experience. The smell of the woman's crotch was not at all what he would have thought; it pleased him so that he kissed harder and sucked of the juices which were beginning to flow.
"Put your tongue inside the hole, Henry," instructed Mrs. Walden, and squirmed and wriggled pushing her hot cunt into the child's face.
He did as she told him and found this too, to be desirable. Without further invitation he pushed his tongue further and further in the moist opening, sucking and swallowing the delicious, pungent juices. He could feel his own little cock hardening between his legs, burning, and he wished he could play with it as he often did in bed at night when his parents were asleep. His breath came in short gasps as he sucked and tongued excitedly. Mrs. Walden writhed before him, shoving her furry cunt hard into his face, until suddenly, she reared and cried out "Aaaaaaahhhhh, ooohhhhhh, my lord, my lord!"
Henry stopped in alarm. What had he done? He was sure he had done something wrong, but a glance at his teacher's ecstatic face assured him that he had instead done something very right. She lay back against the arm of the divan, her legs still parted, slumped as though nearly dead, gasping in her pleasure. Henry remained kneeling before her, waiting for further instructions, not daring to pull at his own hard, throbbing little cock in the presence of his teacher.
Bella, watching from the next room had become hotter than the day outside. Her cunty itched for play and she pushed her hand between her legs, inserting her middle finger into her love hole and began to push in and out, frigging herself deliriously as she watched the erotic scene before her. So carried away did she become by her own frigging that she fell against the door and it flew open. Mrs. Walden roused herself instantly and became enraged by this interruption. Her ward lay naked on the floor, her finger still inside her little cunt, though it had ceased the frigging motions.
Henry was beside himself with embarrassment and longed to flee this place, but was afraid to move.
Mrs. Walden hurriedly lowered her skirts and assumed the pose of a stern schoolmarm. "Young lady, spying is a serious offence and deserves a sound whipping, which I assure you, you shall receive."
Glancing down at the boy she noticed the nearly imperceptible bulge in his trousers. She wanted the juice from that boy with a passion and decided the punishment of Bella would wait.
"Get yourself into the bedroom, young lady, and wait for me. I shall be in directly to take care of your punishment," she ordered, then turned her attention to young Henry.
"Madame, I shall have to be going now," he began.
"I think not," she said imperiously. "We have not yet finished our lesson. Remove your clothes!"
The lad hesitated, but a slap across his face hurried him on to the task at hand. In a trice, he stood naked before the teacher, his hard cock standing upright in front of him.
"What a naughty little prick you have, Henry," she said playfully. "I'll bet you pull on it when nobody's looking and make it spurt out your juices, don't you."
"Madame, I ... I..." he blushed furiously.
"Answer me, do you pull on your little prick and make it juice?" she said sternly.
"Sometimes," he admitted sheepishly.
"And don't you know it's a very naughty thing to do?"
"Yes, madame," and he burst into tears.
"Come here, Henry. We'll give you something to cry about!" she ordered and took the naked lad over her knees delighted at the slender, girl-like cut of his buttocks. SMACK! She laid a firm slap across his posterior.
"Ow!"
"That is for naughtily pulling on your cock." SMACK! SMACK! "And these are for sucking your piano teacher's cuntie you naughty boy." SMACK! SMACK! His young flesh bounced under her warming spanking. A dozen spanks had turned the white flesh a rosy pink and the boy was sobbing unashamedly.
"Please, Mrs. Walden, I ... OW! I'm sorry. Please ... please stop," he begged.
Mrs. Walden presumed there would be other times and this time let him off somewhat lightly, laying on only another three or four resounding spanks before she let him up.
He stood before her, his hands rubbing his tingling bottom while he looked contritely down at his feet.
The woman fell to her knees and before he could tell what was happening, she had put her hungry lips around the thin, hard little penis before her. Rubbing her tongue across the end of it, she sent shivers up the boy's spine, and soon he was moving forward and backward in a fucking motion into her mouth, which now sucked hungrily as though starved. Henry felt the come rise up in his balls ready to spurt and pulled away so that he might not shoot the load into the teacher's mouth, but she grasped him firmly by his rosy tinted buttocks and pulled him tightly to her. His spunk, now on it's way out, shot into her throat, a mighty fountain for so young a cock, but she swallowed every drop and sucked it dry.
He looked confused but this experience was one that he would not forget for some time to come. As he was leaving, Mrs. Walden called to him, "Don't forget next week, Henry. And do prepare your lesson well. If you wish, you may come early."
When Mrs. Walden entered the bedroom she found Bella lying naked on the bed, her finger still manipulating her cunt lips and toying with her love button, about to reach an orgasm. She watched the girl with immense interest as she writhed in her passion, plunging her little fingers into the deep recesses of her love hole. The woman could feel her own mature cunt moistening as the girl's own peak was rapidly being reached. She sat beside Bella, and pushing aside the child's hand, inserted her own and with her finger brought the sex maddened youngster to an orgasm.
"Ohhhhh! Stick it in deeper ... Aaaahhhh put it right up my cuntie, Mrs. Walden, harder, more more more ... aaaahhhh, it's coming, it's coming ... ooooohhhhhhhhh, don't stop....! "
Bella sobbed as a heavy burst of heat started, at the base of her love mound erupted with wild fury through her belly. Then she lay back, gasping and panting from this gigantic upheaval, unaware of her teacher, of her surroundings, but only of her limited senses of the moment.
Mrs. Walden took pity on the child and suggested that punishment for her misdeed might be set aside for the time being, to be pursued later. Bella was pleased with this decision and rested comfortably.
"We have been most negligent of our religious duties, Bella. I thought perhaps we might go out this evening after dinner to seek guidance from a pastor I chanced to meet some weeks back," said the teacher. "Perhaps he might be able to help in administering discipline to your erring spirit."
"But he is not of our faith, Mrs. Walden," said Bella on having learned the denomination of the pastor. "Wouldn't it be sinful to seek guidance from such a sinner?"
"How ignorant you are, child," chided the woman. "He is a man of the cloth and as such is equipped to hear our problems and advise us on the ways of the spirit, whatever his religion."
So it was decided that Mrs. Walden and her ward would seek an audience with the pastor after dinner.
The city was in the midst of a searing heat wave. Even the night offered little relief from the close, humid air and hardly a breeze could be felt in the open parks, let alone in the streets or the confines of a building. Bella therefore decided she would dress as simply as possible. She would not put on those hot, restricting drawers, nor did she deem it necessary to wear the harsh rough stockings on her feet. Mrs. Walden was taken aback at the absence of stockings but relented as she thought of the unbearable heat around them. She would truly have been shocked if she knew Bella's absence of drawers as well.
They walked slowly through the dusky streets, on their way to the little church. Their knock on the vestry door brought an immediate reply and an invitation from the pastor to enter his cool, dark rooms.
"Would you ladies care for some lemonade?" he asked, and Bella was struck by the friendliness of this man of God. She was used to priests who stood aloof from their sheep and would not have spoken so informally to a mere parish member.
"Madam," he began, "I do hope this is a visit of friendship and not concerning turmoil in your own good life."
"I'm afraid pastor, we have been most sinful. Bella is guilty of impertinence and gross misbehavior in matters of the flesh. This latter, I am afraid to say, is my own burden of guilt which I have to carry as well."
"My, my. Let us finish our lemonade and perhaps you could spell out the nature of these temptations to which you say you have yielded."
Mrs. Walden needed little more invitation to indeed spell out in detail (so much so that Bella was embarrassed by her teacher's frankness) the nature of these 'temptations'. She could not imagine using words like cunt or little penis in front of a stranger, let alone a man of the cloth, but both the pastor and her teacher assured her that honesty above all was of prime importance in such matters.
Bella found herself telling the pastor about her own quickening of the cunt which she felt very, very often and that relief from this itching could only be found if she frigged herself with a finger, or if Mrs. Walden would suck and tongue her little hole to an explosion. The pastor seemed most interested in the details of her feelings during both self-frigging or the sucking pleasures.
"You have indeed been most naughty, child," declared the pastor when she had finished, "and I agree with your good teacher that a punishment is in order. I would say twelve of the cane and a suitable penance would suffice."
"But sir!" cried the young girl. "You mean a cane on my bottom? You wouldn't really, would you?"
"He would indeed child, and I should think he might consider adding a few for your impertinence in questioning his judgment," said her teacher.
The pastor ordered the young girl to kneel before a low hassock, then to drape herself over it so that her backside stuck up smartly and she could rest her elbows on the floor. Such an ignominious position! But at least she had the protection of her tunic and that would help some. She knew how painful a good flick of the cane was for Professor Gerrard had administered a good many to both her calves and buttocks.
"For shame!" cried a shocked Mrs. Walden when the pastor, without warning, threw Bella's skirts up over her head displaying an already bared, delicious behind. "Coming out into the streets without your drawers, child. Pastor, I hope you will take this face into consideration and punish away the immodesty of such an action."
"I will indeed, madam," he retorted and with one flick of his wrist, brought down a thin whippy slash across the fullest part of Bella's shapely, rounded buttocks.
"Aaaaaeeee!" cried the girl.
"Cry and shout as you wish, SWISH! young lady, for there is no one to hear and such sounds will not penetrate these stone walls." SWISH! SWISH!
The pastor administered the cuts with such precision that not one red line so much as touched another, but sent its own searing pain shooting across the plump expanse of the young girl's behind. She howled and screamed in pain and threw her arms back to cover her poor tortured posterior only to cause herself more pain and inconvenience, for her chin hit the hard floor when she removed her elbows from the floor, and she received a sharp cut of the swishy monster across her tender young knuckles.
"That is very naughty, young lady," chided the pastor. "I fear it will cost you extras, so that you might learn the humility of punishment properly."
He swished at the tender bottom, much aroused by the lovely well shaped object of his punishment. Beneath his cassock his bulbous cock made a mighty bulge which Mrs. Walden was quick to notice and to appreciate.
Eighteen cuts of the whispering menace brought loud sobs and free flowing tears to the unfortunate girl, as she howled in anguish; "Oh, please, my bummy, my bummy ... no ... don't. . . I'm so ... sorry ... please, I won't be naughty again."
SWISH! Answered the cane. "What is it you won't do again?" questioned the pastor.
"I ... I ... SWISH ... OOOhhh, aaaaghhh, I won't ever peek at Mm ... Mrs. Walden ... ag ... SWISH ... Aaaeeee ... please ... again." she cried aloud.
SWISH! "And what else? SWISH! You won't finger your little cuntie by yourself?" SWISH!
"Eeeee ... oh god ... please ... SWISH! No ... no ... I won't ... won't finger my ... SWISH! Aaarrrrrggg ... my cuntie...."
The last three cuts to the mounds crisscrossed the thin horizontal lines so that at the apex, great blisters arose and the pain nearly caused the girl to faint. When the whipping was completed, Bella continued to lay in her uncomfortable position, for even moving slightly caused further discomfort to her ravaged backside. She sobbed loudly and cared little for anything except that she might find some relief from the torturous pain.
Mrs. Walden sat on a high back chair, her hands in her lap, sneaking one hand down between her legs to rub and press against her love corner, awkward though it might be through her clothing. She fidgeted in an effort to get further into her warm, moist cunt hole, but with little success.
The pastor removed his cassock and unbuttoned his trousers letting his mighty rod free from it's cage. At its sight, Mrs. Walden gasped with pleasure, her eyes glistened with anticipation, but she was not to gain benefit from this flaming member, which twitched sensually between the pastor's legs.
Grasping Bella by the hair, he pulled her to a full kneeling position and stood before her, his giant cock inches away from her tear stained face.
"Now child, you will drink of the fountain of life," and he pointed to his cock.
The girl recoiled for she had never seen so menacing a prick in her few years. The veins pulsated in passion, and the huge knob was red and already dripping with sticky love water.
"No, please, sir. Please don't make me suck it, please," she pleaded.
"Perhaps a few more cuts of the cane would help to change your mind," he offered.
He was about to turn away to fetch the cane, when Bella, knowing she would not escape, grasped his balls and shoved the great cock as far as it would go into her mouth. It was of such a size that she could accommodate little more beyond the red mound, but the pastor bored into the tight little orifice with gusto.
Watching this man fuck young Bella into her open mouth, Mrs. Walden began to breathe deeply, so excited that she threw caution to the wind, and nipped up her skirts. She unbuttoned her drawers and shoved her hand into her crotch, and inserted her middle finger into the waiting cunny hole, agitating herself into a fine come.
The pastor could feel his cream being freed from his balls and as he started to shoot it full into Bella's mouth she tried to turn her head away. But with both hands he pulled her face into his crotch violently so that she nearly choked as the cock burst forth with semen at the opening of her throat. She had to swallow quickly or she would indeed have choked. He held her fast so that she could not escape a single drop of the life liquid, but after the first swallow she did not mind the taste, in fact it was quite appetizing to her palate and she sucked the last dregs from the rapidly shrinking tool.
Mrs. Walden quickly collected herself and adjusted her garments so by the time the pastor and the girl had completed their ritual, she sat, composed and curiously sated.
The pastor showed Bella to a small closet where she might wash her face and brush her thick black hair before it was time to return to their quarters.
That night, Bella thought deeply on the ways of the flesh and the pleasures to be had from activities that she had been taught were sinful. Perhaps the teachers of her childhood had been wrong.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bella's parents had visited her and Mrs. Walden in the city and were very pleased with the child's progress. Though unfamiliar with the music world, they could tell their daughter indeed possessed a beautiful voice, and that it was being nurtured well under the guidance of both Prof. Gerrard and the good school mistress. When Bella complained of the strict discipline and harsh punishment metered out by her mentors, they merely brushed these complaints aside as childish rebellion against authority and reminded the girl of the age old adage, "Spare the rod and spoil the child."
Bella was to continue her studies with the Professor and Mrs. Walden who was now self-sufficient financially, having acquired a good number of piano students, would remain in the city to take care of her.
So it was settled and the next two years sped by with very little departure from what had become the norm. Bella had grown to accept this strange way of life since both her guardian and her professor suggested her experiences aided her comprehension of truth, and as such lent a mature quality to her already lovely, pure voice.
On her fifteenth birthday, Bella went to the Academy as usual knowing she would not be allowed to take even this one day off despite the fact that it was a special day. Somewhat listlessly she entered the studio, for she had wanted to do something unusual this afternoon; perhaps attend a matinee or even just visit the zoo, and the day was warm and balmy even for May.
After her punishment for having entered the studio without being announced, she made a point of waiting in the foyer for Mrs. Heinrick to accompany her, thus escaping a good many disciplinary sessions. Often she could hear through the door Petersen being caned or whipped as suited the master, and she would always have to wait for some minutes after the punishment sounds had stopped. Presumably, Mrs. Heinrick was to receive the poor unfortunate Petersen to do with as was her wont.
This day she had only just arrived and though early for her lesson, Mrs. Heinrick was already waiting for her to show her into the studio. She was glad of this for the dark little foyer was somewhat depressing and today especially it would have had a very black effect on her, she was sure.
Things seemed changed as she entered the studio. The master still sat in his armchair, like an all knowing guru, and Petersen was at the piano as usual, but something felt different.
"Come in child," invited Prof. Gerrard more pleasantly than Bella could ever remember. "We have some good news, perhaps."
"It's my birthday, sir," said Bella hoping to receive congratulations at least.
"So much the better! What are your years?"
"I'm fifteen, sir."
"This may be the finest birthday gift you will ever receive my girl. Can you guess?" he teased.
"No ... no, sir," said Bella, glancing at his umbrella stand filled with canes.
"Ha ... ha ... ha," this was the first time Bella had ever heard Prof. Gerrard really laugh, and it was a great sound indeed.
"No, my child," he assured her. "It is not to be a surprise caning." And he laughed again.
"Do you know the name Bravantz? Rudolf Bra-vantz?" he asked.
And who indeed had not heard this great name, for he was the world's leading impresario, not just on this continent, but the world over. Bella stood open mouthed for a moment, then nodded, that indeed she knew the name.
"You, my dear, are to sing for him," informed the Professor without further delay.
"I? ... I mean, Me, Sir? I am to sing for Bravantz?" queried Bella incredulously. How could she ... simple Bella Janus believe that she might sing for the great impresario. Contrary to her usual behavior, she sank down on a low footstool at the professors feet, eyes glazed in disbelief.
"Well you might rest yourself, Bella." It was also the first time Prof. Gerrard had ever called her by name.
"Truly, sir? Am I truly to sing for Bravantz?" she could not yet believe it.
"This afternoon, Bella. Petersen will accompany you."
"Sir! I couldn't," cried the girl. "Not this afternoon. I am not prepared. You must make the appointment for another day. Please sir!"
"What a prima donna you have become, Bella. Of course this afternoon. Do you think we can ask the great Rudolph Bravantz to wait until it is convenient for you?" said the professor derisively. "You are prepared to sing. The song is of little importance. The voice is what Bravantz will hear."
"This afternoon," moaned Bella. "Sir, am I truly ready?"
"I think you are indeed ready Bella. Ready to begin thinking of a career." he said solemnly. "You think your studies have been difficult? They have been child's play.
"You have not begun to work yet. But enough. Let us prepare for the audition. I will not go with you. Petersen shall take you to Bravantz's studio at four this afternoon." With a nod to the pianist, the lesson was to begin.
After Bella had loosened up and gone through her scales, Prof. Gerrard motioned her to stop.
"That will do for now. It is not necessary to practice your pieces. Rudolph Bravantz will choose your material," he said. "Come here, Bella. Come stand beside me."
She stood by her instructor, waiting.
"Are you a virgin, child?" he asked.
Blushingly, Bella nodded.
"You have never had your cunt penetrated by a man?" he pursued.
Bella blushed more furiously than ever, for she wondered if having her virgin cunt well sucked was enough to lose her hymen.
"Tell me truthfully, Bella. It is of terrible importance," he insisted.
Covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears, but he urged her to tell him the truth of her sexual life.
"Oh sir, I have had my hole ... uh, my cunty fingered, and ... uh, you know ... f ... fu ... uh, with a mouth, sir," she began, faltering in her choice of words.
"Get on with it Bella. We don't have all day. Take off your clothes and we'll have a look," he ordered. "And stop crying, it will affect your voice."
Staunchly, Bella concealed her wits and removed her tunic, standing before him in drawers and a chemise. The last two years had developed her breasts so that they were full and stood proudly out, the tips pushing against the thin lawn covering.
"The rest," said the professor. "Take down your drawers, and that thing on top. I want to have a good look at you."
She stripped down to her nakedness and waited for his appraising eyes to caress her lovely body. Large, shapely breasts gave way to a slim waist, below which a hard, flat belly held her curling, jet black cunny bush. The professor touched a breast, giving it a powerful squeeze, then ran his hands down the full length of her body till he reached her crotch.
"Spread your legs, child," he continued his examination as though he were looking at a steer ready for market. He felt between her legs and parted her love lips. This had made her begin to feel warm in her little sex hole and already it was moist and warm with arousal. The professor plunged his finger deep into her little channel and smiled in satisfaction.
"You're a hot little wench, miss. I think you will do. But tell me about the things you have done?" he added.
She told him how Mrs. Walden had often sucked her warm cunt until she exploded inside her belly and how the pastor had also done the same at times when she called on him for spiritual guidance. Then she told him how Rolf had both sucked her until she had an orgasm, and how at times she had gone to his room at the hostel and he had plunged his cock into her arsehole while he played with her love button until she had a come.
"But no man has ever stuck his tool into your hot little cunt, Bella. You are sure of that," he was terribly concerned.
"Truly no, sir. I have never had a fuck stick anywhere but in my ass or in my mouth, honestly," she assured him.
"Very well," he smiled. "You see child, Rudolph Bravantz is very busy with his already known clients. We must offer him some incentive to listen to you."
Standing naked before the two men, Bella looked questioningly at one and then the other. She did not follow this line of conversation.
"Bella, I guaranteed Bravantz you were a virgin, and it was so that we were able to get an audience with him."
Bella gasped. She could not utter a word.
"Don't be shocked, child. I know your voice is ready, but Bravantz does not. You do not honestly believe he would waste his time listening to a fifteen year old child, unless he could hope to unburden her of her virginity. Rest assured, Bella, that once he hears your voice, it will not matter to him whether or not you are fifteen or a virgin."
Bella was crestfallen. She sincerely hoped she had a voice and might be a singer on her musical merits, not on whether or not her little cunt had been fucked.
The professor seemed to understand her thoughts and hurriedly added, "Bella. .In a few years, Bravantz would listen to you without benefit of your cunt. We will be able to plan a concert for you and perhaps he will notice you. This is the only way to reach him now. I do not see why we should spend the next four or five years waiting for an opportunity for you to be heard by Bravantz, or another impresario, when you are ready now."
"But can I not simply sing for him?" she asked.
"Perhaps, he will let you sing first. Perhaps not." Prof Gerrard had begun to feel pity for his student. "You must be prepared for what will come child. Bravantz has a penchant for youthful virgins, and grants many an audition for just such purposes. We are lucky, child. You have a talent."
"May I dress now?" asked Bella.
"Do not feel disheartened, Bella. Sometimes in this world, one must pay a high price for the privilege of giving oneself to the arts. I promise you. You will be heard by Rudolph Bravantz. He is an honorable man, in his own way and will listen honestly."
Bella pulled up her drawers and continued to listen as she dressed.
"That man is a genius. He has promised an audition in return for a virgin. We have made that contract with him, or rather I have made it for you. Have faith, Bella. It is the only way at this time."
Bella had finished dressing, and suddenly threw herself at the professor, giving him a loving hug.
"Oh, sir. I know you do the best for me. Truly, I do." she admitted. "And I promise to do my best."
"Virginity is a burdensome price for an opportunity to become a great singer."
He quickly dismissed his student and the pallid Petersen who was near to tears. The dialogue between Bella and the professor had quite unnerved him and he felt genuinely sorry for the young girl who was being thrown into the harsh world of the arts so mercilessly and so early in her life.
As they were about to leave, the professor muttered, "Good luck to you child," and slumped back into his chair. He too had tears in his eyes.
Bella and Petersen arrived at the suite of offices where Impresario Rudolph Bravantz and his staff planned their world wide concert tours, and cast the major roles for the new opera house. They took up an entire white stone building, with an imposing entrance way flanked by broad marble columns.
As they entered they were greeted coolly by a stern faced, bespectacled receptionist. Her hawk-like demeanor was doubtlessly deliberate to frighten off unwanted callers, for there was a steady stream of young hopefuls who regularly assailed this hallowed palace of the arts. Most, of course, were turned away time after time until they lost heart and ceased their efforts in this particular direction.
"Yes?" she asked without looking up.
"My name is Bella Janus," whispered Bella. "I believe I have an appointment with Mr. Bravantz."
"Who are you?" she asked of Petersen so sternly that he almost collapsed right then and there.
"I ... I ... " he stammered.
"He is my accompanist," said Bella bravely.
Without another word, the woman left the room, to return moments later and barked, "Mr. Bravantz will see you now, Miss Janus."
Bella and Petersen advanced toward the door which the receptionist held open.
"Just Miss Janus for now," she said and directed Petersen to a bright, sun-lit waiting room. She winked broadly at him and added, "The master wishes to ... uh ... speak with the young lady before she sings."
The receptionist was used to the so-called appointments with young girls, some even younger than Bella, some a few years older. It always, or certainly as far back as she could remember, amounted to the same thing. Flushed and excited from having been chosen to be heard by the great man, the young girls entered alone. True, they did get an opportunity to sing, but they invariably left, looking discouraged and somewhat ravaged by the unfortunate experience. But such a genius as Rudolph Bravantz was allowed a few idiosyncrasies, thought the woman, who herself had been called for an 'audition' many years before. She was one of the lucky ones, for the master had chosen her to work as staff, after he advised her to give up trying to become a singer. That was over twenty years ago and the auditions still continued with regularity: He had not lost his appetite for young virgin flesh.
As Bella entered the well appointed office, Bravantz rose from his desk and came round to greet her, extending both his hands in a warm welcome. He was a man whose age was difficult to determine, so alive and volatile were his movements. He was tall, well weighted but muscular enough so that the word obese could in no way apply to his appearance. His gray hair was closely cropped and dark eyes glowed piercingly from beneath shaggy, gray eyebrows. A handsome face, it was more enhanced by his infectious smile. "My dear," he cooed as he guided the young girl to a broad, white fur covered divan. The room was extremely large and the luxurious couch was almost as big as a normal bed, though it looked less as it nestled between the heavy ruby drapes of the french windows.
"Come and sit beside me and tell me of your hopes and your dreams," he said gently, maneuvering the girl into a position so that she had to sit close beside him.
"I have come for an audition, sir. I wish to be a singer. I am ready now. May I call in Mr. Petersen who will accompany me?" she asked firmly.
"There is time for that, child. Your name ... let me see. My good friend Prof. Gerrard told me, it is...," he began.
"It is Janus, sir. Bella Janus."
"Ah, yes. Bella. That is a very pretty name," and he placed his one hand on her knee and the other around her shoulders.
Bella neither pulled away from his caresses, nor did she respond. She wanted to get up and flee this man whose hands seemed to roam everywhere at once, but her great desire to be heard was stronger, so she sat and waited.
He cupped his one hand over a breast and squeezed softly, "You have a very well developed body, my young one. It will help you in your singing, of course." He continued to rub and knead her breasts one and then the other until Bella could feel the tips rising in involuntary response to the caresses.
"Aren't you feeling warmish, my dear?" he murmured breathing deeply in his lust for this child.
Bella rose to her feet and surprised at herself demanded firmly, "I know you want me naked, but you will hear me sing first, sir."
The great man's mouth fell open. He had never been thus spoken to, and certainly by a child. Who did she think she was to speak rudely to him, the genius of the music world? Yet his lust was so great that he was cowed by her bravado.
She walked briskly to the door and called out, "Petersen, you may come in now. We are ready."
The woman in the reception area was struck dumb by this wild adventure from the usual, and she was not able to stop the young man as he walked past her table.
Petersen, himself, walked in a trance, knowing that he should not have been called to perform so soon after Bella had gone in. Yet so imperious and demanding was Bella's tone, that he did as she ordered.
The great Rudolph Bravantz sat, a black look on his face, and glared at both young people.
"Do you have a preference?" asked Bella coquettishly as she guided the frightened Petersen to the handsome grand piano.
Bravantz shook his head bitterly.
"I expect you to listen, Mr. Bravantz. Then you may expect of me what you wish," she added.
She chose her favorite aria by Leonora, the piece she had not had the chance to sing for her first audition some two years earlier with Prof. Gerrard.
The impresario remained glum, so downcast that Bella feared he would indeed not listen, but she had gone this far, so she would continue to be brave and demanding. A strange thing happened inside her. She seemed suddenly to grow from a little girl, into a woman; a woman sure of her talent and of her womanly rights and wiles. She felt if she could not achieve success on her own terms, or nearly her own terms, then success was not desirable.
As Petersen began to play a few introductory bars, Bravantz sat back, prepared for the usual dull rendering of what he felt was a most boring bit of nonsense. All the young girls chose to sing arias that were far beyond them in both understanding and technique. Well, no matter, he would stop her after the first few bars and thank her cordially for giving him the opportunity to listen to so sweet a voice. Perhaps in a few years, he always said, with much training she might become a singer. He was thus occupied in his own thoughts when Bella began to sing.
"Quel suon, quelle preci," began Bella.
Bravantz sat up and began to listen.
"Solenni, funeste," she continued.
The impresario rose from the divan and moved closer to Bella who sang as she had never sung before. He listened in awe, so beautiful and clear was her voice. Yes, she would be told that she must study and train, but under his tutelage and with the help of her good Professor. His eyes glistened and he waited until she had finished this short piece.
"Bravo! Bravo!" he shouted. He ran to the door and threw it open. "Miss Amandi, come quickly."
The receptionist flew in instantly.
"Sing something more, Bella. Sing! Sing!" he demanded.
Bella almost burst with excitement, and Petersen could barely turn the pages of his book.
Again she sang, and again Bravantz listened in awe. Miss Amandi burst into applause when Bella had finished, for she had been working for the great master long enough to recognize such a fine talent.
"That will be all, Miss Amandi," ordered her employer curtly.
"Petersen," ordered Bella, "you may wait for me outside."
Before the door had closed on the two retreating figures, Bella had already begun to take off her tunic, slipping it over her head.
Bravantz stared in disbelief at the young girl who so recently had cowed him so completely. Her beauty was remarkable as was her temperament. She stood before him in bloomers and chemise, waiting for his approval. Her hair fell loosely down her back, dark eyes flashing, unafraid now of what was to come, both here in this room and outside in the world of music. She stepped out of her bloomers and folded them along with her tunic which she had placed carefully on a side table. Then pulling off her chemise, having already removed her shoes and stockings, she stood before the great master, naked and virginal, her body ready for him if he chose to take her.
Bravantz would have thought that so calculated a surrender would leave him impotent to perform sexually. But such was not the case. His great rod was stiff with lust for this haughty beauty, and he longed to plunge it deeply into her virgin quim.
"You are beautiful, Bella. Your body does justice to your magnificent voice." He would wait. He would know this body before he put his machine between her legs and punctured her virgin hole.
Again, he guided her to the divan and beckoned for her to lie. Kneeling at her side as though a penitent giving up offerings to the gods, he put his lips on a breast, sucking gently and flicking his tongue across the nipple which bounced up at him in a rising passion. So profound was the effect of her singing on the man, that Bella was already aroused, partly in passion and partly in joyousness from having succeeded thus far in her art.
He kissed both breasts, then moved down her body inserting his tongue into her little belly button. She squirmed with arousal; nobody had ever done this to her and she felt a sudden rush in her loins.
He parted her legs and gazed hungrily at her delicious, pink quim, already exuding juices of desire and rubbed the love button until Bella gasped and squirmed about in animal lust. He put his mouth to this beauteous well and drank from it hungrily, sucking and tonguing until she cried out. "My ... cunty ... oh please ... aaaaahhhhhh." At a point when Bella had nearly reached the explosive point of orgasm, he ceased his ministrations and rose from his knees.
"Patience, my hot little wench. We have all afternoon," he gasped through his passion. Slowly and deliberately he removed his clothes; Bella gasped when he freed his great throbbing cock from his trousers. She had been amazed at the size of the pastor's rod, but this one was positively monstrous. It stuck out and forward so that she wondered how it kept from sagging. The knob, red and fiery for her body, was the size of a child's fist, and Bella quaked, sure that he would split her in two if he tried to stick that big thing into her little cunt.
As though he could understand her fears, he assured her, "Bella, my sweet little one, your sweet juicy cunt will taste the whole length of my hungry cock. Don't be afraid. Precious cunts like yours were made to take such a cock as mine." He put his mouth to her nectar pot and sucked and tongued until she was so excited that her desire took the place of her fears and she longed to feel the push of the huge cock into her very belly.
Opening her legs wide, she cried, "Fuck me! Oh, my god, Fuck me! Let me feel your prick right inside me ... aaahhh."
The impresario mounted the young virgin, spreading her legs even further, and reaching down to fully separate the lips of the love well, he thrust the end of his knob into a position where he might push forward on the next lunge.
Then with a great heave, like a stallion rutting a mare he pushed his giant cock into the small, waiting love hole.
"Aaaeeeeee! Aaarrrr!" Bella had never known such searing pain, even when she was caned. It was as though a sharp knife had been plunged deeply into her cunt, cutting through the tender membrane.
"There, there, child," murmured the man. "It will soon go away. Just relax." And with one hand he caressed her hard breasts while he continued fucking her with rhythmic thrusts, till she had swallowed the full length of his spear into her tight little sheath.
The pain of the initial penetration soon dulled, and Bella could feel another sensation. This was something like when she frigged herself, or when Mrs. Walden had fingered her, but it was more than that. She could feel the end of the man's cock inside her belly and soon she was pushing her body up to meet his down thrust into her. Together, they rocked and came together and separated, until Bella felt the stirrings of a coming orgasm and shouted, caring little that the receptionist and Petersen might both hear her through the door. "Fuck me harder ... Ooohhh, I'm coming..." She reared up into her master's cock wanting to swallow all of it.
At that moment, Bravantz let go his load, and jerked and sobbed loudly as he sprayed the contents of his balls deep into the girl's belly.
Both of them lay quietly, completely spent, so lustfully did they take of each other. Presently, the impresario raised himself from Bella's inert body, and pulled his machine out of her love pot. It was covered with the blood of her virginity and had shrunk to a fraction of it's former size.
"Miss Amandi!" he bellowed.
In a moment the woman entered noiselessly, carrying hot wet towels. She solicitously cleaned the master's privates, and as he began to dress himself, she turned her attention to Bella, who was still lying on the divan. Her blood had stained the white rug, but she was to learn at a later time, that this was part of the ritual that appealed to Bravantz so. She gave herself up to the woman's ministrations and allowed herself to be washed gently, and to have a soothing cream rubbed on and into her sensitive love pot. Miss Amandi had doubtless performed similar tasks, many times before and did her job well.
After Bella was dressed, Bravantz sat beside her and told her of his plans for her. She would become a great star, and sooner than she might guess. There would be countless hours of scales and studies and she would be forced to adhere to a strict schedule concerning diet, sleep and rest if she hoped to succeed, but he promised her that it would be worth it.
After Bella and Petersen left, with plans to return the following day to begin the rigorous training, the genius impresario sat back in his chair and grinned broadly. "Fiery little wench," he said to nobody in particular. "She will be a diva."
CHAPTER SIX
Professor Gerrard had not left the confines of his studio for some years and both Mrs. Heinrick and Petersen were shocked when the following day, he insisted that a carriage be called so that he might accompany Bella to her appointment with Bravantz. The old housekeeper was called to fetch hot water and clean clothing for him. She and Petersen helped the professor to a large wooden tub which had been brought into the studio and carried pails of hot steaming water which they poured over him.
He grumbled and grunted as they soaped him and scrubbed his neglected, gnarled body, for he was badly crippled, and his legs gave him little assistance. Practically lifting him from the tub, they dried him with large soft towels, rubbing briskly so that his skin shone with a rosy tinge. So much attention to his body caused his great cock to respond with verve. It stood erect, large and imposing, capped by a purple knob, which throbbed visibly.
"Do something with that thing," he barked at the housekeeper, as she rubbed his penis with the towel.
She quickly removed the towel and moved to help him walk to his chair, when he cried, "Not the towel, you fool. My prick is what needs looking after. Have you never seen a full sized cock before, woman? Or are you just used to sucking Petersen's little pipe?" He thrust his hand under her skirt and grabbed her full in the crotch.
She yelped in surprise and shock for her own massive cunt had been unused for many years, unless one could count the finger friggings she had given herself when remembrance of the past would not give her peace in sleep. Mrs. Heinrick had indeed sucked Petersen's little cock and swallowed its meager contents on occasions when the professor had sent him to her, but this was the only male attention she had had in her twenty years of widowhood. She almost chuckled as she imagined Petersen trying to shove his little clove into her well formed ham of a crotch. Why he would get lost!
The professor kneaded her full cunt mound, rubbing against her heavy drawers until she could feel arousal in that very personal place. She guided him to the cot which he used to rest between lessons. As he lay on his back his great tent-pole stood straight up, twitching in anticipation, his breath labored and hot.
"Take off your blasted bloomers, woman! he ordered.
The housekeeper removed her coarse undergarment and fucked her skirts up into her apron strings so that she stood before him, her great belly nearly hiding the curling rough hair of her pubis. He grasped her by the bush and pulled her closer. She by now gasped in her arousal which his savage treatment only increased. Parting the lips of her swollen quim he thrust a finger sharply up into the well, and almost instantly shoved another up her tight arsehole that was not expecting to be punctured.
She cried out, but he continued to massage her cunt and her butt until she weaved in passion, about to faint in unfulfilled pleasure. She pulled herself away from his groping hands and placed herself astride the naked professor, her cunt pushing hard down against his chest, juicy and wet with longing. Down and down she moved across his chest and his belly until her love well was directly above his erect machine. With one fierce motion she had impaled herself on him and as though possessed of the devil himself, began a furious rhythm, bouncing up and down on the man's member.
Both were oblivious to Petersen who watched in awe and then amusement, for he could not have imagined such lust in either of the two. Mrs. Heinrick pumping up and down, priming the professor's tool that he might send the waters of his spring shooting deep into her well. Groaning and grunting, they continued to fuck in impassioned frenzy; the woman remembering her lost sex, the man enjoying the joy of a female cunt wrapped tightly around his hard cock.
Lost in their own passionate thoughts and lustful rutting, the climax of the act came upon them both suddenly and without warning. The professor reared up his loins and thrust deeply into the woman's hole. She threw her head back in ecstasy and cried out.
"I'm afire! Fuck! Hard! Ooohhhh, I'm spending ... aaaahhhhhhh," shouted the woman. Her come was a lengthy one and when she had finished, she collected her wits about her and blushed that she had so freely given full play to her animal desires. Quickly she pulled her cunt from the sword that had held it fast, dripping the slimy love juices carelessly onto the professor. Efficiently, she took wet towels and wiped herself clean, letting her skirts down to her ankles once more and then performed the same service on the professor. She lovingly washed this prick which had so recently given her much pleasure, wiping away the mingled juices with great care.
"We must do that again, Mrs. Heinrick," said the professor. "Your juicy cunt is a much better sheath for my cock that Petersen's stretched arsehole!" he laughed.
"Petersen, get to helping the professor dress himself," ordered the woman. "And stop gawking or we'll find a way to make you move."
Petersen hied himself to the task at hand and soon the professor was dressed quite elegantly, and with the aid of his two canes, rose to his feet ot greet Bella when she arrived for her appointment.
Bella had not realized until that moment that she had never seen the professor standing, for he always sat in the chair for her lesson, from the time she arrived until the time she left. He was much taller than she had imagined, standing even with his canes a full 6 feet in height. His belly, now that he stood, did not have the same Buddha like appearance.
Prof. Gerrard smiled at Bella, feeling more than a little pride, for Petersen had told him the details of the audition over and over again the night before. Each time he finished the story, the professor would insist, "Tell it again! And this time tell me everything!" And so Petersen would begin once more until the episode was so clearly in the old man's mind that he might have been there himself.
"Bella, my dear. We have begun," he said reverently. "We shall not have a lesson today, but will go directly to meet with Bravantz and make preparations for your unveiling."
"Unveiling?" cried Bella amused. "I sound like a statue."
"Indeed you are more than that. We shall unveil your beauty and your great talent to the public, the pigs. They shall never have full appreciation of you no matter how they may applaud," he growled. "Let us be gone. Has the carriage arrived, Mrs. Heinrick?"
"Yes sir, it is waiting. Petersen and I will help you." she murmured.
"I don't need your damn help!" he snapped and struggled to the door on his canes. Bella longed to help him, but sensed his pride would not allow it and so restrained her impulse.
Although they arrived at the Bravantz studio some half an hour earlier than they were called, Miss Amandi insisted it didn't matter.
"Mr. Bravantz will be delighted," she cooed as she fluttered around the trio in the reception room. "I'll let him know you're here."
"Nonsense, woman!" said Prof. Gerrard. "We're early, and we'll just wait for him." He could hear the sounds of a piano coming from what he supposed to be Bravantz' office.
"He won't mind being interrupted, sir," insisted the twittering Miss Amandi. "He's only going over a score. He is anxious to see Miss Bella." She corrected herself. "And you too, of course." And with that she turned and burst unannounced into the great man's office.
The callers heard first a roar, liberally sprinkled with obscenity, then the woman's nervous chirping followed by the appearance of the handsome Rudolph Bravantz in the doorway, inviting them in.
"Darling Bella! And you have brought the good professor with you. Come in! Come in! We have much to accomplish on this otherwise dull day." he cajoled.
When they were seated in the office, Bella sitting next to the professor, even though the impresario had beckoned that she should sit closer to his desk, a hush fell upon them.
Bella broke the silence.
"Mr. Bravantz, I hope that Prof. Gerrard will continue to be my teacher," she said.
"Ahem," he coughed. "We'll get to that, child, at the proper time. First we must make plans for your debut. Now I have decided that we will begin with ... . "
"Wait!" cried the young prima donna. "We will begin with nothing! The professor is my very soul. We will begin with that or nothing!"
"Now Bella," said the professor timidly, "Mr. Bravantz has a right to his own opinions. He will guide you from now on and I will be happy to sit by and watch the development of my star pupil."
Bella was amazed at the whining sounds coming from the professor who had been such a hard, demanding task master in the past. Here he was, kowtowing to Bravantz. She would not tolerate this. Prof. Gerrard was responsible for everything that she, Bella Janus was about to become. Without his rigorous discipline, his inhuman demands of her talent, she would have been just another singer. Of that she was certain. No, she and the professor would progress together or not at all. Something very strange had happened to Bella on the day before. She was no longer a little girl, subject to other people's whim, ideas and demands. She was Bella Janus, a woman about to become a diva, on the threshold of success; success that would enfold Prof. Gerrard, the driving force behind many of his pupils in the past. Bella would bring him along with her and show the world the greatness of this man.
"Professor, you shall be my teacher and my guide," she pronounced.
"So be it," conceded Bravantz, angered by the unfamiliar sensation of being cowed by so young a performer and yet elated by the fiery temperament displayed by a singer he knew would make all his other clients seem pale by comparison. She reminded him of a singer he had known several years ago, when he was a mere stage hand at the opera house. At that time, Natasha, as was her name, was already in her fifties and acclaimed as the prima diva of the opera the world over. She had the same fire and untamed temperament as was beginning to be seen in Bella. Bravantz smiled as he recalled an incident when he was only seventeen and she old enough to be his grandmother. It was at her bed that he became initiated into the world of physical pleasures.
"Shall we begin," said Bella imperiously. "Professor, how do you choose to shape me?"
"I think," began Gerrard glancing at Bravantz for approval, and getting a nod, continued, you are ready for a concert, or will be in the fall. I do not believe you are ready for the opera this season. We must engage a drama coach to prepare you."
"Excellent," agreed Bravantz.
"I have already prepared a program for the fall concert," offered Gerrard and reached into his case for the material. "I think the Main Concert Hall would be sufficient for our needs of the moment."
"And terribly expensive," quipped the impresario and immediately went on to explain, "But I agree. The Main Concert Hall it is. Miss Amandi! Come in and take notes."
The woman took a corner seat and wrote down all the plans taking great care to include everything that was said for she had already decided that Miss Bella Janus would brook no inefficiency.
"Bella, what do you think of engaging Moira Nevins to be your drama coach?" asked Gerrard. "She would help tremendously in the preparation of the concert as well."
"As you say, sir," she agreed.
"Not Moira Nevins!" cried Bravantz. "Why she's a disgusting lesbian! Victor Lorrens, at least."
"He is dead!" screamed the professor. "He breathes, but there is no life in his work. Moira Nevins has a great capacity for teaching."
"Mr. Bravantz," said Bella coolly. "I think we will engage Miss Nevins. Do you have that in your notes, Miss Amandi?"
Again the point was won and it was decided that Bella would begin classes with Moira Nevins just as soon as it could be arranged. The concert hall would be booked for sometime in October, which gave Bella nearly five months to get ready for her debut.
"May I make a suggestion," queried Miss Amandi timorously.
Both Bravantz and Gerrard ignored her, but Bella nodded and urged her to speak.
"Miss Bella needs a wardrobe," she offered.
"Nonsense!" said Gerrard. "That is of little significance. What does it matter what she wears? There is time for such useless vanity."
"No, sir. There isn't," continued Miss Amandi bravely. "Miss Bella cannot wear the school-girl tunic she has on now and she will have to get used to the feel of dainty, feminine apparel if she is to feel at home on the stage."
"I heartily agree with you Miss Amandi," said Bella excitedly. She had longed for grown up gowns of silk, lawn of perhaps, even satin. "I would like something in red. What do you think?"
"Oh no, Miss Bella. You are yet too young for red. Something very frilly in white, with pale blue ribbons. Perhaps we could shop together one day soon." It was decided finally that Miss Amandi would shop and bring gowns back to the studio for Bella's approval.
Within an hour Bella's future was planned and she could begin work. She would work three hours every morning, rest for two hours over the luncheon period and then carry on for a further four or five hours in the afternoon. Her evenings were for resting; there was no time allowed for recreation, for she had nothing but work for the next five months.
That very afternoon she began this new phase of her training with Professor Gerrard, at his studio as they had demanded and with Petersen accompanying them. The drama coach, Moira Nevins would be contacted and arrangements made for daily sessions with her as soon as possible. Bella's head was in a whirl from all this newness, both in activity and in her new stature. She had not believed that she could be so aggressive, let alone that anyone would even listen to her. It was a fine role, she thought, and she would make the most of it.
The afternoon left her wilted and tired so that when she got back to the studio flat at the Morpeth she wanted only to lie down and die.
She was dismayed to find Mrs. Walden busy with a student, a young man she had never seen before. He was perhaps Bella's age, fifteen or sixteen, with a shock of gold blonde hair that fell down over his forehead; a handsome though boyish face that cried out with mischief. Trying her best to cause the least disturbance, Bella tip-toed quietly through the studio to the bedroom where she hoped to rest for a while before dinner. Just as she reached the door, the boy whistled a long, low suggestive whistle. Bella stopped in her tracks, then turned and stared at the boy.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Wilfred Ames," he replied boldly, trying to hide his very rude leer.
"Let us get on with the lesson," ordered Mrs. Walden, sensing that something was amiss.
"I agree," said Bella. "But not a piano lesson. Mr. Ames needs a lesson in good manners, I believe."
"Oh no, Bella, not Wilfred. Just let it pass. He will apologize to you if you wish," pleaded the teacher.
"I don't mind, ma'am," smiled the boy. "I'd sure like to learn my lessons from such a beauty."
"And so you will, Mr. Ames. You will help me, Mrs. Walden." Her tone of voice affected the older woman so that she could do none else than comply with the girl's wishes.
"Bend over the arm of the sofa, Mr. Ames," ordered the young mistress.
Smiling with anticipation and amusement, the boy walked over to the old horsehair sofa and draped himself over the arm, so that his feet remained on the floor and his torso rested on the seat of the sofa.
"Hold his arms, Mrs. Walden," directed Bella," and see that he doesn't move out of position or it will be the worse for you as well."
Reaching under his waist she unbuttoned his trousers despite his struggles, and as she pulled down to bare his defenseless posterior he began to shout at her and threaten to tell his parents.
"I think we will have to do something about that noise, Mr. Ames," quipped Bella and quickly stepped out of her drawers. She bunched them up and shoved them roughly into the lad's mouth, so that now only unrecognizable, muffled sounds could be heard.
"You'd better get up on the sofa Mrs. Walden and sit on his shoulders, or he may just be too much for you," suggested the girl. The woman climbed up onto the boy's struggling figure, and straddled his head and shoulders so that her own cunny, bared because of the warmth of the day, pushed his head down into the harsh material of the sofa. The rubbing of her love mound against the masses of golden hair of the boy caused her to squirm down even harder, warming up even further the already aroused love channel.
"I think we are ready now, Mr. Ames," called Bella and brought her palm down sharply across his exposed bottom globes. She gasped with pleasure as she saw pink color rising on this well formed backside. Wilfred Ames was a very attractive boy and his posterior sloped delightfully down to his thighs below and to a slender waist above. Bella would enjoy this. Slap! Slap! Slap! She covered the entire surface with sharp, quick spanks.
"What do you think of that, Mr. Ames?" SLAP SLAP "Is it not rude to whistle at young ladies, dear sir? SLAP ... SLAP ... SLAP ... You are getting a very red backside and I'll bet it is getting red on the inside too. SLAP..."
Wilfred squirmed in vain, unable to escape from this rain of the palm of his delicate bottom cheeks. His head was pushed down with the force of Mrs. Walden's bare cunny against his hair, and Bella anchored him firmly to the sofa arm with one hand as she spanked him mercilessly with the other. He could only moan softly, for Bella's drawers were shoved into his mouth.
Another twenty spanks and the entire surface of the boy's hindquarters, was a rosy pink. Bella stopped for a minute and asked, "Do you think you could be quiet now Mr. Ames? If so, I'll take the gag out of your mouth for the rest of your punishment." The boy could not even nod his head, but he moaned and Bella supposed this to mean agreement. She pulled the rumpled cloth from his mouth and was rewarded with the sound of muffled sobs.
"Now we will continue with your punishment, Mr. Ames," she announced.
"No, please ... please miss, no more. I couldn't stand it, please ... please," he begged.
"If you don't cooperate, I shall have to return the gag to your mouth," she warned. "You have been rude and you must be taught a lesson. We have some very good teachers here at this studio, don't we, Mrs. Walden."
Mrs. Walden smiled through misty eyes, for the feel of the boy's hair against her hot cunt and the sight of Bella spanking his rounded butt had excited her almost beyond words. Bella moved to the bureau and opened the top drawer where her teacher's implements of punishment were kept. She chose carefully and finally decided upon the old reliable teacher's strap.
Wilfred had relaxed his muscles during this short respite and practically dismounted the poor Mrs. Walden as he leaped high from the unexpected pain that burned into his pinky backside.
"Yooowww! Aaaaaarrr," he cried as the strap came down again, first across one cheek and then the other.
"A little less noise," barked Bella and brought the strap down with even more force. "You butt is getting all striped and red, Wilfred," she laughed and strapped harder than ever.
Tears now flowed freely from the boy's eyes as he sobbed and cried in agony. "Ohhhh, please, my poor bottom, please don't whip me ... aaaaarrrr, I beg ... beg...."
"Do you promise to be good?" SWISH! SMACK! The blows now came quickly with scarcely a second between the painful cuts.
"Aaaaahhhh ... ooohhhh . . .y ... yes ... oh god ... pi. . . please ... I ... pr. . . promise...." cried the boy choked by his own tears.
Bella brought down the strap twice more, then threw the weapon to one side. "Let him up now, Mrs. Walden. I think you had getter just step out of your trousers for the moment, Mr. Ames. You won't be able to pull them up over that backside for a little while," she laughed teasingly.
Wilfred remained in his ignominious position, unable to move. It was not until Bella reached out to help him, did he stand, unembarrassed by his lower nudity, clothed only in a sweater and shoes and stockings. He tried to rub the pain from his bottom with his hands, but the very touch made him howl with pain.
"What a naughty boy, you are Mr. Ames. I think I'll call you Wildred, after all," chided Bella. "Look at your cock, standing at attention and right after you've been punished for being so naughty." She gave it a little tug. "My, it is nice and hard, isn't it? Perhaps we should punish you more for letting it get so hard," she smiled.
Mrs. Walden had sat on the sofa and was squirming, trying to rub her hot little cunny to some state of coolness. She had her hand between her legs and rubbed through her skirts, but it was not very satisfactory.
"And look what you've done to Mrs. Walden! She is so hot in her cunt, she can hardly sit still. Have you ever fucked, Wilfred?"
"Oh, no, miss," he replied, blushing from neck to hair.
"Have you ever seen a woman's cunt?" she continued.
"No ... no, miss Bella. I...." he buried his head in his hands so great was his embarrassment.
"Come," she invited and nodded to Mrs. Walden who followed her ward with enthusiasm, into the bedroom. The boy too, followed, for he was now very curious.
"Lie on the bed, Mrs. Walden," ordered the girl, "and lift up your skirts so we may see your delicious cunny."
"Come see, Wilfred," said Bella. "See how wet it is. Cunts get wet when they are hungry. Put your mouth to it."
A look of disgust came over the boy's face and he turned away.
"Don't be such a 'fraidy cat. Look! like this," and Bella pressed her full red lips to the swollen cunt lips of her mistress and sucked. Her pink tongue darted into the gaping orifice, in and out until Mrs. Walden cried aloud in passion. Just before the woman reached a climax, Bella withdrew and invited Wilfred to partake. The older woman sobbed in frustration, for she had been brought nearly to the peak and was left gasping for satisfaction.
"Go ahead, Wilfred. You'll like it, I promise you." urged Bella.
Shyly the boy did as he had seen Bella do. He was surprised that a cunt did not taste bad; not at all as he had imagined. He sucked furiously.
"Poke your tongue in, Wilfred. She-likes that," instructed the girl. She herself was so aroused by this impromptu orgy that unconsciously she plunged her finger into her own hot little love pot and caressed it rhythmically. "My, god ... my god," screamed Mrs. Walden. "It's ... it's ... coming ... aaaahhhhhhhhh." She reared up like a mare in heat and lay exhausted.
Bella had to pull the boy away from this fountain of love for he continued his ministrations, so engrossed had he become. His own ample cock was hard and throbbing from unknown passion and he hoped there might be relief for him as well.
"Would you like to see my cunt, Willie," invited Bella, now gasping in her own passion. She threw up her skirts and lay on the bed beside Mrs. Walden. She raised her knees and spread her thighs so the boy could have free access to her love hole.
"May I touch it?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes, you darling boy, and you may kiss it, and you may shove your hard cock deep into it," she offered.
With his fingers the boy parted the pink, youthful lips of the girl's cuntie and gazed in awe at the juicy bed inside. Now he longed to suck at this honey pot and to push his tongue into it. He wondered how it would feel to shove his hard machine deeply into this warm, wet cushioned nest.
Bella heaved and her breath came in short spurts as the boy continued to explore her most intimate parts. When he pressed his mouth to her cunt, she squealed in ecstasy and pushed it hard into his face. He tongued and sucked her until she cried out in passion.
"Willie, darling, Willie, fuck me! Shove your rod deep into me. Now ... Willie ... Now." she cried.
Clumsily, the boy mounted the girl who parted her legs even wider for him to enter her love sheath. In one lunge Wilfred had buried his tool deep inside the so recently virgin cunt of the passionate young girl.
Now he was led by instinct as he pushed deep inside and pulling out the tool only for another onslaught. Mrs. Walden watched with avid curiosity, for she had never seen a fuck performed either by others or by herself. She knew she should put a stop to this lest her young ward become impregnated by the boy's seed, but she was too much involved to make a move.
Bella, her buttocks bounding in sheer pleasure cried out, "Willie, faster, fuck me faster, I'm ... I'mm ... Ooohhhh, put your cock right in ... oohhhh,. . . Willie ... Eeeee ... aaaahhhhhh."
Willie could feel his guts contract and from the very depth of his balls he felt a hot torrent burst forth and shoot deeply into the love well beneath him. He grunted and snorted as he pushed harder and harder into Bella, who was herself in the throes of a gigantic come.
Mrs. Walden clapped her hands impulsively as the show ended and quickly collected herself.
The youngsters, both no longer children, lay spent and weary beside each other, the gluey, sticky juices mingled and distributed between them. Wilfred had long forgotten the pain of his punishment and could remember only the pleasures it afforded him.
When Wilfred left, Mrs. Walden had dinner sent to the studio for Bella and herself. All three, Wilfred in his bed, and the women in theirs, slept soundly that night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bella had heard many frightening stories about Moira Nevins and was nervous about studying drama with her. However, the Professor had insisted, so of course, she agreed. She had complete faith in his judgment in matters dealing with her career.
She had just finished a morning with the professor and Petersen at the studio, and after her two hour luncheon rest period was due to arrive at Miss Nevins' drama school for her first lesson.
By this time, Bella was quite familiar with ways in the city and no longer needed Mrs. Walden or Petersen to take her to and from places. She could now find her own way around so that this day she arrived at the school alone and just a little frightened. What would Miss Nevins be like? Could she do well in her class? She was glad that Miss Amandi had chosen some adult styled frocks, and at least didn't feel like a child. Today, Bella wore a pale blue dimity frock, simply cut and with no adornment save a broad, white sash. True, it was still somewhat a little girl's style, but a far cry from the serge tunics she had worn until now.
The 'school' could hardly be regarded as such by its physical appearance. It consisted of three large studio rooms on the ground floor of a building that looked more like a warehouse than anything else.
Everything was brown; walls, floors and furniture with very little relief from the high gray ceilings. Bella could not imagine gaining any dramatic aplomb in such depressing quarters, but she was determined to give it a try.
The three studios were used by Miss Nevins and her two assistants and their classes ranged from private students like Bella, and groups of five or six students at one time. Although Miss Nevins fees were very expensive, Rudolph Bravantz paid all the bills now, preparing his prot'g'e for her career. It would have to be a splendid career indeed, thought Bella, if he expected to get a return on his investment. She was thus occupied in her own thoughts when she first saw Moira Nevins.
Shock is hardly the word she used in her own mind, but it was fairly close. Certainly, she had imagined a woman much different from the one who smilingly introduced herself as Miss Nevins, "Call me Moira."
Moira Nevins was much younger than Bella had thought, perhaps in her thirties, and rather than the stern, horse-faced woman she had envisioned, the drama coach was perfectly beautiful. She stood nearly six feet tall, and wore her golden yellow hair loosely so that it cascaded down her back. Her figure, unconcealed in her tight fitting black leotard, left nothing to be desired. Full pointed breasts jutted out naughtily from her costume; a slim waist was exaggerated by a wide leather belt, melding with the round, shapely hips. Her laughter tinkled a melody as she cooingly invited her pupil to join her in the studio.
"We must get rid of those clothes, first off," purred Moira. "Strip, dear and I'll see to finding you some decent working things that will fit." She rummaged through a box of costumes and properties and came up with a leotard similar to her own, but in a bright, flaming red.
"I think that will set off your black eyes nicely," she commented. "Try it on."
Bella was loathe to take off the pretty dress, for she had just got it the day before, but could see that it would restrict her movements so went about her task quickly. She stood before Miss Nevins shyly, dressed only in her drawers and chemise.
"The rest of it dear. We can't fit all that nonsense into this little bit of fluff."
As Bella removed the last of her garments, the drama coach gasped in sheer pleasure. Such a beautiful body on such a young girl! She would enjoy moulding this piece of perfectly formed flesh into a graceful actress. She ran her hands sensuously over Bella's hard tipped breasts and sighed.
"You should not hide such beauty under those little girl dresses, my dear," whispered the woman. "And that little cunny bush! Lovely!" Her hands slipped down to Bella's crotch and rubbed her hair which curled up so temptingly. For a brief moment she brought her hand to rest between the girl's legs and slipped an exploratory finger into the hot little cunny borough.
"You're a sexy little wench," she laughed. "But enough of that. We have work to do before pleasure."
"Yes, Miss Nevins," replied Bella, trying to hide her discomfort. She had not expected to be received quite so boldly, and the woman's caresses had made her very warm in her intimate spot. She slipped into the leotard without delay and stood full height before the woman who marveled at the girl's beauty.
"That body of yours is of no value, Bella, if you don't use it. Let's begin with a few exercises. I daresay that working with Gerrard you've done little other than stand before him in one position to sing," she began. "Unless of course, you bent over for a taste of his whippy canes."
Bella blushed furiously, for indeed she had been subjected to many such sessions.
"The professor's canes are well known," offered Moira when she saw the embarrassment on the girl's face. "And very effective too, for him. But I have my own methods, which you will soon learn."
Soon Bella was lying on the floor, raising first one leg and then the other. If she did not raise a leg high enough to suit her mistress, she was rewarded with a crack on the back of her thighs with a silver handled riding whip. Crack! Crack!
"Ooohhhh," moaned the girl, as she strained to raise her legs even higher until she ached with the effort she had expended.
"On your front now, Bella. The same thing again!" barked the coach.
And again the exercises commenced, punctuated by sharp little flicks of the whip, until Bella's body responded suitably. Next she was told to stand tall, and pretend she was pushing herself up to the ceiling, then to drop limply to the floor. The girl accomplished this feat with no need for punishment.
"That's an easy one, dear. Now pretend you are a windmill, and swing your arms wide in full arcs. Swing back as far as you can so that we get a little more muscle into those titties of yours. Breathe deeply! Wider! Your arms won't break off! Wider!" Bella was rewarded with a sharp snap across her lightly protected backside and swung her arms with all her might so that she might forego another reward.
"Much, much better. I think we'll do fine, dear," said Moira encouragingly.
"Now we shall have an emotional exercise. Listen carefully. You are in a windowless room," and she paced out the dimensions of the cubicle. "A fire has broken out here," she said indicating one corner of the room, "and you will carry on from there." She placed a chair in the center of the allotted space and added, "supposing you are sitting here and reading when you smell smoke."
Bella sat on the chair, looking down at her knees.
"How can you read, when you're not holding a book!" barked the coach. "Let me see the book! One other thing, Bella. The door is here and if you should try to escape through it, you will find that it is jammed and will not open."
Bella held up an imaginary book, then sniffed a few times, suddenly pulling a face which she supposed to signify fear.
"You didn't even look to see the fire, girl! Look! Notice! First you are aware of something different in the room. You smell the smoke, then you look around, still not alarmed until you see the fire. Let me see the fire through your eyes. You aren't afraid yet! The fire is in one corner and you think you can escape through the door on this other side. Begin again."
Once more Bella picked up her imaginary book and began to read. This time she more slowly unfolded her awareness, sniffing the air tentatively at first, then with more curiosity. Just as she was about to look into the corner where the imaginary fire had started, CRACK! A long snaky whip had wrapped itself around her ankles, with the aid of Moira Nevins of course. A look of true surprised registered itself on her face.
"Now, that's more like it. You are surprised when you see the fire! Carry on."
She rose from the chair and instinctively tried to beat out the flames.
"Excellent!" cried the woman. "That's probably what you would do first. The fire cannot be put out. Now what do you do?"
Bella dropped her imaginary book and fled to the imaginary door, where she tried to turn the non existent handle. As she pretended to tug and pull on the door, she tried to put a look of panic and fear on her face.
"Feel the terror, Bella. Feel it! I don't believe you yet."
Bella tried harder and soon was clawing at the air which represented the closed door. Suddenly before her stood Miss Nevins, a whip raised high, about to bring it down across her face. A hundred thoughts rushed through her mind. She would be cut to ribbons if the whip connected with her face. Her disfigurement would destroy her chances for success. Her terror was real.
With unexcelled expertise, Moira brought the whip down sharply a fraction of an inch away from the girl's face so that the tip barely grazed her shoulder. "Now that is fear!" she agreed.
"Do it again, and this time without my help. Let me see the real fear, the terror at being trapped. Your whole life, your career is near its end. It is inevitable. Let's set you do it yourself. Keep the right thoughts in your mind."
Bella recalled the sensation prior to noticing the whip and tried to capture the same emotion. This time it was successful enough so that Moira did not have to help.
"Now the smoke is getting thicker. You find it hard to breathe and your energy is spending rapidly. Remember Bella, when death finally comes, it is a release. Beyond the peak of fighting for life, there comes an acceptance of death. You have fought and lost and now, tired, you sink into the oblivion the kindness of the end of all your fears, terrors. Good! Fine!" complimented the woman.
Bella lay crumpled on the floor, exhausted emotionally, her body tired from the physical exertion.
"Let's stop for a cup of tea before we go on to the next phase," murmured the woman kindly as she reached for a bell pull that would summon an already laid tea tray. She pulled a thick mat from hooks on the wall and placed it near an open window, motioning Bella to come and sit beside her. Both were sitting cross legged on the mat when a wizened old woman waddled in clumsily carrying a heavy silver tea tray, containing a tea service and hot biscuits. Wordlessly she set the tray down on the floor between the drama coach and her student and left.
"We have much to do in the next few months, Bella," began Moira as she poured tea and served it to the girl. "I believe you will benefit greatly from our sessions, you are an honest worker, or so it would appear."
Bella's eyes were fixed on the riding whip that Moira had clipped on to her belt.
"That amuses you, does it?" she asked. "Would you like to see my whip from the other side, dear?"
Bella took the proffered weapon and ran her hands over the rough silver handle. The thin whippy end cracked as she swished it through the air. Thus she toyed with the instrument of pain, fascinated by its pliability and impressed by the beauty of the carved silver and the smoothness of the sna-key leather thong anchored within, until Moira herself was fascinated by the girl's preoccupation.
"Would you accept my whip as a gift, Bella?" she asked. "I have another, not quite so lovely, but effective enough, as you shall see."
"Truly? Would you let me have it to keep?" inquired the girl.
"Yes, yours to keep. I have never known anyone who could appreciate its beauty before this. Have you ever whipped anyone, Bella?" she pursued.
"Not much, Miss Nevins. Well, ah..." she stammered.
"Call me Moira, dear and remember you can speak freely. I hope we will be friends."
"There was this bell-boy. I helped Mrs. Walden, she's my guardian, to spank him. And just last week there was one of her students. He whistled at me so I punished him." She related the incident in detail to Moira who could scarcely contain her interest and amusement.
"And once," continued the girl, "I hand spanked Mrs. Walden, but that was a long time ago. It wasn't really a whipping because I know she really just wanted me to do it to her."
"Would you like to really whip somebody, child?" asked the older woman.
"I don't know," admitted Bella. "I think I would like to know how it feels to give a loving pain to someone else. I would not like to whip cruelly, I'm sure."
"But you are not being cruel if you are whipping someone who can appreciate the finer qualities of true pain. It is more a kindness than a cruelty," assured the woman.
"Do you think so? I don't mind getting a whipping if it isn't too hard, sometimes. And there are times when it even makes me feel all warm. I don't mean on the bottom, I mean on the inside. But a kindness!" said Bella.
"Perhaps you are a better giver than a receiver, dear," laughed the woman.
A silence fell upon them as they munched the hot biscuits and drank their tea.
Then in a tremulous voice, Moira Nevins asked, "Would you like to whip me, Bella? Whip me hard and cruelly?"
"Oh no, ma'am, I mean Moira. I like you. I wouldn't want to hurt you any at all," she replied quickly.
"You wouldn't hurt me, dear," she croaked in a whisper. "I would love you to do it."
"Do you want me to do it now?" she asked.
"Now!" cried the woman as she started undoing her belt. She had guessed that Bella, in her fiery temperament and fierce ability to work and accept instruction, would be a most satisfactory dominatress.
Moira Nevins was frustrated, surrounded as she was by students and employees who feared her and stood in awe of her unmatched talent to teach her art. She longed to find someone who could administer the sweet, exquisite pain she needed. Her very soul cried out for the kiss of a whip against her bare flesh, cutting deeply into the recesses of her emotions. So overcome was she by the prospect of a real whipping that she fumbled out of her leotard with a clumsiness foreign to her usual graceful self.
Bella gasped as Moira, tall, lovely and pale, stood before her naked; breasts firm and hard from years of exercise; a hard smooth belly below which her white blonde hair curled in a bush, hiding a yearning quim beneath the foliage.
"Bella, darling," cooed the woman, "why don't you get into something more fitting for the occasion." She walked to the box of costumes and produced a stunning soft, smooth leather garment that looked as if it would fit the girl. The top was a brief sheath of leather which was shaped to fit over the young girl's well formed breasts. Circles were cut from the centre so that when Bella stepped out of her leotard and buckled this garment across her chest, only two nipples surrounded by the unusually large areola, peeked through.
The bottom portion of the costume consisted of a light, smooth leather underpinning, which fitted close to the body. It was cut out between the legs, so that only a fringe of bush could be seen around the luscious moist cunt hole. The garment was cut up the back as well so that her little arsehole was visible through the opening. She indeed had the appearance of a ruthless slave mistress.
The costume itself told Bella much. Before this she had sensed the woman's need to be humiliated; to be subjugated and finally tamed by the dominating whip. She hoped she was worthy of such a challenge, for she truly felt affection for this woman and it was a difficult role to play. This would truly be a test of her dramatic abilities and she hoped she would play this unusual role well.
"You shall be my wild pony, Moira. And perhaps with the help of my little black snaky friend you will be a little less wild when we finish. On your hands and knees," she commanded and cracked the whip across the woman's upper thighs to accentuate the order.
"Yes, mistress," whined the woman. She cringed and threw herself to the floor, cowed by the imperious figure standing over her. Only her glistening eyes would give away the pleasure she felt.
"Knees a little further apart, you naughty colt," cried Bella. "How can I whip that wicked backside of yours like that?" CRACK!
She brought the whip down sharply across the woman's back causing a long red weal to appear instantly. Moira parted her knees so that her quim was as vulnerable as the wide expansive posterior. It twitched uncontrollably in passionate anticipation. Bella knelt down and ran her hand sensuously over the round, smooth globes, drawing an imaginary line with her finger down the crevice between the cheeks which waited so beautifully and temptingly. She teased the muscles around the tight little arsehole with the tip of a fingernail, scratching the surface lightly until the woman writhed in anticipation. She inserted her forefinger into the hole and pulled it out instantly, leaving the woman waiting for something else. Then she stood up and waited, looking down at the object of the coming punishment with a look of disdain.
Moira was so excited she was ready to beg the girl to begin the whipping, but as she turned her head to do so and saw Bella, tall, straight, superior and unapproachable, she hung her head down lower in abject shame and humiliation. The woman was in heaven because Bella was so thoroughly succeeding in maintaining the slave and mistress image.
When Bella felt the mood was sufficiently real she began the ordeal. CRACK! The whip cut a sharp weal down one bouncing cheek. CRACK! The other now boasted of a red wound as well.
"Aaaeeee. ... you're hurting me. ... ah ... mercy. ... mercy. ... you kill me..." sobbed the woman.
Bella was about to temper the next stroke but luckily realized this was all part of the punishment game for Moira had not moved one inch out of position, though she was free to get up whenever she chose.
"Those were merely love taps, you ungrateful whelp." CRACK! CRACK! Two more lines appeared.
Bella started to whip the culprit now, methodically. She began her strokes at the waist and crisscrossed the cuts in a mad pattern across the buttocks to the fullest part. CRACK! CRACK!
"...please ... no more ... aaaaaeeeeee ... I ... I ... I beg you ... Your servant. . . ser ... vant ... pleads ... mercy ... mistress ... mercy ... aaaeeeeee, no more ... no more," she cried, tears streaming from her glistening eyes, but yet she made no move to get up from this humiliating position.
"What a baby you are, crying and sobbing, pleading for mercy. This is what you will get!" sneered Bella, laying the next two strokes of the whip down the crack between the globes. CRACK! SNAP!
Moira reared up in anguish and wailed pitifully, but again she took up the position, asking for more and more punishment.
"Must I teach you to stay in position, you wretched animal?" she taunted as she cracked the whip across the lower portions of the nether cheeks. Moira bucked and tossed, but always returned to the original position.
"Aaaeeeeerrr. Oh god ... you will kill me, please ... please ... mistress ... no more ... I humbly beg you ... aaaaahhhh ... oooooohhhhh, god, my bottom, my bottom is afire..."
Bella aimed her next stroke carefully as she swished the whip through the air and landed it firmly in a vertical line between the woman's legs. The burning, black snake curled round and engulfed the exposed cunny nest. So exquisitely searing was this pain, that Moira collapsed in her heavenly torment.
"Get up, you naughty colt," ordered Bella. "Get to your knees! Up."
Moira rose to her knees and knelt before her mistress who had beaten her so cruelly but with such kindness. Her tear stained face burned with pleasure and sated pain-need. "My titties," she whispered. "Whip my titties, Bella."
Bella had feared she might have hurt the woman but realized she had inflicted just the right amount of pain to cause her beautiful pleasure. She cracked the whip across the taut breasts, proudly pointed and yearning for a kiss from the black snake.
CRACK! CRACK! "You naughty things, pointing up so rudely." CRACK! CRACK! "This will teach you to pout at your mistress."
"Aaaeeeee. God ... god ... help me ... Mistress, please, enough ... enough..." sobbed the woman, pushing her breasts forward for more punishment.
CRACK! CRACK! They were lined with red stripes already beginning to look bruised when Bella ceased her tormenting.
"Now, you ungrateful pony," snarled Bella, "you may kiss the little black snake for its excellence in taming." She thrust the whip into the woman's face, who kissed and tongued the lash lovingly, for indeed it had done its work well.
Pulling the whip rudely away from Moira, Bella stood spread legged before the kneeling woman, and ordered, "You will kiss your mistress now, lovingly and gratefully!"
As the woman was about to put her mouth to Bella's exposed cunny, the girl turned around. ' I think you will thank my arsehole first, idiot!"
Moira scrambled hungrily to Bella's exposed arsehole and kissed passionately. Pulling the cheeks apart and spreading the little hole, she was about to insert her tongue. At that very moment Bella farted loudly, blowing the smell and wind into the woman's mouth.
Bella laughed crudely, "You'll have to do better, slave. My arsehole is complaining."
Rather than be disgusted by it, Moira became even more impassioned by this further addition to her degradation and hungrily plunged her tongue into the little orifice, tasting with pleasure the putrid juices on her mouth. There was a loud SMACK as Bella pulled her butt away from the woman's prodding tongue. Her quim was a well of sex juices and she needed the attention there.
Moira fell upon her delicious little cunty with fervor, and sucked and tongued until Bella swayed in the sensation of the woman's adoration. She could feel the come begin deep inside her and spread like an explosion through her belly. She almost swooned as she let forth the spent passion. So weak was the girl that her legs buckled and she laid down on the mat to rest.
Moira herself felt exhausted, and threw herself face down beside the girl. They remained thus for several minutes without speaking, until Moira raised up her face and placed it over Bella's own relaxed countenance. She planted a loving kiss on the girl's lips, and whispered, "Thank you, my darling. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."
Then as if to lighten the situation she quipped, "I should say, thank you from my bottom ... period."
Bella roused herself and returned the lovingness.
She only then realized that Moira had not gained sexual relief from the orgy.
"Would you like me to suck you to a come, Moira," she offered shyly. "I would be happy to do it. I would love it."
"My darling ... darling girl." she cooed. "I have been more than satisfied. I came twice while you were beating me. We will do it another time."
"Did you really?" asked Bella, stunned by this information.
"Does a whipping really make you come?"
"Yes child," she laughed. "You have much to learn. Some people find in physical pain no pleasure at all and would suffer discomfort even at a simple hand spanking. Others, perhaps like yourself, can be aroused by a small amount of pain. Then there are those of us who worship pain so. It is a fulfilling experience in itself. It is sheer beauty, sheer pleasure. It is exquisite!" she sighed.
"I think you are right, Moira. I am a better giver of pain than I am a receiver," said Bella thoughtfully.
"I have a feeling, dear, that you shall have plenty of both; the giving and receiving. Certainly, you shall receive plenty here if it will help you become a better dramatic singer," she promised.
Bella knew that she would indeed feel many a crack of whip or cane from her mentor, but she knew too, that there would be also many opportunities when she might try her hand at the giving as well.
After a rest, they continued working for the remainder of the afternoon, during which time Bella did most surely feel the kiss of the whip across her backside of her thighs, but these were inflicted for disciplinary purposes. They were not of a loving variety.
Bella left the drama school carrying with her a great deal of knowledge and, clipped securely to her wide sash, the silver handled whip which she caressed all the way home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bella continued her rigorous training through the springtime, over the hot sweltering summer months, studying with the professor daily, including Sundays, and working out with Moira Nevins three afternoons each week.
Soon it was autumn and she longed to rest from her hard work, even for one afternoon, that she might walk through the park and savor the smell of burning leaves, or to watch the innocence of children at play. There was to be no respite. She had decided on a course to success, and Prof. Gerrard insisted that she needed all the work she could put in before the concert that was already dangerously close. In three weeks, which would be the 24th day of October, Bella was scheduled to sing in concert at the Main Concert Hall.
It was already time for her to begin rehearsals with the orchestra. They would work at Rudolph Bravantz' quarters, for two weeks; an unreasonably long period of time Bella had thought. The professor had chosen all her material several months before and she had rehearsed until she was sure she could sing everything from back to front as well as in the usual order.
Today, she was to go to the Bravantz' auditorium directly after the lunch period and hoped that both the professor and Petersen would accompany with her. Her prayers were answered, at least partially, for Gerrard allowed Petersen to go along. Though she begged and pleaded with him to come, he declined.
"My work with you is now finished. There is nothing more left for me to do. You will take your direction from the conductor who must balance your voice with the voice of the orchestra," he decreed. "I shall go along with you one day in a week or two, just out of curiosity, if you wish."
When Bella and Petersen arrived, the orchestra was already assembled and tuning up for the first rehearsal. Suddenly Bella felt awkward and afraid of this great sea of faces behind the instruments. For the first time since she had come to the city, she experienced something akin to stage fright. She wondered how she would react to a full audience for her debut.
Peterson introduced her to the conductor, Aaron Illert and retired to a far corner of the auditorium to watch and listen so that he might report fully to the professor, which was the only reason he was allowed to be present.
With nothing more than a perfunctory, "How do you do?", Illert tapped for attention and began. Though Bella had gone through the entire score, carefully guided by the professor, it suddenly was completely different. Within an hour of confusion, Bella realized that two weeks with the orchestra was not too long; she wondered if indeed it was long enough a time.
Illert spoke his instructions over and over again, patiently and with no loss of temper. Bella could scarcely croak, so tight and nervous was she. The conductor called for a ten minute break and led Bella to a row of chairs, inviting her to sit beside him.
"Try not to be nervous, my dear," he cautioned. "You will find that if you relax, singing with an orchestra is not so very different from singing with your pianist."
"It's just that nothing sounds the same," she moaned. "I can't seem to tell when I'm supposed to come in. It's always just before or just after the right time."
"Do you read music well?" asked Illert.
"Yes, sir. Quite adequately, I should think." She was slightly miffed, for Mrs. Walden had been teaching her sight reading and musical theory relentlessly for some years now, and she fancied herself a good pupil.
"Of course," muttered the conductor. "Perhaps if you used the orchestral score for a few days, it would be easier for you to follow the instrumental portions."
"Boy!" he called to a stage hand lolling about the wings. "Bring Miss Janus a lectern, and Morrison!" he yelled to a member of the orchestra. "Prepare a full set of music, complete with the vocal and instrumental score."
When Bella returned to the stage the lectern had been set with the music opened at the first number. Illert tapped for attention and then the orchestra began. It was much easier now, for Bella could follow the orchestration which was clearly marked. She was delighted, as for the first time she began singing at the right time, and her voice, thin and nervous at the beginning, was now gaining volume and substance and Illert smiled his approval to her and to the orchestra. They were on to a good second start after a very bad beginning.
Petersen, fearful at first, was now smiling broadly, confident that he could return to the professor with nothing but good things to say about today's rehearsal. He was aware that if he brought back a bad report, it would be so much the worse for him; not because he was at fault, but because the professor would vent his anger with a cane.
Bella rested her hand on the lectern and suddenly stopped singing in the middle of a line. Illert glanced over, then signalled the orchestra to stop. All was silent and Petersen looked about in alarm.
Bella drew her hand from the stand and rubbed her fingers against her thumb. It was cold, wet and sticky. Reaching back to the wood and drawing her hand along the top of the lecturn, she felt this same gluey dampness all across.
"Boy!" she called imperiously to the stage hand. "Come here!"
The 'boy' was bent over in ill concealed laughter for he had been responsible for this interruption. He tried valiantly to stifle a great roar of amusement and walked over to the young diva.
"What is your name?"
"Michael, miss," he replied and let roar a great guffaw. Members of the orchestra snickered and giggled much to Bella's anger.
"Perhaps you would care to explain the joke to the rest of us, Michael." she demanded.
'Nothin', miss. I didn't mean nuthin' at all," he countered apologetically, for this haughty young lady had begun to make him feel uncomfortable.
"What do you mean, nothing! You will explain, this instant, or perhaps you wish to be dismissed instead."
"Oh no, miss. I'm sorry, truly. I didn't mean nuthin' at all. I just put some paste from the flats on the stand. That's all. I didn't mean to make you mad, miss," he stammered, clearly shaken now that his job was threatened.
"I suppose you thought it an amusing joke, is that it?"
"Yes, miss. I guess so."
"Michael, I do not find it funny at all. You have wasted my time, Mr. Illert's time, not to mention the time of the entire orchestra. I think we could afford to waste a little more time and teach you proper respect for the artist," she taunted.
"Miss Janus," offered Illert. "If the lad has offended you, I'll see he is dismissed immediately."
"I think not, thank you Mr. Illert. That should not be necessary." She turned her attention again to the boy. "Michael, which would you rather submit to punishment or be dismissed? It is your choice."
"Miss, whatever you want. I don't want to lose my job and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made you angry. Please, whatever you want," he whined.
"Very well." she said curtly. "Drop your trousers and your underwear!"
"Do as I say, or leave this auditorium this minute," she demanded. "Right now!"
Without further hesitation, filled with embarrassment and confusion, the lad unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to the floor. He did-likewise with his gray underwear and stood awkwardly on the stage bare assed before the entire orchestra. His little joint hung limply between his painfully thin legs.
"Bend over and place your hands behind your knees, Michael. Mind you stay in position, or you will be sorry. And complaints and you will be without work this very day," she warned.
Before he had placed himself properly, Bella unclipped the silver handled whip which she always carried at her belt since Moira had presented her with it. This was the first occasion, outside of Moira's studio, that she had cause to use it.
CRACK! She brought the black headed snake down sharply and expertly across the boy's bony ass.
"Yoww ... aaaaarrr," he cried, though daring not to get out of position.
CRACK! CRACK! She smacked and swished harshly so that the whip bit deeply into the flesh. She administered nearly to twenty strokes before she left off the punishment. Michael was crying and sobbing loudly, begging her pardon, beseeching her to have mercy on her. His cries, rather than deterring her, only fanned her into more torturous whipping, for Moira had been a good teacher, not only in drama but also in the art of whipping.
When she stopped, he grabbed at his aching bottom and clutched at it feverishly, trying in vain to rub away the hurt and the bruises.
"You may pull up your trousers now, Michael," she decreed. "This incident will be forgotten, I trust," she said menacingly, looking both at the boy and at members of the orchestra. Not a sound could be heard through the auditorium save for the boy's sobs. The men in the orchestra looked away sheepishly, for they had to admit that they were all impressed by this young girl who wielded a whip as artistically and beautifully as a song.
Bella had established herself in that moment as a diva, a great artist and a woman to be revered and in some cases feared; but never to be mistreated.
"Now Michael, please get a cloth and wipe the lectern clean so we may get on with the rehearsal," she ordered. "Are you ready Mr. Illert?"
Aaron Illert let a gentle smile of satisfaction cross his face, then signalled for attention from the orchestra.
Bella sang full throatedly and with such beauty that even the jaded musicians had a difficult time playing and simply just listening. Michael, standing in the wings, could not take his adoring eyes off this great prima donna. Her music filled him with longing and sensations that he had never before known. He decided that if ever she wanted to whip him; for any reason, he would gladly offer his body, if he could be rewarded with such a song from her lips afterward.
Illert knew now that his initial fears were groundless. Bella Janus would not freeze in front of an audience when the time came for the concert. Her haughtiness and pride would carry her over the temporary stage fright she might feel.
* * *
Three weeks passed quickly and the evening of the concert arrived. Bella's parents had come up to the city for this momentous occasion. They had dined earlier, even though Bella herself was too nervous to eat. She settled for two soft boiled eggs which she forced down.
The dressing room was filled with Bella's mentors, for friends were not allowed backstage before the performance. Rudolph Bravantz, in sleek eveningwear paced the spacious room and twittered over by Miss Amandi. Prof. Gerrard, dressed elegantly for the occasion was served by Petersen; Mrs. Walden wore her usual dull, drab, school marm frock; all were very excited and tried desperately to show the young girl there was nothing to be nervous about.
Miss Amandi had chosen the gown for Bella's debut. A gossamer delicate gown of white lawn, trimmed with tiny pink and green rosebuds, drawn tightly in at the waist by a wide pink satin sash; a high neckline accentuated the smooth, swan like flow of Bella's neck; her only adornment was a small gold pendant on a gold chain. Bella had argued against this choice of apparel but was overruled by both Bravantz and Gerrard, so she relented and agreed to dress daintily.
With only fifteen minutes to go, Mrs. Walden shooed everyone from the dressing room so that Bella might finish preparing and relax for a minute or two before the grand moment. Reluctantly, they left. Bella sat at her mirrored table, calmly brushing her jet black hair.
"How can you just sit there? Aren't you excited?" asked Mrs. Walden.
"Yes! Yes! I'm as fidgety as a wet hen," cried Bella.
"You look cool as anything," commented the woman. "See that you keep up the appearance when you get on stage."
" Just then there came an insistent knocking on the door. Bella called for the intruder to 'come in'.
Moira Nevins, flushed with excitement, burst through the doorway, carrying an enormous box.
"Can you leave us alone for a moment?" she said to Mrs. Walden. It was more a command than a question, and Bella nodded to the woman to leave.
"But," she stammered. "It's almost time!"
"Quite so, Mrs. Walden," said Bella icily. "If you leave right now, Miss Nevins and I shall have a bit of privacy." As Mrs. Walden left she heard her ward cry out, "Moira, I'm so glad you have come. I thought perhaps you wouldn't make it."
"I've brought you something for your debut," purred the tall blonde.
That was all Mrs. Walden heard, for the door slammed shut behind her.
A few minutes later there was another rap at the door; this time it was Rudolph Bravantz who whispered huskily.
"This is the moment, Bella. It is time for you to face your public."
Bella emerged from her dressing room, followed by a radiant Moira Nevins, wearing a heavy velvet theatre cloak over her gown. The next moment she had doffed the heavy robe and was on stage, ready for her introduction.
A gasp arose from the audience. Even the orchestra members paused to take note.
Bella was not the vision of dainty little girl beauty they had expected. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders. Her gown was not the pretty pink and white creation. She was gowned, from head to foot, in a startling, tight fitting sheath of smooth, black leather, which displayed every curve, valley and hillock of her magnificent body. A plunging neckline revealed the cleavage of her beautiful breasts. At her waist hung her beloved silver handled whip.
No longer had she the appearance of a docile, though talented young girl. She was a tall, slender dominatress; a prima diva in every sense of the word.
The concert began.
EPILOGUE
Of course the rest is now history. Bella was hailed as the "find of the century."
"a brilliant talent," a "forceful figure." The appellations were all equally indicative of her great success. The road was now running in only one direction, up and onward to the success that Bella Janus was to know for decades to come.
Though few people knew much about Bella's private life, this much was a famous fact. Her trademark was a silver handled whip which she always carried. When she joined the opera, she insisted that she wear it for every appearance, whatever the role.
And even when she eventually married, her close companion was always by her side. Moira Nevins was always there.