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---
WARNING: This story delves into aberrant sex practices. Some of the sex is consensual, some not. I don't condone it. I'm not advocating it. I may or may not even like it. It's simply a fantasy, a product of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.
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please note the following:
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The Tutor
&
The Misfortunes of
Annabelle Sopp
(An Erotic Horror
Story)
By
Hunsi
Book
cover Picture
(Cut and paste)
/files/Authors/HumblePie/Pics/The%20Tutor.jpg
The
coach careened down
"The Penguin club,
Sir," shouted the coachmen with a pull upon the reins. "Watch your step, sir. Not much to be done 'bout the puddles."
"I
shall, Booster," I said, handing the coachmen a 5 pound note, then quickly ducked beneath the awning to escape the
drizzle.
"Good
evening, Sir, the doorman said while helping me with my coat. "A seat by the hearth
to help shed the chill?"
"No,
thank you" I replied while scanning the room until spotting the man I'd
come to see.
"What's
the man's pleasure, Dubley?" I asked the
doorman, pointing toward a hard looking gentleman quietly nursing his drink
while talking with another.
"I
believe it's Beefeaters, sir."
"Fine.
I'll have a bottle delivered to the gentleman's table," I said as I
hurriedly made my way over toward the corner table to meet up with Clive Thornbriar; renown philanthropist, conservator of
antiquities and musician of considerable renown. A violin virtuoso who had in his time played
every great hall from
Of
course, it'd been many a day since last he commanded the attentions of the
general public. Though to be honest,
even when he was in the news, he was seldom afforded his due. He was just too harsh in his dealings with
others to be likeable, and when coupled with the severity of his looks, you’d
be forgiven for having mistaking him for the troll out on the street
frightening the children than you would the crooner in the parlor charming the
ladies out of their drawers.
But
I haven't come to judge the man. He is
what he is, and if this ill-tempered man with a simian-like brow-ridge, and a
mouth pinched tight between jowls the size of lamb chops puts you off, so be
it.
Me? Well, I couldn’t give a fuck. In truth, I am of one mind with regard to
Clive Thornbriar, and of that I am a fan, an admirer, especially with regard to
his work as a ‘pay for hire’ tutor, a teacher of music to those in need.
I
stress ‘pay for hire’ because, even with the pleasures that come with
having some lovely waif under his tutorage spend the better part of her day
with his cock buried up her well whipped ass, nothing superceded his love of
money. Something the guardians and
institutional care givers who wish only to bring out the best in the children
under their care were willing to pay handsomely for. And for those who can't . . .
Well,
for the right girl, or under the right circumstances, the right boy, this
generous ogre-like figure of a man has been known to have a heart of gold. Taking them in, gratis, and until such time
as even the sourest of vocalist come to sing the sweetest songs; the most
ham-handed instrumentalist comes to strum the most beautiful cords. Their accrue debt due him to be paid
thereafter with there unremitting servitude!
"Clive,
just the man I want to see." I called out as I approached.
"Edward,
it is indeed a pleasure," he smiled, standing up to take my hand. The lighting being such that his eyes peering
out from beneath that simian-like brow, cast a jaundice, yellowish-like tint
that continuated the ogre-like image many times fold.
And
as for me, well, I find myself smiling broadly as well. We are on a first name bases after all, and
quite frankly, that pleases me as much as does having the lips of one of his
well taught, ‘debt due him,’ students wrapped around my cock.
"Mr.
Mahoney," he said to his drinking companion, "I'd like you to meet my
friend, Edward Hardwick, Chief Magistrate for Waterboro Parish. Or, as I like to call him, my better half,
the one who wears the black robe of justice, while I wear the horns."
Well,
there you have it my friends. I’m his “other
half, his better half! You can’t be
more of a friend than that. And I have
been for some years now. Ever since the
day I first learned about the gruff, ugly as sin musician turned teacher and
his harsh, yet effective methodologies he brought to the fore in his tutorial
work. Methodologies that some years back
I thought might also help me teach my difficult and thoroughly obstinate, tone
deaf teenaged daughter how to carry a tune.
So,
I reached out to him for help, and sure enough, before I could say "pull
down your panties Emmy," she'd lay back, place her feet beneath her rump
and thrust that bald little cunt of hers
skyward. Then, as I'd dreamily waved a
conductors baton through the air while crooning the sweetest melody, those
palpitating little cunt lips would follow along,
lip-syncing to the words I sang.
"Malcolm
is the program administrator over at
"
"Aye,
It’s now the name of the old Mother of mercy orphanage
in Castleberry. And when he needed help
managing Clara, my current student, he called on me."
"A
sweet little Irish import she is too.
Came to me crying crocodile tears over a simple rap on the knuckles, and
now you can scarcely hear the sobs and the whimpers after 5 stokes of the cane
when pegged on the horse."
"Of
course, I would've liked to do better, but as that was our agreed upon level of
performance proficiency going into the project, we were in the process of
negotiating an agreement for another pitiable waif. Correct, Mr. Mahoney?" He turned back to ask the man as if he were
seeking confirmation.
"Absolutely, Mr. Thornbriar, more than happy,
thank you." He said and I withered, feeling my hopes of
securing Clive’s services fade as Mr. Mahoney’s smile broadened.
"I
see," I said, feeling a bit downhearted.
"Well then, please don't let me get in the way. It's just that I was hoping you might have
the time and interest to help me deal with a recent hire, a scourery
maid, a rag named Molly Sopp, and her baggage, a
little tote named Annabelle, or Annie for short."
“Nice
girl?” Clive asked.
"Aye,
a sweeter little thing you'll never find.
Bright, inquisitive eyes, cheeks flush with freckles, and as wafer-thin
and delicate as
"
"As
pure as they come," I beamed.
"Well,
now, my friend,” he chuckled, his eyes whet with interest, “you know I always
have time for you. Now come, sit down
with us and tell me how I might be of help."
And
so I did, pulling up a chair, I opened up the newly delivered bottle of
Beefeaters so Clive, Malcolm Mahoney and I could enjoy the pleasures before
letting my concerns known.
"Well,
as I mentioned, Molly, the mother, is a pretty thing herself. Not particularly bright or skilled, but has
managed to make due since becoming a widow.
Which says a lot about her given that her recently
deceased husband left her homeless, penniless, without support, and she's yet
to be consumed by the wolves."
"So
that's what caught your eye, did it?" Mahoney cut in. "Sounds a common
enough affliction to me."
"True
enough," I agreed. "A wench
with a fatherless waif is common enough these days, but that wasn't the only
thing that caught my eye. What makes this one different is that the man was a
maker of violins. A craftsmen, a
principle wage earner, employed by J.W. Stanston, a
firm you well know, Clive."
"So
she comes from good stock, and as he was himself a musician, he'd played for
his daughter nightly to lull her to sleep.
Für Elise and Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons - Spring, 1st movement, her favorites I'm
told."
"Okay,
good enough," Malcolm again intervened.
"But mine comes without the baggage. She's an import, a girl from
"Aye,
but mine comes with a dream!"
"Pardon?" Mahoney asked with eyes narrowed and head
tilt back.
"A
dream, and you know what they say about a girl and her
dream. She'll do whatever it takes to make her dream come true. Especially a girl who has never been taught
yet can play the violin as if she were a young incarnation of Madam Urso herself, and according to her mother, it's her
daughter's everlasting dream to one day stand in her stead."
"Huh!"
Clive mumbled. "Her
every dream. To come to play like
the great Urso.
My, my, a lofty goal indeed. A reach so far, for one so young . . . Well,
as they say, the greater the heights, the greater the fall, and the easily for
me to reconstruct the fallen into a coffer of endless giving."
"For
you, for me, that’s where the pleasures lie.
For her, it’s the pleasures that come with the pain."
"Exactly!" That's a cart load more fun than playing
giddy-up with some lifeless, listless, motherless waif who already feeds from
the bottom of the trough,” I followed with a billowing belch ripe with the
taste of Juniper
I
didn’t need to hear the tic-tock to know what was going on in Clive’s
head. We were the best of friends after
all, but moreover, we were of like minds.
And when I saw his sunken eyes brighten and lips moistened, I knew I’d
served a dish he could not let pass.
"Well,
Clive, what have you to say?" I
asked, my hopes riding so high.” “Shall
I expect to see you tomorrow?”
"Not
at Emmy’s expense, I hope,” again he smiled, only this one crooked a tad to the
lopsided.
“With
time being what it is and all, the two of them would make for a busy schedule,
in deed. Still, if that's what you want
I suppose I could hitch up both ponies to the same cart."
"NO,
no,” I abruptly waved him off. “I
thought you knew. When turned 18, I
married her off to Javis Popwitch. She draws her own cart now."
"Aye,
I remember now. Good man, that old
fart. The Popwitch
Estate has bred three champion Greyhound sprinters in three consecutive
years. I'm sure Molly had something to
do about that, eh?" He said, then winked like he was in the know.
"Indeed,
she could run as quick as a rabbit. Always a length ahead whenever Bandit sought
after her."
"Fast
dog that hound of yours is too," he chuckled.
“True
enough. Though unfortunately, he’s no
longed with us,” Edward injected. “But
Dante, his son, is just as quick out of the starting gate, I can promise you
that.”
“Huh,
well, youthful exuberance can only be a plus.
And this Molly you mention, the mother of the girl. She’s your only maid?”
“Aye,
there’s no one else about to disturb the lessons.”
“You
still have everything in place, apparatus, implements? Canes, whips, bridles,
saddles and reins, not to forget a full array of pegs, Indie-rubber
and inflatable alike?"
"Absolutely.
Every length and thickness you can imagine, and some you can't. The same patch of Red-Flame nettles as
well."
"Splendid!"
he lit up like a lamplight. "So,
how does
“Wait
a moment,” Mahoney cut in, “What about me?”
“It
can wait,” Clive brushed him aside.
“Right now I feel a need to preach the gospel of pain to one who still
believes there is hope, and not just another lifeless, listless, motherless
waif who already feeds from the bottom of the trough.”
“Now
then, Edward, are you going to call the coach, or need I?"
“My
pleasure, Clive,” I smiled in turn. As would you when your mission turn fait accompli.
------- § § § -------
Chap
2
Dogwood
Meadows, the Hardwick Estate . . .
Fresh
from my morning ablutions, I was appraising the fit of my gray tweed suit when
I saw the arrival of the coach outside the bay window. Quickly I tidied up my ascot, then grabbing hold of my top hat and cane, I took a final
look at the suit that would spend the better part of the day buried beneath my
black judicial robe.
"There's
a Mr. Thornbriar who's come to see you, sir," Molly bobbed a curtsey, then anxiously awaited instructions like a fidgety little
titmouse.
"Well,
show him in, you mindless rag! I already
told you I was expecting him. Now don't
just stand there like a nag about to drop her calf, go fetch him. Go, go," I sent her scurrying off while
I searched for the key to the cabinet where the dressage and training
instruments were held.
"Justice
Hardwick, Sir, Mr. Thornbriar is here to see you," Molly managed, her
voice now weak and muted, as Clive strolled in to take my hand, but not before
giving Molly a swat with the rider’s quirt he held in passing.
"Bloody hell, Clive! You said 10 not 11. I'm due at the courthouse before the pass of
the hour.”
"Well,
I suspect you best be going then, eh?
Else you be getting in my way," he said as he again came about to
face Molly, and again swat her on the rump through her workaday calico skirt.
“Dumb
Cow’, he mumbled. “You gotta keep on them, else they be
wondering off, chewing their cud and not paying you no mind.”
“Indeed. Well, then I suppose it’s time I hand over
the reins. Molly, go fetch Annabelle and
bring her back to me.” I said, quite
firm in my manner, and she quickly turn
to do, only to find Annie, dressed to look a small version of herself, standing
in the well of the door.
“Ah,
there you are. Come in, come in. I’d
like to introduce you to Mr. Thornbriar.
A violin virtuoso of considerable renown, he has enchanted audiences
throughout the continent, kings and nobles and the gentry alike
eons before you were even born.”
“Once
more, now that he is retired, this wondrous man now devotes his time giving
back to all those who gave so much to him.
Like the children he now tutors and has availed himself to teach you to
play your beloved instrument bequeath to you, Annabelle, by your dear father,
and is your everlasting dream to one day play like the great Madam Urso.”
“Now,
from this point forward, you, Annabelle, will no longer work as your mother’s
helper. Rather, you will now work with
Mr. Thornbriar to make your everlasting dream come true. From this point forward, when I am not at
home Mr. Thornbriar is master of the house.
And when I am at home, he remains master of the house in matters that
pertain to Annabelle, and yourself, Molly.
Is that Understood?”
“Aye,
sir,” Molly extended a curtsey and Annabelle followed suit.
“Good! Now remember I’ll not entertain any
complaints. Should you even bother me
with that rubbish, you’ll be sleeping in the barn cuddling up to the Tups (rams) for whatever comfort they are willing to
provide.” I said, quite sternly, while gathered up my hat and gloves and headed
for the door.
Then
while handing Clive the key to the cabinet where to tools of his trade were
held, it came to me that I had yet one last thing to say. “Oh, that reminds me. Annabelle!
Dante is still your responsibility.
Feed him, bathe him, comb him and keep him close. I want him to know
your scent so well that he’ll have no trouble finding you no matter how far
away you wander.”
On
that note I then departed, leaving Clive alone with the waif and her mother to
weave his web of terror, while I spend my day on the bench listening to
testimony, and entertaining the most fascinatingly perverse imaginings ever.
---
“Well,
well,” Clive exhorted, “you wish to learn to play like the great Urso! Great expectations to say the least. Well, no time like the now to get
started. Come, Annie, let’s have a look
at the instrument your dear father left for you to play. Run off and retrieve it for me and meet me in
the study.”
Edward’s
Study was located in the rear wing of the house. Walking in with Dante, Hardwick’s Greyhound,
following in his tracks, he was immediately taken by the warmth and
spaciousness of the room.
With
walls of Dark cherry wood, a stone fireplace and large picture frame windows
that looked across the vastness of the estate, it truly was a room worthy the
distinction of the man. Even more notable, however, where the pair of solid oak doors seen
off to the right.
Withdrawing
the key Edward had given him from his pocket, he walked over and unlocked the
doors, then stood in the entranceway with Dante sitting upon his haunches
beside him, both the man and dog studiously surveying the vast array of
implements designed to punish contained within the 6x6 enclosure. Everything from whips, canes, crops, bridles
and reins, to bolsters and stools and saddles.
Each with a grotesquely distended center ridge that
rose up like an inverted ‘V’ to split the cheeks, and a cylindrical india-rubber
peg to keep the rider anchored.
“Not
bad, eh?” he asked Dante as if expecting to hear a response.
“Oh,
look here,” he breathed in deeply, while his hand affectionately combed over
one particularly interesting saddle perched atop a stool. The narrow and shortened saddle was
specially designed to suit a dog.
“Oh,
what memories,” he sighed. “Emmy’s fine
young ass spent many a day pegged to this beauty.”
“You
know, fella,” Clive then went on to say while
ruffling the inquisitive dogs ears, “If you play you cards right, perhaps you
too might find yourself romping across the meadows with Annabelle riding
buck-a-rue on your back.”
“I
know that your papa, Bandit, sure loved playing bucking bronco with Emmy,
that’s for sure. With her mounted atop
this very same saddle, he was free to romp about, jump the puddles, the fences,
the sheep in the meadow or whatever else he pleased
with a saddled Emmy riding upon his back.”
“On
my,” he fondly reminisced, calling to mind these days when Edward and himself
would enjoy a warm sunny day sitting outside enjoying a gin tonic while
watching his prized Greyhound race about with a saddled Emmy’s fine young fine
ass, sliding up and down the peg like a yoo-yoo.”
“The
only difference, Emma had neither a saddle horn nor reins to hold, and if not
for the long, stout, peg stuffed up her ass, the ride would have lasted but
seconds and not the time it took for Bandit to give way to exhaustion.”
It
was at that moment he heard the door open.
Turning around, both Clive and Dante were greeted by the sight of Annie
upon her return. In her hand, the violin
case, and following in her steps, Molly, her mother.
“Ah,
Molly, so glad you came. I’ve a job for
you.”
“Sir, my day is already quite full. I only came to ask if you’ll be staying for
dinner.”
“I
will, and aye, you will find a way to squeeze in the time. This job is far too important and has been
neglected for far too long. Come, I’ll
show you,” he turned and signed for her to follow him to the cabinet, where standing
before the open doors, Clive pointed and Molly gasped in horror at the ghastly display of
insidious devices.
“I
agree, Molly, it does look a horror.
Look,” he said, picking up a long fearsome looking black leather
scourge. “This is a disgrace,” he scowled, holding it up to her face. “The leather need be oiled to remain supple,
flexible, and keep the leather braids from drying. Listen,” he then said as he swung down hard across
a leather bolster positioned near by.
“Where’s the hiss, where’s the whistle, where do you hear anything but a
thud, huh? “The lack of care given this
instrument is Monstrous, I tell you, monstrous!”
“And
the woods, and the rattan,” he quickly followed, picking up one particularly
wicked looking half-inch thick length and gave it a swish. “These require waxing daily to impede the
loss of moisture, least they crack and split.”
“Well,
we’re going to bring this horror show to a stop right now. I want you in here every morning working to
bring these instructional aids back to life, and you’ll take great pains to do
so. Further, each morning before little
Annie begins her daily lessons I expect whatever instructional tool I might
wish to use suitably prepared.
Understood?”
“Sir!” Molly gasped, with a face flush red as a
burn. And as the shades of her flush
continued to deepen, so did the warm, sinking, spinning feeling of faintness
continue to rise. But even if she did
fall faint away, there was no way the momentary lapse would spare her from the
horror she now faced.
The
fact of the matter is, there was no way for a
contractually indentured servant to escape the grasp of Clive Thornbriar, nor
Judge Hardwick neither. Especially
Judge Hardwick, whose hold on her included the long arm of the law. The all empowered law that gave a landowner
the right to have her incarcerated for running off, and in the process, take
away her daughter.
Besides,
where would she go? Penniless, homeless,
with no skills to offer, she would undoubtedly end up on the street, doomed to
a life of even greater suffering. All
her daughters’ hopes of making more of herself forever
lost to her.
So,
no, there was no escaping from beneath Edward Hardwick’s grasp. And having no choice but submit
to Clive’s bidding, she prayed for his mercy.
“Please, sir, be kind, show some mercy.”
“Mercy? If
you don’t go about doing as I say, you’ll be praying for a lot more than
that. Understand?”
“Whatever
you should ask, Mr. Thornbriar,” she said teary eyed,
with her head hung and looking all too lost to herself.
“Good!” He said with a flourish, cutting the air with
the braided leather quirt he’d walked in with.
“Now if you’ll please turn about,” he directed with a twirl of a finger,
“I’ll demonstrate how effective a well prepared instructional aid can be.”
Then
when she’d tearfully turned as bid, he raised the back of her dress and
knee-capped her with swat behind her knees.
The impact near causing her to lose her footing when
send stumbling forward, whimpering and moaning a low guttural
whine. “Oh . . . Oh .
. . Oh!”
“Am
I right, doesn’t it sing so lovely?” He
chuckled, and while Molly agonized and squirmed about like a worm on a hook, he
turned toward Annabelle still standing by the door with her violin case in
hand, only now with a visible tear rolling down her cheek.
“Ah,
the violin, you brought it. Good, good,”
he said, smiling brightly, seemingly oblivious to the sight of her mother
hopping about behind like rabbit with an ass full of buckshot. “Well then, come along, bring it here, I wish
to see it.”
---
“Oh
my, it’s a wonderful piece. Fit to play
in the Albert Hall, Her Majesty sitting in the royal box,” he fond, obviously
quite struck by its beauty.
“Well
now, I’d love nothing more than to hear you play it,” He followed quite
quickly, with a look in his eyes that spoke more to the contriving, scheming
thoughts that lie behind them than anything he could say.
“Molly,”
he then went on, “Come and hold the case while your daughters calls the angels
down from the heavens.”
And
so Annabelle tucked the violin under her chin, mounted the bow across the
E-string and began to play. Only before
she was able to complete the opening Allegro, Clive began to bark.
“Wait, stop, stop!
I know you’d be lying if you said your father taught you to play with
your elbow tucked into your belly. My
word, raise you arm and align the elbow under center, like immediately, you
profoundly stupid little waif.”
“Sorry,
sir, I know better, I do. It’s just that
my arm grows so weary that after a short while I can scarcely hold it up at
all.”
“Oh,
is that so? He said while squeezing her
arm in a place where a bicep, or at least some likeness thereof, should be.
“I’m
not strong, sir, least not like my papa.”
“Nonsense! Why
that instrument you’re holding weights a bit less than 15 ounces! Why I venture to say that wooly rug you’re
wearing weights multiples of that. In
fact, that dress of yours might speak more to the problem than the instrument
you wish to learn to play. An exquisite
instrument that’s so infinitesimal light it could easily be brushed aside by a
mouse looking for a fallen crumb of cheese.
No! To me, the solution to your
problem lies in what truly encumbers you.
So, let’s remove it, shell we.”
“Remove
what, sir?”
“That
rag of a dress you’re wearing, that’s what, you straw for brains.”
“No,
sir, no,” Annabelle squealed like a stuck pig.
“Girl’s aren’t supposed to do that.
That’s wrong! It’s indecent!” She
cried, and Molly followed in anguish; “Her breast, sir, she can’t, she can’t!”
“She
can’t, hu” he followed as he unbuttoned her bodice,
pulled it back over her shoulders, and then watched it fall away.
“Tish-tish,” he clucked. “Breasts, you call those
breasts?” He asked Molly scornfully, but
she hadn’t within her to answer. Once
more, he knew he could wait for a thousands years and still one would not be
forthcoming. It simply wasn’t within the
frightened little Titmouse. Not with so
much at risk should she stand up for her child.
In standing up to Edward, and hence, Clive, suffering the penalties that
would follow would surely be her end.
“Hmm,
well then, let us try this another way, shall we. Take off your dress, Molly, and don’t dawdle
or I’ll whip your ass raw.”
“Sir!”
Again she shrieked, only this time tightly gasping the fabric that covered her
bosom.
“Don’t
‘sir’ me, you imbecilic cow.
Strip to the bone and show me your tits” he angrily snarled, and slashed
his quirt though the air.
And
so she did. Her preponderant tits, the
size of melons, flopped out and into his hands.
“Madam,
he said, while pulling and stretching them out into the shape of ruddy red
cones. “These are what I call tits! Whereas what sprouts from your daughter’s
chest are more akin to bumps, or knobs, or if you like, Peaches. They clearly look no less savory and ripe for
the picking.”
“Not
that I have a mind to, you understand.”
A serving of fruit in the morning is nice, but not all that filling,” he
glared at Molly while he shift back toward Annabelle and began picking at the
fruit nonetheless.
“Well,
at least they’re firm and fresh, but other than for use with the lash, hardly
worth the picking at all.”
“Though
admittedly, in that regard, I can see how they might be of some value to me,”
he said with a gleam in his eyes. Then
after rubbing his hands together for a long moment, “Molly, you need prepare a ‘Nine
tails’ for me to use tomorrow. And
use the saddle wax. I find the smell
intoxicating in the morning, and even when in blindfold, Annabelle need only
sniff the air to keep her alert to the lift of the lash.”
“A lash?” Our shrinking little Titmouse braved.
“Of
course, you dumb cow. How else is she to
learn? The same holds for you. Make a mistake, fail to do as I ask promptly
and without question, you earn 2 demerits.
Do it twice, it’s four, and should you continue to make the same mistake
. . . well, I’ve been know to draw blood after 6. Let us hope she’s a fast learner, huh?”
“Sir!” She squealed out in near panic. “That’s cruel, that’s, that’s, torture!”
“By all means, you dolt! Life itself can be a torture for the
incompetent, the weak, those who can’t manage the pain life brings. The truth is, she
must learn to find her pleasures where she can.
In the smell of a rose, or by equal measure, the pleasures that come of
the pain. Should she learn that, how to
smile in the face of great suffering, trust me, the world will become her
oyster, just as it will be for you. And
as a teacher, it is mine to impart that message to the both of you.”
“And
I shall, even if I need whip you both bloody, and until such time as she, you, come to thrill at the very sight of my whip. “Thrill, as in when your female ejaculate lie
in puddles on the floor between you legs.”
“Now
then, Annabelle, what do you say we pick up on lesson one where we left
off. Pick up your violin and get
set.” Which she did, quickly regaining
her footing in a flash, then before retrieving her violin, she stopped to pick
her dress back up from the floor.
“No,
no, Annabelle, just let it be. From now
on, you shall play without your clothes so your arm won’t grow weary, and
you’ll have the strength to hold your elbow under center.”
“I
warm you though, the demerits will come regardless. Not so much from a single mistake, but in
their replication. So, you must take
care to listen, and learn, or least you come by a different sort of
lesson. One that avails you to the
pleasures that come with the pain.”
“Now,
as a recall, we cut short the lesson at the beginning of the
And
so she did. Standing erect, bare to him
for the first time, she offered a sight he’d not yet seen.
“Aye,
I see yet another peach. Only this one
is cleaved down the center,” he said while he eyed the gem with the steely look
of a man about to do his worst. And
should you have your doubts, just consider the fact that all the while he
studied the fuzzy little grotto, he was tapping on it
with his quirt as if testing its elasticity.
“Hum,
I think I need take care to treat his lovely cleaved peach with only the
supplest of leathers, woods and rattan.”
“Molly,
fetch me a scourge, if you would . . .”
----------
Chap
3
Early
the next morning Clive with Dante, his constant companion, wandered into the
dining room where I sat enjoying a last minute cup of tea. Behind me stood Molly and Annabelle, clothed,
but unsteady in their posture as if suffering some discomfort.
“Morning
Clive, how went training day?” I teasingly prodded, with a whip-like flick of
the wrist.
“Like
one day before today,” he shrugged his indifference. And you? Morning court beckons?”
“Aye,
a murder trial I dare say,” I told him while I spun about to face Annabelle to
see for myself how day one, a.k.a ‘training day,’
had gone.
Raising
the hem of her skirt up and over her bare naked rump, I stared in awe at the
angry red welts that had been masterfully carved in a crisscrossed pattern
across her globes.
“Spread
and touch your toes, Annie,” I told her with an insistent voice. Which she immediately sought to do, and once
complied, and the backside of that cleaved peach peered out from between her
cheeks, I saw a nick that showed evidence of having bled.
It
was a troubling sight to be sure, and believing myself a compassionate man, I
thought it for me to ask Clive about it.
“You, ahhh, losing your
touch, old friend? This nick,
rather slipshod don’t you think? Clearly not your usual quality of work.”
“Aye,
there is no excusing it. On the 4th
stroke she jumped as I swung, and I simply could not impede the progress of
it’s descend. My error, though it was
her fault for not standing put and bearing up to the pain.”
“Agreed,”
I told him while reaching down to pinch Annabelle’s cleft peach between my
fingers, then tugged down hard upon those rosy pink lips in effort to admonish
her.
“Now,
Annabelle, let that be a lesson for you,” I followed looking down upon her face
as opposed to up at the back of her head.
“Learning to smile in the face of adversity, no matter how intolerable your suffering, is just as important a lesson to learn as is
learning to play vibrato.”
“As
for you, Molly,” I directed myself toward her mother who still held my top hat
and cane in hand, awaiting my taking upon my departure. “It seems that her li’l
thicket that grows atop the knoll has grown to the point where it has become
more the lure to Dante’s fleas than it is to me. Therefore, I want you to pluck daughter’s
grotto clean, understand?”
“Surely
I will, sir, but I’ll need your strop.”
“No
you don’t, you mindless cow!” I spit out
angrily at her for having had asked me such an asinine question. In this house, men use the straight razor
and strop. You have you fingers, or it
you prefer, you can use those cutting sharp teeth of yours!”
“Teeth?”
Molly shuddered in
anguish.
“Aye,
and those that escape your lips, you can comb up with your tongue.” I said with a smirk, my attempt at sarcasm
that apparently went over her head. Likewise, Clive, who broke out with a chuckle.
On
that note, I departed, leaving Clive execute his harsh, yet effective lesson
plan for the day.
“Well,
Molly, you best get on with it,” I heard Clive say before closing the door
behind. “Lessons begin in the study in
30 minutes. But before you go I need say
and you will hear me. Understand?”
“Aye,
Sir.”
“Good! Now As you can see,
those curly little buggers Mr. Hardwick made mention of have begun to creep
down into the valley. See here,” he
sought to widen the gap. “Take care not
to miss them. But I warned, leave any
teeth marks and I’ll whip you twice-over for every one I find!”
--
The
following day as I awoke from sleep . . .
Yesterday
was a hell of a day. But I can assure
you, by trials end, that murderous lout got what he deserved from me. But as those things go, the paper work is
such that it took all of my day and into the evening to straighten it all away.
And
exhausting work it was too. So much so
that I asked my clerk to clear my morning calendar so I could avail myself to a
few extra hours of rest.
Which, all in all, turned out rather nicely. The morning skies shone bright and sunny,
and with Molly working with Clive in the study, I found the peace rejuvenating. And by the rise of the covers in which I was
bedded, I can safely say that rejuvenating feeling extended to my morning wood
as well.
It
was then that I heard the most heavenly melody drift through the house. Oh, how exhilarated I felt. Enough so, that I rose up and out of bed, to
follow the melody with my morning wood leading the way.
Unannounced,
I opening the door to the study, where I found Annabelle and Molly rump up,
head down atop the rug, and Clive kneeling behind talking to Dante sitting on
his haunches beside him, yapping and moaning seemingly chattering up a storm in
response.
“So
what have you to say, you horny ol’ bastard. You think a swat each should do it?” He
asked, while he held up the cane to the ‘horny ol’
bastard’ snout. And in response to
his inquiry, Dante growled and whined and pawed the rug as if expressing his
disapproval.
“No? Well, how about two-a-piece then, hu?” He again inquired, and Dante again responded with a
low pitch groan.
“No? It must have been that rather weak E to
D-sharp transition. And yeah, you’re
right, that was a rather big mistake.
So, what say you to three each then, hmm? Three upper cuts between
the legs with the Cat? A high
price but fair reparations I should think,” he followed, licking his lips as if
savoring a treat; One that seemed to excite the senses of a barking, pawing
Dante as well?”
“Aye,
I’m in agreement. But first, I think you
need tuck that canine sausage back in your pants, you horny bastard, and start
thinking more
gentlemanly thoughts.”
“Ahem!”
I interrupted, alerting him to my presence.
“I can’t tell which of the three is the dumber; Annabelle, Molly or the
dog.”
“If
you’re asking me,” Clive replied, turning about, “The cows, definitely! Even Dante knows to duck & cover when he
smells trouble coming. The cows get it
square between the eyes.”
“And
you? No court today?” He asked, standing
back up.
“Aye,
and unfortunately, I’ll be on the leave shortly. But, the holidays are near upon us. What do you say, on Friday next, we spend the
day outside, roast some lamb in the pit, and, assuming she is ready, let Dante
take her for a spin.”
“Oh
splendid, I so look forward to it. And
as for all being ready, I can assure you she’ll readily take to the mount and
Dante will be jumping those four-rail fences like a bucking bull, sending our
saddled young Miss rocketing skyward and back down to the bottom of the peg
upon each and every leap.”
“Grand! I’m thinking stopping by ‘The Saddlery Shop’ to buy her one of those Gaucho hats worn
by the Spaniards. Something pretty I
should think. Something she can wave
about through the air while doing her yippy-ki-oh, ki-ya.”
And
on that I departed, leaving Clive to extract his due for the demerits Annabelle
had earned.
--
“Well, no time like
the present,” Clive huffed. “Stand up,
Annabelle, and spread you legs. And you,
Molly, go wax to saddle and attach the India-rubber peg. When you’re done, wheel it back out and
position it beneath your daughter’s ass.”
“No, no, please
sir, she can do better. She was beaten
too hard, she just lost her way,” she sobbed, she pleaded, “please sir, give her another chance.
She’ll do it right!”
“Is that right,
Annabelle? You going to play the music
like Antonio Vivaldi meant it to be play? Are you going to make that instrument call
the angels down from the heavens?”
“Aye, sir,” she
wept.
“Well, I like to
think of myself as a fair man. You want
another chance to earn a fourth demerit, so be it. Pick up your violin, and you, Molly, get to work
on the saddle.”
And so the stage
was set. Picking up her violin, she then
spread her legs wide to the prodding of Clive’s long supple length of
rattan. Then, taking up position, she
looked upward and began to play.
And sweet it was
too, but apparently not up the standards of the great Madam Urso,
nor himself.
“Zing” the
supple length of cane whistled, landing hard, burning a groove across her ass
with a resounding thud.
“Your vibrato is
listless, lifeless, lacking any sort of, spontaneity. Terrible, terrible! And you want to know why,” he scowled and
unleashed yet another ferocious stroke.
“Zing!” “Umpf,” she
grunted.
“I’ll tell you
why,” Miss Sopp!
Miss rag! Because you need feel
the music like you felt that blistering hard stroke.
“You need embrace
it, flow with its, make it yours,” he followed up with a fourth stroke that
caused her to wail in agony.
Though through it
all, her playing never stopped and the music she made never sounded more
ascending, as if she now occupied a space beyond. A space beyond the pain, the suffering, and
while the strokes were unquestionably brutal and painful, she uttered not a
single word nor did she once open her eyes.
The truth be said,
it was a place within her that Clive had never seen before. A place that took more and more ownership of
her as the pain he inflicted grew in intensity by the multiples.
“Is Miss Sopp, Miss Rag, feeling the music now, eh?” “Do you feel it carry you away?”
Whack!!
Do you feel the
pleasure that come of the pain?” Tell
me, Annabelle, tell me,” he raged, while he laid down the fifth stroke, leaving
behind an angry reddish, empurpled welt crisscrossed over the others.
But she no longer
had the voice to answer, and given the expanse of Clive’s smile, it was apparent
he wasn’t expecting one. Not when, soon
after, he reached back, and with a mighty upward swing, he buried that length
of Rattan straight up the crease of that cleft peach.
“"Ayeeeeeee!" She screamed, she jerked, but where the
script of agony should have been written, her eyes looked distant, faraway, but not
pained any longer.
“Ah, yes, quite
excellent, Annabelle, you’re almost there!”
He jubilantly voiced his elation.
And with that, he
wound up to unleash a sixth stoke across the back of her thighs, and then a
seventh across her back, both of which made that distant, faraway look in her
eyes grow all the brighter, her music elevated beyond all earthly bonds!”
“Almost, almost,”
he huffed, while continuing the onslaught of blows in rapid succession. Across her ass, her back, her tits, her legs,
both down the thighs and straight up between.
And all while her music soared, and until she started to gasp for
breath, then at last, expel a rapturous sigh!
Bringing the
onslaught to a halt, he looked down upon the tarnished leather saddle that’d
been placed between her legs, and saw a splotch of glistening, opaque wetness,
the proof of her orgasmic release.
“Splendid! Wonderful, young Miss Sopp,”
he said with one final flick of the cane, this time taking aim at a stiffly
aroused nipple.
“Whap!” The stinger struck
hard, and as agonizingly painful as it had to be, her facial expressing changed
not. Then again looking down, he saw yet
another dangling strand of orgasmic emission dripping down upon the saddle. That alone told him all he need know.
“Annabelle, my dear
young puss, you have finally come to embrace the pleasures that come of the
pain. At last, the world has become your
oyster to enjoy.”
“Now, if you would
please sit back upon the saddle,” he coax, and as she endeavored to do so, he
guided her ass to the spot he wanted it to land. Squarely atop The peg!
“Mother,” he
cordially said, “if you’d kindly oil it up for me please!
------
Chap 4
One year later . .
.
“How did she
play? How was she received,” Molly asked
Edward as he walked though the door dressed in his tuxedo and Annie, with
violin in hand, dressed in a most fashionable gown.
“Lovely, simply
lovely,” Edward beamed. “Next stop, the
Royal Hall and then the beyond,” he said, with his arm wrapped around Annie’s
shoulders, and Annie, with a heart felt look of adoration written all over her
face.
“Oh my,” I’m so
very proud of you,” replied Molly, standing as she was alongside Annabelle, and
dressed no less fashionably. Just one of
the many changes in their lives since Annie came to terms with what truly lie
within her.
“Proud indeed,”
followed Edward. “Madam Urso never sounded better, just as I promised.”
“Yes, Edward, I
can’t thank you more for all you’ve done for my daughter. You’ve her given a chance.”
“No, Mother,
Annabelle is not a product of chance.
She’s a product of the whip, and a worthy master he has been. Teaching her much, but
nothing as important as learning to embrace the pleasures that comes of the
pain.”
“Now, young Miss Sopp, I want you to remove you clothes, and Molly, please
retrieve the ‘Nine Tails’. I’m
going to beat your daughter mercilessly, just the way she likes it.”
“Is that alright
with you, mother?”
“Certainly,
Edward. Beat her as you will. She’s all the more for it, as her performance
this evening clearly shows.”
“And you
Annabelle?” he asked, hugging her lovingly, tenderly, and in turn, Annabelle’s
smile couldn’t have been more ingratiating.
“That’s my girl,”
he fond affectionately,
as his fingers combed through her hair.
“And after, Dante is going to take you on a nice, long, romp through the
meadows pegged to his saddle.”
“Mother,” he then
said, “You will arrange for our evening meal to be served outside in the
yard. Our usual affair,
of course, and for Dante, who’s sure to be quite hungry, a large leg of mutton. As for Annie, Rose need not concern
herself. As usual, she will dine on
Dante’s good graces, kneeling down behind.”
“Of course, Edward,
I’ll do so immediately.”
“Thank you, my
dear. Now, while I saddle up Dante, I’d
like you to remove daughter’s panties and oil up the path so that upon my
return, it will take but moments for Annie to get her well deserved due. A nice ride, and painful beating, and of
course, a well deserve orgasmic release.
Isn’t that right, Annie?” he asked, and her smile sparkled.
“Will Clive be
joining us this evening?”
“No,
mother, tomorrow morning.
He’ll be bringing along a new saddle as well. One he had custom built to his
specifications.”
“A new peg as
well?”
“Aye, that it
does,” he confided. “I’ve yet to see
it, but from what Clive has told me, that custom crafted replicate of Dante’s
cock ought to cut the learning curve quite a few notches, indeed.”
“Wonderful! Thank you, Edward, I look forward to the
lessons resuming tomorrow. I’ll make
sure all the instructional aids are adequately prepared to ensure a proper
beating. And by the secretions I see
seeping down her thigh, it would appear that’s something my daughter is looking
forward to as much as myself.”
“Yes, Mother, I can
feel the excitement building within me as well.
But that’s a matter that’ll have to wait for later, when bedding you,
beating you, mercilessly, while Annie, hungrily mouths my cock.”
---
Chapter 5
A
command Performance
At
the Gates of Hell
The
coach carrying Clive arrived early the next morning, and sitting alone side
him, a girl unknown to Edward. Though
dressed as she was in a gray
“Mr.
Thornbriar has arrived. Annie, Molly, remain
seated and finish breakfast, while I go out to give him a hand.”
“Clive,”
I called out, advancing toward the coach. “I see you’ve brought along a bit
more than just a new saddle.”
“Aye,
as you can see, I have in my possession the orphaned waif Malcolm Mahoney was
waiting for me to take. But as you can
see, Sister Dominique, that bitch who wears the spurs in that slut rookery said
she’d given up on the wait,” he manage with a huff, helping the girl step down
of the coach.
“Her
name is, Annis, as in anus,” he chuckled. “Annis Blyth, and a charmer she be,” he said then pressed his
long, bony index finger up against his nose and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, yes, and she
still smells milk fed!”
“Coachman,”
he then said, “hand me down her bag, and put the saddle in the Barley barn.”
“Now,
my li'l puss,” he said to
the girl, “Put your knickers back on and I’ll introduce you to your new
playmate.”
---
“Ahh, Annabelle,” he greeted with opened his arms upon he
entered the house. “I’d like you to meet
Annis, or ‘Anus’ if you like. Which, come to think about it, you just
might, given that your nose is going to be planted in it far more often than
you might like,” he chuckled.
“I
think I also need mention that little Miss Anus will be joining in on your
sessions. Not to learn to play the
Violin, mind you, but the flute. The
flute and the violin, two instruments that play together so nicely, just as the
two of you will be playing with each other a fair bit. Actually, more than a fair bit I should
think. Especially given that you’ll both
be sharing lessons by day, a bed by night, and a saddle whenever Dante feels
the need to play buck-a-roo.”
“Now,
why don’t the two of you go out to play while Judge Hardwick and myself dot all the i’s and cross
all the t’s.”
“Come Clive,” I said to him upon their leaving. “To the
table, the teapot is still hot.”
---
Spotting
a bench seat beneath a nearby
For
a long, quiet moment, nothing was said between the two. But with Annabelle’s curious nature being
what it is, there was only so long the quiet could prevail.
“Where
do you live?” She finally turned to ask.
“
“Where’s
your mama?”
“She’s
gone. I was sent to live at
“I
hope Mr. Thornbriar will be is nice to me, and can
teach me to play music, so I can learn to make my own way. Can he?
She asked, ending it there, not so much for
lack of things to say as it was for a lack of breath.
“Oh
yes, he’s a Maestro. He’s played
everywhere, in every city. If he can’t
teach you, no one can. But he’s very
strict, so you must always do as he says . . .”
----
Edward
was nursing his tea while looking out the window at the two lovely young ladies
chattering it out outside the window.
Then turning around to face that absolutely beastie looking man in the
presence of Clive, and thought to wonder what sort of circus of the bizarre was
about to take form.
Of
course, it was the intrigue that piqued his interest, but it was the pulse he
felt running through his loins that propelled him forward. And as to where, or why, or which direction,
he cared not to ask.
“Well,
I must give you your due, my friend,” I said to him, stirring in a teaspoon of
sugar. “The devil himself couldn’t have connived a more delightful plot. But, tell me, do you play the flute well
enough to teach it?
“Of
course I know the flute, as I do most classical Instruments. But then again, the flute she will be playing
I wouldn’t exactly call classical.”
“Oh? How so?
“For
now, let me just say it’s a rather unique instrument.”
“I’d
like I see it.”
“No,
it’s still packed. Tomorrow,
when lessons begin in the morning.”
--
The
following morning Annabelle and young Miss ‘Anus’ were awakened early by
Clive. Having shared the same small bed
together with Annabelle’s nose buried up Miss Anus’ ass, the pair looked a bit
disheveled after spending a short, restless night of sleep.
Of
course, none of this bothered Clive in the least. Neither did the fact that a bit of the ‘brown
nose’ that all but clogged her nostrils, had rubbed off on the bedding.
“Come,
my sweets, Dante is already enjoying his breakfast, and I wouldn’t want you to
miss out on yours.”
Chapter
6
“Well
done, young ladies,” Clive said while scratching the contented dogs ears.
“Now,
into the study with the both of you for morning lessons,” he barked, and they
did, bare-naked, which had long since become the established wear of the day.
“Molly,
if you’d please bring my flute to the study.
Also, I’ll be in need of a cane. Something solid yet supple enough to use on a neophyte.”
Clive
entered the study shortly after, finding Annabelle already standing in position
with her violin tucked under her chin, and bow already set atop the
E-string. ‘Anus,’ of course, was
standing off to the wayside trying her best to hide away her tits and the cleft
peach behind her hands. A pretty little
jewel that like Annabelle’s, had already begun to
graduate into the next class up.
The
truth be told, the pair were more akin to matching bookends than not. Wafer thin, delicate as a crystal, and near
angelic in their appeal. And that’s not
to mention those ripe, plumb peaches that just invited the picking, and the
whiskered li’l pusses that looked all too ready to
lap up the milk.
“Anus! He
admonished her. “You have better things
to do with your hands than that.”
At
that moment, Molly entered the study with the cane and the case that held his
flute. Placing them atop Justice
Hardwick’s desk, she then stood back awaiting further instructions.
“There
now, you see, Miss Anus. Molly has
brought something to keep your idle hands busy.”
“Molly,”
he then called out. “I want you to take
up the cane and get Annabelle started on her playing. She will begin with Tomaso
Albinoni's Adagio in G minor, and by the time she’s
worked it through that cane you’re holding had best be frayed or she’ll do it
again with me swinging the ‘Nine Tails’.”
“Yes,
Maestro, I’ll make it sing.” Molly, her mother, replied, sounding all too
convinced that the bloody whipping she was about to deliver would only bring
out the best in her daughter to provide her with every opportunity to make more
of herself.
And
as Annabelle played so beautifully over and about the whooshing sound of the
cane, her music and smile never shined brighter.
“Play,
Annabelle, play,” Molly huffed as she swung down viciously, cuttingly, with a
righteous fire burning in her heart, “Call the angels down from the heavens.”
“Ah-eee,” Annie cried out, while her eyes rolled upward, and
again sent her adrift in that space beyond.
A space where the pain that wracked her body and the orgasmic bliss
where all balled up into one.
“Yes,
mother, yes,” she sighed as her music soared, and the volcanic fire that roared
within flushed yet another molten stream out from between her legs.
“See
that, little Miss Anus?” Clive
said with a raised voice to be heard over yet another stroke, and then followed
with yet another rapturous,
orgasmic sigh from Annabelle.
“Look,
little Miss Anus, see there? See
how she makes it sing? You see what
drips down from between her legs? If you
weren’t otherwise occupied, I might be inclined send you over to lick it up
before the strand hits the floor. But as
you are, I’ll introduce you to your playing instrument instead. So, if you would kindly open up the case, we
can have a look.”
And
she did, and after a long moment with her mouth frozen open in awe, she finally
gathered up just enough courage to pick it up.
“Yes,
my sweet, it’s a flute! Quite a fine one
I might say.”
The
flute, built in the order of a Scottish Fife, was cut from a branching stem of
a rosewood tree, and then bored and carved out in the likeness of an elect
penis. Along its length 6 tonal finger
holes had been drilled, and at the tip of the fat, round, plum-size crowned
head, the piss slit served as the mouth piece.
“Sir!”
she pant, and he smilingly pat her atop the head. “Not to fret.
Today you’ll just learn how to properly mouth it, and should you do
well, tomorrow it’ll be your gaseous explosive ass’s turn to learn to
play. Molly,” he then turned to say over
and above yet another brutal crack of the lash.
“Please
make sure Miss Anus is served a large helping of cabbage and beans this
evening, and a glassful of my special bicarbonate elixir . . .!”
(*_*)
=========================================================================================
------- § § § -------