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Order in the House (FFF, BDSM, interracial, lesbian)

Valley Vixin · 1480

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Offline Valley Vixin

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on: September 07, 2023, 12:17:48 PM
London 1810

I should tell you about myself first.  I am Lady Anabell Baring, wife to the lord Charles Baring, Earl of Cromer.  I am of the North Umbrian gentry, our family being renowned for producing bold soldiers and fertile wives, which the southern nobles have always muttered had to do with too many Vikings in the convent.  We do tend to the tall, pale, and on the ladies side, very buxom side, and I have the red hair that crops up several times a generation. 

My mother taught me that a woman had two duties, to provide, educate and train heirs for her husbands house, and to keep order in the servants of that house.  Honestly, as a woman, this was supposed to be my goal and my joy.  It was not much of a burden to provide heirs for my husbands house.  I mean, I had been married at sixteen, and by eighteen I had given him two boys (Charles and Henry), which seemed to satisfy him.  It was not much of a burden, although he was.  My husband was my senior by about twenty years, and about a hundred pounds.  My marital duties were a chore that I feared might kill my husband (Charles, as our first boy was named for him, as Henry was named for his father).  His face grew red, his breathing like the blacksmith bellows, and I feared the veins in his neck would burst.  Instead, his member which tore into me burst instead.

I may not be the best wife in the world as far as keeping order in the house, I am not very stern with the servants, and the older ones tend to terrify me, but I am a garden of earthly delights, as my husband loves to point out at parties, and more fertile than a hundred hectares in Cambridgeshire.  It was true, he didn’t have to plow my field often to get our sons, and I think he was as glad to stop as I was.  I knew I was supposed to just lie back and do my duty, but when he grasped my large bosoms, sucking and biting them, I felt a strange tension build up in me, an agitation, and when he eventually mounted me, I felt like I was building towards some great religious revelation.  Either that, or Charles would burst a blood vessel and die, luckily he spent his seed long before either one of us found the gates of heaven.  Still, I felt my marital duties awakened a need for something, a hunger.  I don’t know what for, but for something.

I was just nineteen when I convinced Charles that the with our second baby, the existing dragon (the only possible description of the head maid, entirely too religious even to make an acceptable nun) needed to be put out to pasture and we needed a new head maid.  Since Charles had a new steel plant to get into production, he was convinced railway was going to become important and he wanted to be ready for the demand for volumes of steel, and that the new steam engines were going to change not only land travel, but sea travel as well.  The future was steel, and my husband was making it.  We needed a new maid, a new staff to show our growing prominence, to deal with a new round of social obligations and political obligations.  We didn’t just need to be like all the older houses who were ready to fade into obscurity, we had to shout how involved we were with the overseas trade and the new industries without actually saying “trade” or “industry”.  We were old nobility, we were supposed to pretend that squeezing starving peasants was a viable way to stay rich in a world in which that actually lost money.

The solution was twofold.  Renovate the mansion to become a mixture of Oriental, Indian, and African styles, to showcase our deep connection to the greater colonies, and replace our doddering ancient, and largely inherited maids with a new staff.  The new staff included a mix of Caribbean African maids and cooks from Charles’s plantations there, and some excellent Chinese and Indian cooks to add exotic flavours for the many gala we must host to make sure that when discussion of naval construction, rail and road building plans, those discussions would be happening in rooms Charles was either the host of, or invited as guest too.

Kira was the new head maid.  She had hair in dark tight cornrows, like tiny braids that make her dark African hair into a strangely compelling cascade of tightly leashed African passion.  She is young for the position, only twenty two to my own eighteen, but the rest of the staff, all female from maids to cooks, all are kept under tight control by her.  She is slim, having a delicate womanly figure, not as heavy breasted or wide hipped as myself, she is almost elfin in body.  Not the sort of peasant body you would expect from a Caribbean girl off the plantation, she looked more like a noble in her features than most of those from the high houses like myself.  She had a very expressive face, when greeting guests she was the picture of grace and hospitality, yet you always caught that cat like amusement that said while she gave proper deference to her social superiors, she in no way felt less than even the greatest of them.  This carried on with her dealings with staff and tradesmen.  She was nothing less than professional in her dealings, but when any of the tradespeople would attempt to press her due to her sex or race, they found her dominant nature rose to the surface and they uniformly came to understand that deals would be on her terms and she would be addressed as ma’am, with their eyes on the floor where they belonged.

It became my custom to express my wants and concerns about grounds, staff, and planning for events to Kira, and let Kira provide the instructions, corrections, and of course, administer the discipline in my name.  I told you that I was never that comfortable keeping order in a great house, I come from country gentry, not a rising Earldom, but Kira keeps the servants in line like a born queen.  I admire her.  I started to watch her, I thought to learn how she does it, but the reality turned out to be something different.

I noticed it first when one of the Chinese cooks got into an argument with one of the local farmers.  It turned out she had bargained down the price of the fresh eggs we were buying and pocketed the difference.  You must understand, these farmers were our direct retainers.  We paid above market price because we needed our local farmers to not only be doing well, but to be seen to be doing well, and know it was because of our house.  It was a new age, the opinion of the commons mattered, as a friendly MP who knew that the favor of the lord was required for his seat was important to my lord husband’s political and economic needs.  When the farmer brought the matter to me, I knew that discipline needed to be swift, and visible.  The staff needed to know this would not be tolerated.  I told Kira that I needed to witness the discipline so that if I was asked by Charles, I could answer in truth that I had seen discipline carried out.

Oh, how my world changed that day.  Kira smiled at me.  Slowly, her eyes wandering up my body to meet my own.  Those dark brown orbs locked onto my blue ones and I felt myself blushing as her smile widened to an outright grin. 

“Yes My Lady, I think maybe you should see how order is kept in the house.”  Kira said and told me that she would send a maid to fetch me when she was ready to administer punishment.  I felt a thrill go through me when she told me that she would have me summoned when she was ready.  I don’t know why it gave me a thrill to hear her speak that way to me, but at the same time, I was uncomfortable dealing with such harsh matters myself and was willing to defer to my maid in this matter.

Jenna, a short very round, and frequently disciplined young chambermaid came to summon me to the discipline.  She was a chambermaid because she needed to be kept from the public at big events.  She was a hard working girl, a short round bundle of dark skinned hard working bubbly cheerfulness, but you will never get any sense of propriety in her.  She really did seem to have just come from the Caribbean, the sort of Caribbean that spoke of pirates and wenches, and all manner of sin rather than well ordered plantations and well kept manors.  Jenna was babbling already.

“Oh Lady Annabelle you are going to love it.  I watch every discipline she gives.  Of course, that is easy, since half of them are me, but the rest are almost as good.  I mean, when its not me I need to take a moment to finish myself, you know what I mean Lady Annabelle?  Kira’s punishments are enough to make me believe that God want’s us to be obedient.  I mean, God should just send Kira out, and he could skip the priests altogether.  I mean, I prefer to skip them altogether.”  Jenna’s babbling brought me into the room where Kira sat on one of the tables, a large wooden hairbrush in her hand, and her black boots peaking out from beneath her maid skirt as they swung lazily back and forth.  She had very delicate ankles I noted, I caught myself blushing again as I noted.  I was so busy noting that Kira didn’t seem to have stockings on under her skirts as I believe I saw a bit of chocolate coloured skin above her boot top, that I missed Ming’s nakedness.

Ming, the guilty cook, had taken her clothes off and stood naked before Kira.

“Ming, you have been granted the very great privilidged of serving in this house.  I have been given charge of keeping order in this house, and you have broken that order.  Can you tell me how you have broken that order, Ming?”

Kira asked, her eyes like a hunting cat, her smile cruel, her voice hard like iron.  Every maid, and cook was watching, most licking their lips hungrily, as if a pack of hounds at a cornered fox.

“I broke the house agreement with the farmers.  I made them take less money, and kept the rest.  I stole, I broke the house word with the farmers.  I shamed the house.  I shamed myself.”  Ming threw herself on the ground, crawled naked to Kira’s feet and began to kiss her boot.  Kira pushed her boot out to the center of Ming’s chest and shoved her to the ground.  Then she stalked, not walked, stalked like a panther to the Master’s Chair my husband uses when he is at the table, and sat.

Ming rushed to put herself over Kira’s knee, naked as the day she was born, but her nipples were hard, and her sex, oh god, the flower of her sex was swelling and open.  The black hair around it was failing to hide the mystery of her sex, and revealed to me that for all the mystery of the orient, their women’s sex is the same pink as my own inside.

My mind went blank, unable to process, unable to think, as I watched the discipline unfold in front of me.

Kira took the hairbrush and began to spank Ming with the backside, making her golden arse turn a rosy pink.  No heavy bruising, she was disciplining not beating, yet she frequently stopped and pulled Ming’s head up by the hair to kiss her.  Thrusting her tongue into the woman’s mouth, before bending her over again to resume spanking her ass with the heavy brush.  Then she progressed to dipping her fingers into the weeping woman’s sex, and making her lick them off before kissing Kira again.

I felt my breathing too fast, too shallow. I was going to faint.  My heart was hammering in my chest, and my own sex was flowering like poor Ming’s.  Ming was thanking Kira for every stroke, thanking her for every stroke of the brush that beat her, and she was losing all control when dragged by her hair up to kiss Kira, her hands flying to hold Kira’s face, and try to pull her deeper into the kiss.

Kira pushed Ming from her lap and stood like a queen before the staff, before me, and all of us cast our eyes down.

“I will have order in this house, I will see that discipline is kept, and that everyone knows their place.  Do you understand?”  Kira said sternly as poor Ming crawled to her, and pressed her golden face into Kira’s black boot and kissed it.

The Lord God as my witness, I thought it was over.  My sex was so swollen and tingling now I needed to flee before I was overcome by the devil and thought about touching myself where only my husband should ever touch, but it was not over.  Not even close.

Every woman there, including me, spoke as one replying to Kira.  “Yes ma’am.”  I blushed at the words, but in my defense, my corset was so tight, my chest heaving so much, I was almost ready to faint and not thinking clearly.

Ming kissed Kira’s boot and begged her.  “Please Miss Kira, please may I beg for correction.”

Kira smiled, looking me right in the eyes and smiled softly.  “Yes Ming, bend over the table and I will administer correction.”

Good lord, was she going to be beaten more, surely she had been punished enough.  Kira took the hairbrush up again, but this time she held it by the heavy and wide back.  She held it to Ming’s mouth, and Ming took it into her mouth like food.  She took it into her mouth, sucking it, licking it, in an almost sensual manner.  Then Kira pulled the hairbrush handle out, took hold of Ming’s long straight black hair and wrapped it around her fist.  Holding the hairbrush, as if holding the blade of a sword, she slid the hilt, the handle of the hairbrush to Mings dripping sex, and, lord God forgive me, pushed it in.

The handle of the hairbrush was tapered.  I suppose it was no thicker than a man’s thumb at the tip, but it flared out to much thicker than my Lord Husband’s shaft and longer, and yet Kira worked it into Ming like a husband would work his generative organ into his wife.  Unlike Charles, she did not simply slam it hard and fast for two minutes and stop, she began slowly, teasing, pausing several times to make Ming taste her own sex on it, or rewet it, I can’t be sure which, before sliding it back in.

Kira built the rhythm slowly, thrusting deeper as Ming began to beg, began to say such obscene things.

“Fuck me Mistress.  Fuck your little yellow slut.  You are my goddess, my queen.  Please fuck my slut hole.  Make me your whore.  Make me your SLAVE!”  Ming screamed, and her whole body shook.  I thought she had a heart attack, for her whole body shook and shivered, bending like a bow and thrashing around like she was having a fit.  Fluid gushed from Mings sex, a white froth already coated the handle of the brush where it thrust into her, but now a new clear fluid pulsed around it, although it did not smell like pee.

Kira kissed the girl, pulling Ming’s head back to kiss her wildly.  Ming slumped to the ground at Kira’s feet, and Kira once again sat upon the heavy table, letting her feet swing gently off the ground.

“Now, I have taught you your place, given you the very great gift of discipline.  How will you thank me for correcting and educating you.  How will you thank me for keeping Order in the House?”  Kira asked.

Ming crawled to where Kira was perched, and without a word, pulled the heavy maid skirt up to her waist, showing that above her black boots, Kira wore nothing beneath her skirt at all.  Her sex was hidden behind a neatly trimmed black bush that made my own red forest look both uncouth and very thin in comparison.  She was every inch the queen as she spread her dark legs and let Ming kiss her way up from boot to sex.

Sweet Mary Mother of God, was Ming going to kiss up Kira’s black thighs?  Surely not.  Surely only a husband would ever be allowed to touch a woman where her bloomers should cover?

Ming did not stop.  Ming kissed between Kira’s black thighs, at the join of them.  She stuck out her pink tongue and, looking up at the stern face of Kira, she began to lick her sex like a cat eating crème.  I saw the other maids begin to touch themselves as Kira looked me right in the eye as Ming stuck her tongue into Kira’s sex, then began to suck at the pink pearl at the top of her sex as if she had found her only hope of salvation.  Kira placed her hands on Ming’s head, and pushed her face into her black sex, beginning to rock her mound against her lover’s face like a woman rocks under her husbands thrust.  No, like a husband rocks while TAKING his wife.  Kira looked me in the eyes and she took Ming’s face like a man takes his wife, looking in my eyes with all the control of a huntress, of a goddess, of a queen, while I gripped my own skirt, wishing I dared to lift it to finger myself as the maids did, but I had too many layers between my fingers and my core.

Kira at last gave out a cry, and Ming shifted from sucking Kira’s little button to lapping at her like a kitten on spilled crème, cleaning the mess she made.  Finally, Ming kissed Kira’s mound gently, and Kira pulled her up to feet, face covered in Kira’s cum.

Marching Ming over to me, she thrust Ming’s face into mine and commanded her.

“Show Miss Annabelle how you have accepted your correction.”  Kira said, pushing Mings face into mine.  I heard the assembled maids and cooks gasp, but I could muster no strength to deny or resist.  Ming was mindless in her lust, and she kissed me, thrusting a tongue coated in Kira’s love juices into my mouth.  I found myself sucking her tongue, thrusting my own back as Ming’s hands reached up and grabbed my heavy breasts where they perched above my defending corset.  I felt her reach through the heavy fabric and pinch my nipples as hard as she could.  God forgive me.  I cried out into her mouth as my own body shook.  I felt as if I had been struck by lightning, as if I too was having a heart attack or fainting spell.  My stomach muscles clenched like I was going to be violently ill, but a blast of pleasure not pain shot through me, and I felt my legs shudder and shake, my core, my sex, my womanhood spasmed as if trying to clamp around something that was not there and I cried out like I was in labour.  My own sex shamed me, as I shuddered through release after release as Ming thrust her tongue and mouth filled with Kira’s own womanhood’s juices into my own mouth.  My bloomers were wet, like I had peed myself, but every woman in the room knew that is not what had happened.

Kira pulled Ming back and put her to her knees before me.

“Is madame satisfied with how I keep order in the house?”  Kira asked, as if this had been simply another one of those domestic details to be worked out between the Lady of the house and the head maid.

“Yes Miss Kira”  I said, unconsciously addressing her as the junior maids did, not as the Lady of the house should.


I am the conservative good girl I was raised to be.  I am the submissive slut I was born to be. 
My stories


Offline msslave

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Reply #1 on: September 07, 2023, 01:26:34 PM
Thank you Vixin for another exotic story. I would love to see more parts to this time and place you've taken us to. This is worthy of a WOO.

Well trained and been made compliant....by my cat Neville


Offline Valley Vixin

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Reply #2 on: September 07, 2023, 09:44:22 PM
There will be, probably two more parts.  I see this in three parts.  I don't know if the second part will be enough for a story of its own, but that is what I am striving for.  I really enjoy the seduction, the fall, more than the finish.  It is a personal failing that I always intend my stories to be like edging, but frequently find myself rushing to the finish because I can't shut off my hormones while I write.

I am the conservative good girl I was raised to be.  I am the submissive slut I was born to be. 
My stories


Offline Valley Vixin

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Reply #3 on: September 09, 2023, 09:10:44 AM
Price and Cost of Order

London 1810.  What has gone before.

I should tell you about myself first.  I am Lady Anabell Baring, wife to the lord Charles Baring, Earl of Cromer.  I am of the North Umbrian gentry, our family being renowned for producing bold soldiers and fertile wives, which the southern nobles have always muttered had to do with too many Vikings in the convent.  We do tend to the tall, pale, and on the ladies side, very buxom side, and I have the red hair that crops up several times a generation. 

My mother taught me that a woman had two duties, to provide, educate and train heirs for her husbands house, and to keep order in the servants of that house.  Honestly, as a woman, this was supposed to be my goal and my joy.  It was not much of a burden to provide heirs for my husband’s house.  I mean, I had been married at sixteen, and by eighteen I had given him two boys (Charles and Henry), which seemed to satisfy him.  It was not much of a burden, although he was.  My husband was my senior by about twenty years, and about a hundred pounds.  My marital duties were a chore that I feared might kill my husband (Charles, as our first boy was named for him, as Henry was named for his father).  His face grew red, his breathing like the blacksmith bellows, and I feared the veins in his neck would burst.  Instead, his member which tore into me burst instead.

At my insistence, my husband hired new maids and kitchen staff.  They were coloured from his holdings in the Caribbean and Orientals from his trading houses in Hong Kong.  The new head maid was Kira, a lithe black Caribbean beauty with hair in tight cornrows so different from my own somewhat unruly red wavy tresses.  She was everything I was not.  Body lithe like a professional dancer and face like some arrogant ancient queen, where mine looked like it stepped off an ancient fertility goddess altar.  Wide child bearing hips, high out thrust ass not requiring a bustle, and pale heavy breasts topped by nipples entirely too prominent for anything save the nursing they proved so very good at with my two boys.  She stepped so wonderfully into the role of keeping the House in order.  I did not enquire about how she disciplined the staff.  She trained them in a matter of weeks to be the equal or better of any staff in London society, and due to my husband’s business and political interests, I knew entirely too much about that society and its great houses.

Then I discovered how the house order was kept.  Lord God Almighty forgive me, I stumbled now into my own quarters, unable to breathe, unable to think.  My corset is too tight, I have too many clothes.  My skin is suffocating, I can’t breathe, my skin is covered in lightning, my nerves arcing like I touched one of Mr Van De Graff’s lightning machines.  I witnessed Kira discipline Ming.

My black housemaid stripped Ming bare, beat her with a hair brush, played her body like a violin, calling forth pleasure and pain.  She trained Ming like an animal, broke her to being no more than a slave to her, and then, as a reward, she let Ming who she had spanked, fingered, and violated with a hairbrush larger than my Lord Husband’s cock, kneel before her and pleasure her with her mouth!

I staggered to my bed and struggled to free myself to breathe.  I have a very pale complexion, but my face as I passed my mirror was flushed bright red, both cheeks and the tops of my breasts stained the scarlet of shame and excitement, my bosoms heaving like a blacksmith’s bellows as I struggled to get enough air to contain my excitement.  I clawed at my skirts to raise them, to reach my bloomers.  Thick decent cotton underclothes that covered me from waist to thigh were suddenly too much to take.  I needed to touch where Kira had touched Ming with commanding and punishing fingers and hairbrush.  I needed to touch what Ming had worshipped on Kira once she had been disciplined.  I needed so badly to touch what should belong only to my husband, but cried out now for my own touch.

Kira followed me into the room after a few futile minutes, with round little Jenna.  Where Kira was light brown and lithe like an Egyptian or Nubian Queen, Jenna was over opulent curves, round belly, bum and breast, coal black skin and thick lips always parted in a smile or babbling a mile a minute in scandalous conversation.  Kira looked at me with the smug look of an indulgent parent or pet owner and gestured with her hands to Jenna.

“Miss Annabelle is overly constricted with her clothes.  I fear she is suffering from hysteria brought on by witnessing how I keep order in the house.  Please, loosen her clothes.”  Kira said, looking me in the eye and her commanding gaze stopping my attempts at protest.

Jenna undid my dress and corset, freeing my breasts which she impudently stroked with her small black hands, pinching my erect nipples with her thumb and forefinger as she pulled the corset and chemise away.

“Coo, look at these big beautiful duckies!”  Jenna gushed, cupping my heavy breasts, kneading them before tweaking my nipples.  “These duckies are so big and white we ought to call them swans.  These kettle drums I bet you could beat quite the tune on if you weren’t too old and feeble a geezer as your husband, right Lady Annabelle?”

I moaned and grabbed at Jenna’s hands, but I was unsure if I was trying to stop her, or make her keep squeezing.  Watching Kira discipline Ming had lit a fire in my sacred center that my husband never had.  I was taken with a fever that overtook my body, overwhelmed my brain.  Was this the hysteria that the doctors warned women could be subject to?

Kira cared for neither Jenna’s wants or my needs as she continued to command Jenna in removing my clothing.

“There is no time for the boots, simply undo her petticoats, untie the bloomers and pull them down to her boots, the stockings will roll themselves out of the way.  Miss Annabelle needs to do something, doesn’t she?”  Kira stated, as if aware of my need to touch myself as the coloured staff had been doing while Ming was being punished and servicing .

Jenna yarded up my skirts, and I found myself holding them at my waist.  Her little black fingers were surprisingly strong, she was a good and hard worker, if easily distracted.  She made quick work of my bloomer ties and hauled them down over my arse with all the care of a fisherman hauling in his nets.  I whimpered, but Kira simply placed a finger beneath my chin and directed my gaze up to hers as she smiled down at me, silently commanding me to stillness as my underclothes were pulled down my thighs, and then over my calves and boot tops.  I felt like the heavy clothes now bound my legs fast like some African slaver’s leg irons, some of which my husband had owned until 1807 when the trade was outlawed.  Somehow that thought only made my hysteria grow.

Kira looked down at my sex, the fine red hair not trimmed like Kira’s own, but also finer, thinner, more like a covering of lace over my womanly parts.  To my eternal shame, the curse of the red head was in full force, and my sex was swollen, red, and open like a flower, its petals promising honey to any passing bee that cared to dip into my depths even lightly.  My arousal was impossible to hide.  Jenna crudely leaned down and gave it a quick sniff and kiss.

“Oh what a pretty little peach.  I bet the Earl buries his moustaches in that every night.  I am surprised the hair in those things is still straight, diving in this honey pot is guaranteed to curl the hair in that walrus thing the Earl has for a moustache.  I would smell like peach all day, I would.”  Jenna said, rubbing her nose into my sex, and kissing it lightly.  I dropped my hands to her head, and felt my body arching up to her mouth, chasing that kiss, when Kira grabbed Jenna’s head and pulled her back.  I whimpered like a puppy whose treat was just taken away.

“Now Miss Annabelle, it seems you got quite aroused watching me keeping discipline in the house for you.  You are a decently married woman, a fine noble lady.  Wife of an Earl and mother to the same.  It would be unbecoming to allow a servant to touch you, would it not.  No.  Miss Annabelle is going to have to treat her hysteria herself.”  Kira said, smiling with the cruelty of a cat.

“You want me to touch myself, down there?”  I asked, I don’t know if I wanted clarification, denial, or simply direction.  I needed to touch myself, but I could not touch myself.  Masturbation was a sin, it was a failure of my fidelity to my husband.  My body belonged to him, to bear his children and give him pleasure.  Pleasure was my husbands domain, not mine.  I was a good wife, a good woman.  I had been faithful, I had born and suckled his sons.  I was a good woman, a church going woman.  A decent woman.

Kira turned to Jenna.

“Jenna, perhaps Miss Annabelle has never been instructed in how to pleasure herself.  From what the staff reports, her husband the Earl is neither talented at giving pleasure, nor very long about attempting it.  Show her how a common slut, a veteran dockside whore, plays with herself.”  Kira ordered.

“Bloody hell yes Miss Kira.  Watching you work Ming over has me hotter than the gun deck of a 74 mid battle!”  Jenna said, utterly unselfconsciously as she pulled her heavy black breasts from her maid uniform, and yarded up her skirt to reveal thick black thighs and the dark forest where they met.  I found myself thinking of Black Forest Cake as I looked at her womanhood, for there was the dark red of cherry in the chocolate folds of her sex.  Jenna began to stroke her breasts, cupping them and running the hands up to graze her nipples, shorter and darker than my own.  She ran her fingers on either side of her sex, stroking, petting.

I gasped with shock as he moved her breast up to her own mouth, and began sucking the nipple!  Her breasts were smaller than mine, a corner of my mind wondered if I could do that thing.  The one thing my husband did routinely was play with my breasts, sucking on them, and it brought me the only joy I had known at his touch, but I had never thought to do it myself.

I watched her fingers play inside the folds of her sex, plunging in, then running the finger tips up to the swelling but at the top of her womanhood.

“Look at her work her cunt.  She is a slut, so she is wet.  She is a whore, as her mother was a whore.  A natural born whore, so she is wet already.  See how she takes it, and strokes it up her flower, those are called labia, at the top, the pearl?  That is called the clit.  See how she wets her clit with her cunt juices?  Can you do that, Miss Annabelle?”  Kira whispered in my ear, pressing her fully dressed body behind me on the bed and supporting me as I faced Jenna.

I reached down and found my own womanhood was as wet as Jenna, if not more.  I slipped a finger inside and felt my sex grip it.  Such a feeling, how to describe, I feel my finger moving into me, parting my tightness, yet I also feel the heat, the incredible heat and wetness from my finger.  I move my hips unconsciously against the direction of my finger.  I find myself rocking, as I push one finger into me slowly.  God.  Again, deeper, I can feel the pads of my fingers scrape inside me.  I can feel my hips bucking against the touch as my palm slaps against my folds, my labia Kira called them.  It was so much more intense than when my husband mounted me.  I drew up my finger, tracing the outline of my sex and found the pearl, the clit Kira called it.

Mary Mother of God, it isn’t like I had never washed myself.  It isn’t like I had never touched there before.  Now it was like it was awake, now it was like a whip of lightning slept in that little bud, and whenever I touched it, lightning would arc through my body.  I cried out.

“Do you have a cunt, Miss Annabelle?  Is your cunt all wet from watching my discipline your staff?  Does your cunt need to cum Miss Annabelle?”  Kira whispered in my ear, licking it, nibbling on it.  My god, even my ear can make my body shake.  I am pinching my nipple, pulling on it, the lightning from my breast connecting to my clit, I am panting like a racing horse at the half mile, my body is starting to buck, like a restive animal.

“Yes Miss Kira, I have a cunt.  A wet cunt.  I don’t know what cum means Miss Kira.”  I begged, rubbing my clit and stroking my breasts with my left hand, feeling my heavy wedding ring catch at my nipple in my fumbling frenzy.

“Poor little Miss Annabelle hasn’t found slut Annabelle yet.  Let me introduce you.  Cumming feels like THIS!”
Kira reached around and grabbed both my nipples and pinched them so hard a shot of pain lanced through me.  She bit down on my right earlobe, and my body pitched a fit.  I had some sort of seizure.  I thought I was going to die.  I stopped breathing, I bit down so hard I feared I would break my teeth.  Every muscle in my body spasmed, again and again.  Like the spasms of labour only rendered a hundred times faster, yet it was not pain that shot through my body, it was pleasure.  I screamed.

It was not a high pitched distress scream like a maiden should offer, it was more akin to the howling of a wolf bitch.  I felt my sex flood around my fingers.  I shuddered again and again as my fingers drew higher and higher pleasure from my touch until I had to stop because it had progressed from pleasure into pain.  I shuddered helplessly in Kira’s arms.

In front of me Jenna drove her fingers into herself, and screamed “FUCKING WHITE WHORE!” as she came, actually spraying a bit.

Kira sighed in my ear.  Then she said to Jenna in the quiet firm tones of a professional.

“Jenna, that was a disrespectful way to speak to Lady Annabelle.  You know I do not permit any violations of House Order.  I will have to discipline you tomorrow before the staff.  You were lout enough that your punishment will have to be public.”  Kira spoke quietly but firmly.

Jenna stood up, thrust the fingers wet from her cunt directly into my mouth.

God in heaven forgive me, I suckled on them like my babies used to suckle on my breast.  I licked her fingers clean of their own sexual essence like I was a starving woman and this was the last honey on earth.  Jenna and Kira both giggled, then Jenna stood back, allowed her skirt to fall and yarded her maid outfit back over her pendulous breasts before offering Kira and I a very proper curtsey.

“Yes Miss Kira.  Sorry Miss Kira.  This lowly maid begs for correction Miss Kira.”  Jenna said, curtseying each time, but her grin cheeky and unrepentant.

Kira rose from the bed behind me.  She looked me over and said as if nothing untoward had happened at all.

“You seem to have treated the hysteria properly.  You look much more relaxed now Miss Annabelle.  Will you be joining the staff to witness Jenna’s punishment tomorrow?  I will have to warn the staff if you do, so they know what to expect.”  Kira offered with the same respectful professionalism with which she had made of this house one of the best managed in all of London.

“Yes Miss Kira, I would like to be there for all future discipline you perform.  I think it is important for me to be more involved in the house order.”

Kira’s smile made me blush and look to the ground.  It occurred to me that she was fully dressed, fully composed, while I, the noble lady, was covered in my own juices, breasts bare, and all my small clothes binding my feet like some sort of slave chains.  I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, and saw her smirk.  My body trembled to see her look of superiority.  I had the breeding to carry off any social situation.  I nodded to her regally.

“That will be all Miss Kira.  Carry on.”  I said, cursing myself for addressing her as Miss Kira, as if I was one of her staff, not the Lady of the Manor.

Kira beamed, then gave a perfect curtsey.  “Very good ma’am.  I will send Ming to collect you tomorrow when it is time.”




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Offline Valley Vixin

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Reply #4 on: September 12, 2023, 05:16:27 PM
Chapter 3  New Order

I was raised country gentry.  My family has supplied officers for the regiments that fought everywhere that the Union Jack flew, and every where the white ensign sailed.  The women of my family were officers wives, country squires wives, clergy wives, and much sought after by the rising class of bureaucrats as women who brought a strong and steady hand to houses of families on the rise, able to raise both a family and that families standing without engaging in unnecessary social drama, expensive chasing after fashion or position.  We were the definition of steady and dependable.  The other selling point may have been more fertile than the soil of the fenlands, with, as my brother in law, Vice Admiral Sir Cuthbert Collingwood likes to say “transoms to make your mainsails rise, and bow guns to sink a man-o-war”.   While she didn’t find that the most flattering way to describe her families tendency toward round and full bottoms and heavy up thrust bosom, it was not inaccurate.

Now I am the wife of a city earl, a steel mill owner, railroad man, mercantile shipper, and political power broker.  Charles is very much a new man, a man of the Industrial Revolution, of the foreign trade and domestic commerce, and I am the simple country wife whose dignity and ancient name keeps the stench of “trade” from sticking to him, in noble circles still pretending that farm land not factories were the source of wealth.  I am good at providing the sort of genteel counterpoint to my husbands hard driving, frequently abrasive, presence at meetings of the business and social elite, and as a hostess, my quiet and down to earth character balances the Oriental, African, and Carib splendor of the décor of his townhouse.  The house and I are both displays, the house displays his wealth and his connections to foreign trade, I display his English noble heritage and commitment to the old ways of the Empire.  Oddly, the first it true, the second is an open farce.  My husband respects power in the reality, not the delusion.  His focus is on tomorrow’s wealth and power, not yesterdays prominence.

I was at a loss with his old staff.  They didn’t care for a young interloper from a country gentry house telling them what to do.  They were leftovers from another century, and not capable of being part of my husbands political entertaining going forward.  He had brought in a whole new young and attractive staff from his foreign holdings.  Indian, Chinese, African (by way of his Caribbean plantation holdings).  The head maid, Kira, was his greatest gift to me.  She managed to keep discipline in the house where my own more quiet methods were unsuited to large staffs and constant changes.

I am tormented now because of that discipline.  Kira rules the house staff with an iron hand.  Or hairbrush.  Or riding crop.  Or cane.  She disciplines the female staff by stripping them naked and mixing corporal punishment and forced orgasm to both punish their infraction and reenforce her authority.  No matter how sternly, how savagely, how thoroughly she punishes the staff, they crawl to her naked afterwards to kiss her feet and beg to be allowed to pleasure her with their mouths.  I was frozen in disbelief the first time I saw it, overcome with feelings I could not explain.

Now I can explain them.  Desire.  I was overcome with desire to see Kira put the staff in their place.  To punish them, to break them, to train them to worship and obey her.

Each session I would witness, then rush to my room, where Kira would direct whichever maid to strip me, and then Kira would command me in the specifics of pleasuring myself.  I could not help myself.  I was so aroused watching her take the submission of the staff, that like the staff, I had to touch myself to deal with my desire for Miss Kira.  Even now, in the silence of my mind, I find myself addressing her as Miss Kira.  Like the staff addresses her.  Here I am, Lady Annabelle, wife of the Earl, one of the richest women in the whole of the empire, and I am unable to meet the gaze of my head maid without blushing.

I suppose another woman would be beside herself in romantic frenzy, but I am country gentry.  We can always put off thinking about things with work, and with my husbands constant entertaining and the details of running both his estates and many businesses there is always work to be done.  On a professional level, the house runs better than any this side of Buckingham palace, and with a lot leaner staff and a lot less graft.  Whatever has grown between Miss Kira and I, it has not affected the running of the house or estates.   I suppose that is part of the problem with being country gentry, we are the noble version of farm wives, too concerned with the day to day work of the household to become overcome with flights of fancy, even when our mind, heart, and traitorous body cannot stop yearning for the eyes, the words, and dare I hope, the touch of she whose smile ignites my soul.

It seemed every two or three days there would be a new punishment.  There wouldn’t even be a pretext of an actual offense now.  It was openly being done so that the staff could gather to watch Miss Kira discipline one of their number, and so they could watch their dear Miss Annabelle get worked into a frenzy and dragged off to her room to deal with her hysteria by touching herself like some French doxie in one of those port side tavern brothel stage shows.  How they could respect me at this point I don’t know.  I hardly respect myself.  I would love to hate myself, would love to confess my sins and repent, but I can’t repent Kira.

I have given my husband two sons, but my body has never felt alive, never felt anything like the fire Miss Kira ignites in me.  I may burn in hell for touching myself at her orders, but I would rather burn with her in hell than be parted in heaven.

That said, we had a major entertainment to put on.  My husband was away in Yorkshire with the Duke of Buckingham’s fox hunt, while I was left to host a charity ball for the Royal Navy Benevolent Society.  On the one hand it was a “non political” charitable event that was fit to be hosted by a noble lady, on the other hand it was very much key to securing support from the serving commons who were very much often left poorer for reduced naval spending in peace time, and by injury in war time.  On the other hand, it very much played an important role in pushing, quietly, the drive for naval expansion, itself very important in both steel production and foreign trade.  With my husband away, my hosting it let him reap the political benefits without looking like he was pandering for them.  That was Charles for you.  His vacations had at least four agendas.

I was more aware now of the bodies under the maid uniforms of my staff.  The dark skin from the gold of the orient, the café-au-lait of the moor, to the rich black of the central African.  Over all of them, the lithe dancer’s body of Kira, crowned like a Caribbean Queen in tight cornrows, her face a more classically noble one than my own, in every way except accident of birth, the nobler of us.  I knew how they looked naked, I knew the movements of their bodies under the lash, and their movements in passion.  I knew the sounds of their pleasure, and lord god forgive me, the taste of them; for after every session they would offer their fingers from their own sex into my mouth, and after they had pleasured Miss Kira with their mouths in thanks for their punishment, they would offer me her taste on their tongues.

I really had no idea what to do.  I had lost control of my life.  I was like a ship at see without a rudder.  I was supposed to be in charge, but now I had no idea what I should do.  I had always been driven by the needs of the house, my father’s house or my husband’s.  Now, at the mercy of my own needs, I had no idea what to do.

The party was quite the success.  There were officers here from the Navy in all their dash and splendor.  The nobles in their pretend uniforms from their own house guards in which they held honourary rank strutted about, rubbing shoulders with the actual naval officers and marine officers who did the fighting, and hoped some of their manhood would rub off.  The merchant houses that very much needed the protection of the Royal Navy for their trade, and the great merchant houses that would very much like to have a voice in how the Royal Navy interpreted its mission in places far from England and close to their own economic interests.  There were the noble ladies enjoying being seen in their finery, being willing to toss away huge amounts of wealth to a good cause of our naval officers and ratings ashore on half pay or injury, and the gentlemen of business who were more than happy to offer to charity if it got them in the same room with the noble men who otherwise would never be seen socially with them.

Like all such parties, there were those who mistook the power from their own house as power in someone else’s.  It was a truth to noble society that polite society ran on courtesy, but was lubricated by violence.  In times of social change, newcomers to high society sometimes believed themselves above the rules, just as those whose power had waned sometimes forgot they could no longer do as they pleased.  It was the former that threatened to ruin my ball.

I witnessed Sir Percival Clemens, a thin framed, thin lipped cruel scarecrow of a man, who served as a high official of the John’s East India Company drag off Jenna, who had been pressed into serving duty due to the high number of guests we were dealing with.  Excusing myself from the conversation with Lady Judith and her daughter Esmerelda about the latest fashion in silk undergarments, I followed Sir Percival into the hallway that he had dragged Jenna.  Upon reaching the hallway, I could see neither Jenna nor Sir Percival.

I grabbed one of the kitchen girls who was passing and ordered her to fetch two of my footmen.  It was the custom of my father’s house to employ former soldiers from his regiment in such positions.  It was a well paid sinecure for the soldiers, and provided a loyal staff beyond what you could usually get from new hires, as well as a level of discretion for delicate matters.  I feared I was about to have such a matter.

Stalking down the hall, I failed to see Jenna or Sir Percival, but I heard a thump coming from my husband’s smoking room.  This was a room that was only open to my husband and whomever he was entertaining for after meal drinks and cigars.  Even I did not have leave to enter that room.  There is no reason for their to be anyone in it now.

The door was locked.  The key had been removed from outside the door, and presumably moved to the inside to lock it.  I frowned.  No one in my house would do this.  That was the master’s room.  Charles, the only one with the right to lock that door was in Buckingham hunting foxes.  I heard a pained cry, and what might be a slap coming from inside the door.  The door was thick, and the carpets inside were thick.  If I could hear such things out here, there was indeed something happening inside.

The kitchen girl, Ming, had arrived with Mathews and Stiles, two burly footmen, formerly of my father’s regiment.

I pointed to the door. “Break it, now.”

Mathews pointed to the door, and Stiles smiled happily, and put a rather large boot to the lock.  Inside was a scene out of my fears.  Sir Percival had Jenna bent over one of my husband’s overstuffed chairs.  She was bleeding from the nose and mouth, crying, and he was attempting to hike up her skirt from the back, with his own pants open, and his member already rampant and sticking out.

Turning to face me, Sir Percival’s thin face went from fright to a sneer when he noted he was faced only with me, and not my husband.  He sneered.

“Nothing to concern yourself with milady, I am just availing myself of the refreshments.  You know what they say, the browner the berry the sweeter the juice; give me a brown one for my personal use.”  Sir Percival laughed cruelly, as if his words somehow excused his actions with my staff in my house.

“Unhand my servant and remove yourself from my house.”  I said coldly, my fury warring with my breeding to keep me from flying into a rage at his flagrant abuse of Jenna.

“Do you know who I am?  At my word more ships move than the whole of the sodding Royal Navy.  I have foreign kings hauled down and thrashed in their own throne rooms.  You can put on what airs you like among the toffs, but you and I both know the truth.  She is nothing but property, and if I damage her, the most your husband will ask is less than I wager on any turn of the cards when we play at our club.”  He laughed again.  I looked into Jenna’s face and saw that she accepted this as truth.  I looked at Sir Percival, and knew he accepted it as truth.  My husband also probably accepted it as truth.

I had been like a ship without a rudder at sea since being caught up in how Kira keeps order in my house, but it is my house.

“Mathews, Stiles.  The gentleman has become quite drunk.  Rather than expose him to ridicule from being too drunk to stand, conduct his unconscious body to his carriage and send him on his way.”    I said utterly coldly.

“You wouldn’t dare!”  Sir Percival shouted.

“Mathews, Stiles, he seems very drunk.  Drunk enough that he may fall several times on the way to his carriage.  See the head maid for a few pounds to settle your stomach after hauling him out.  I fear your clothes may get at little bloody taking him to his carriage.”  I said, equally coldly.

As they brushed past me, chuckling, Mathews gave an offhand salute, and they fell to with a will.

I watched as Mathews and Stiles administered a very professional beating.  As they dragged him past me, I stopped them for a moment to look down at him.

“Why would you do this?  She was just a coolie.  Your husband will….”  He tried to say, and I silenced him with a slap.

“My husband married me to keep his house in the traditional way.  We are not money grubbing merchants, we are simple people.  Our retainers serve the house, but they are part of it.  They are family.  If you think my husband will do anything for beating some merchant for attempting to soil the honour of his house then you know nothing.”  I said, again quietly.

Stiles and Mathews moved him out the door, where mysteriously he fell face down, and had to be yanked up again.

“Ruddy East India men can’t hold their liquor.  Fell right down he did.  The lady was right, this one might fall a few more times on the way out.”  Mathews offered sagely.

Styles punched Sir Percival in the short ribs to silence his objections, then mused thoughtfully.  “The Madam was quite considerate, having us escort the gentleman to his carriage, drunk as he is.  He might not make it otherwise.”

I met the eyes of Kira as my retainers led Sir Percival out.  I touched her sleeve and whispered to her.  “See to Jenna.  If a doctor is needed, have him summoned.”

No matter what I wanted to do, I was lady of the house, and there was a charity event to host.  Plastered on a smile and returned to the party.  My staff looked at me with eyes that seemed shocked.  For myself, I felt I had found my rudder.  Whatever else may be true, this was my house, and those in it had my protection.

The party was a rousing success.  Rumours of Sir Percival’s fate made their way among the carriage men, and then among the staff.  The naval and marine officers heard about it from their ratings before the party was over, and roared in laughter, making a point to all call upon me and offer their thanks for hosting the event, for the hospitality and good order of my house.  There is little love between the Royal Navy and the East India company.  The nobles seemed to think it a wonderful joke upon the new money men, and after all, one can’t hold a woman responsible for an emotional response.  The new money men had felt the lash of the East India company throwing its weight around to their cost far too often for them not to find it even funnier than the navy or nobility, and oddly, found it gave a little substance to the nobility seen as less and less relevant in todays society.

My husband did not pay for drinks at his club, for everyone had to buy him a brandy and regale him with their version of the event, so he found it quite endearing.

We danced around each other for a week.  My eyes followed Kira’s, her eyes followed me.  The staff stopped and looked at me when I walked the halls like they were afraid to breathe.  I knew someone had to break the impasse.  Someone had to make a decision.  Everyone knew what I desired, but this was my house.  It had to be my call.

In the end, I made it.

I told Jenna when she returned to work.  “Jenna, can you let Miss Kira know that I require her to administer discipline in the lobby before lunch.  Have the staff assembled.”  I told her, glancing at her with a small smile as her eyes grew wide.

I found Miss Kira standing before the table I had witnessed her administering so much discipline to my staff.  I had watched that Caribbean Queen break every one of the women to her will with a combination of both pleasure and pain, teaching them their place in this house.  I had asked her to keep order, then my own sexual desires had threatened that order.  I had to end it.  I had to restore order.

“Miss Annabelle.”  Kira greeted me, gesturing to the staff for them to curtsey, then curtseying herself.

I inclined my head to her, regally.  “Miss Kira.  I had you assemble the staff here for a matter of discipline.  For a matter of house order.  This is my house, and while I had tasked you to keep order in it, I fear I had allowed my own needs to insert confusion into that order, to the detriment of my house.  This ends today.  I have summoned you here on a matter of discipline Miss Kira.”  I said, and not one of the staff dared to breathe, afraid of what I was going to say next.

“Who requires discipline, Miss Annabelle?”  Kira asked, the only woman present who was smiling and not shaking in fear.

I smiled.  My heart at last free of confusion.  “Me.”  I said, as I lowered myself to my knees, and then belly as I kissed her black boots.

Miss Kira reached down, and pulled my back by my hair.  Her black fist in my red hair, she pulled me back until I was on my knees.  Leaning down, she kissed me.

“This is your house.”  She said.

“And you keep the order of it.”  I confirmed.

She slapped me across the face.  “Slut Annabelle, sluts who beg correction, do so naked.”

Turning to my staff, to her staff, she ordered them.  “Strip her.”

I was in a daze as my maids and cooks descended on me, stripping me bare.  My pale white flesh finally exposed entirely to their gaze, to their hands.  I let my long red hair be unbound and knelt naked on the carpet of my own lobby, kissing the boots of my head maid.  She had me standing, facing her, my hands gripped to the back of my hair as she held me by the neck, as she got the staff to punish me.

Hands spanked my ass, and hairbrushes. Miss Kira looked me right in the eyes and spanked my heavy breasts as my bottom was spanked.  She never broke eye contact, looking at me as my staff slapped and spanked my ass, until they too began to spank my breasts.  Soon I was being made to say thank you as I was spanked by maids and cooks, all the while keeping eye contact with Miss Kira.

Finally she pulled me by the neck to her, and she slid her fingers down into my sex, as her tongue plundered my mouth.  I broke discipline and took my hands off the back of my head to grab Miss Kira’s face and kiss her back.  She kept kissing me as her fingers went inside me.  Fingering me, fucking me with her fingers better than Charles had in all our married life with his cock.  I came on her fingers, and felt the strength go out of my legs.  I fell on my knees between her legs and she raised her skirt slowly to expose her dark curly triangle of her sex, the dark lily of delight.

“Be a good slut, Annabelle, and eat my pussy.  Show me how much you need to please me.”  Miss Kira smiled as she looked down on me.  I shuffled between her feet, and smelled what I had smelled on the lips of the staff that had kissed me after eating her.  I buried my face in her sex, and no matter how I intended my first kiss of her flower to be delicate and loving, I fell upon her like a glutton on dessert.  I buried my face in her, lapping and sucking.

Kira laughed.  “What a slut.  If we had women sailors you would be the greatest money maker from London to Southampton.  You could do shows like the French put on in their Pigalle and Marseilles whorehouses.  Oh fuck, yes, you don’t need to breathe, just get your tongue deeper in me.”  Kira shouted as she pulled my face deep into her, and I found myself whimpering like a begging puppy as I strove with my unskilled tongue to do what I had seen the others to please her.  She began to ride my face, until at last I saw the swelling but of her button swelling from the crown of her lily like the sweetest of fruit.  I had to taste it.  I took her black pearl into my mouth and began to suck it.  As her breath began to turn to panting, as her lean muscled belly began to contort, I sucked her nubbin harder and flicked my tongue across it.  Grabbing my head, Miss Kira screamed and at last I tasted flooding into my mouth what I had only known second hand from the mouths of the other staff that pleased her.

Kira pulled my by my hair up to my feet and kissed me.  Tasting her own pussy on my lips, she cupped my breasts with one hand, and my ass in the other as she made love to my mouth.  I went away, lost in bliss as she kissed me.  Finally, pulling back she looked me in the eyes, hers so soft dark and enchanting, and spoke softly.

“You really do care for us, and we for you.  I know what you need, will you trust me to see that you get it?”  Kira asked me.

“Yes Miss Kira.”  I answered.

She pulled my head back, and sucked a hickey into my neck before pulling back to slap my face lightly again.

“Slut Annabelle, that was barely proficient.  I expect better.  You will be trained to please me every day.  I will  have you pleasing every maid, every cook, every char-woman until you are the best in this house.  You are the one that sets the standard for this house, you must be the best, do you understand slut Annabelle?”  Miss Kira asked. I was crying when I answered.

“Yes ma’am.”

“When you are Miss Annabelle, you are the Lady of the House and your word is law.  When you are slut Annabelle, you exist only to please me, and those of the staff who have performed well enough to be allowed the use of my personal property.  Do you understand?”

“Yes Miss Kira.”  I answered happily.

Miss Kira put me on my knees, and Jenna hopped up on the table, spreading her legs to show me a far darker flower than Miss Kira’s but one already glistening with honey.  I was going to be a busy bee.  All around me I heard the happy laughter of my servants.  Miss Kira was restoring order in the house, and we were all better for it.  Jenna had suffered at the party I threw.  It was important that I show her how much I valued her service.  It was the least I could do.




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Offline msslave

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Reply #5 on: September 12, 2023, 10:01:34 PM
And another WOO for this wonderful story. A lot of history along with the hot sex.

Well trained and been made compliant....by my cat Neville


Offline Valley Vixin

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Reply #6 on: September 13, 2023, 02:03:12 AM
And another WOO for this wonderful story. A lot of history along with the hot sex.

I swear I read too many Harlequin romances in my teens.  It makes me want to write bodice ripper romances, only female only ones.

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Hilda

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Reply #7 on: September 13, 2023, 03:07:36 AM
And another WOO for this wonderful story. A lot of history along with the hot sex.

I swear I read too many Harlequin romances in my teens.  It makes me want to write bodice ripper romances, only female only ones.

Not bodice-ripping as such, but fairly close.



This paperback cover was posted by a friend who usually uploads images of beautiful women. The watermark at the bottom leads to a website with a corner devoted to lesbian paperback artwork. Lots of fun stuff but many broken links.

Strange Sisters



Offline msslave

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Reply #8 on: September 13, 2023, 04:56:08 AM
Man does that take me back to the sixties. I was off living on my own going to school in the big city of Minneapolis. I was 18 soon to turn 19.

I'd go to the downtown area and go into the adult bookstore. I was nervous as heck as there were signs all over that you had to be 21.

The lurid covers almost made me cum in my pants right there. I'd make a selection and with trembling fingers hand over my money.

Racing back to my sleeping room I'd dive into the naughty pages book in one hand and the other hand....well you know what the other hand was doing.

Ah those early days of big city life. ;D

Well trained and been made compliant....by my cat Neville


Hilda

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Reply #9 on: September 13, 2023, 08:25:44 AM
Racing back to my sleeping room I'd dive into the naughty pages book in one hand and the other hand....well you know what the other hand was doing.

I first came across the memorable phrase "books you read with one hand" in Colin Wilson's The God of the Labyrinth (1970). He credits it to Sainte-Beuve but I've seen it attributed to Stendhal, and I can't be bothered to check. "Some witty French writer" is good enough for me.

My introduction to porn came on a visit to Paris, when a bunch of schoolfriends went to explore the book stalls along the River Seine. A couple of girls bought books published by, I think, the Olympia Press and then passed them around the dormitory in which we were staying. It soon became clear that the books wouldn't make the rounds before we had to leave Paris, so girls took turns reading out loud while the other girls relaxed on their bunks and added to their store of knowledge.



Offline Valley Vixin

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Reply #10 on: September 13, 2023, 03:17:06 PM
I wasn't that sold on porn because it never really moved me that much.  I loved the bodice rippers more because they got me worked up.  I am not as visually oriented in my porn I guess.  When I found those dirty books in the "special" section of the used book store, I thought I had died and gone to some sort of pagan sex related heaven.  Granted some of the grammar was terrible, and a lot of it had the male belief that shoving a cock in automatically feels good as long as the guy feels like it, but when you got one that talked about how the woman felt, with very little touch, you could actually imagine yourself in the heroines place, and wow did that blow my mind, and the whole point of sending me to confirmation classes.

Then I joined the army and discovered Penthouse and amateur written erotica.  Yes, as a woman in the army we are either supposed to be total sluts, or total asexual manhating bitches, but speaking as one of the ice bitches, we too used the porn selection, and there is a reason communications troopers with the access to unlimited and untraceable batteries were so very popular on long deployments.  I had more good vibrations to those cheesy novels than a Beach Boy retrospective.  I always ended up tearing the bottom of the spine, as forcing it open with my thumb meant if I hit my happy place too hard, I would often clench my left hand hard, and trash the bottom of the binding.

Yes, women too have the one hand reading skill. It got easier with scrolling tablets.

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Offline msslave

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Reply #11 on: September 13, 2023, 03:52:40 PM
"I had more good vibrations to those cheesey novels than a Beach Boys retrospective."  :D

Vixin, that is why I love your writing. You're so enjoyable to read.

Nice to know there's another Army vet on here too.

Now...we need to get back on topic and get another chapter of this hot story.

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Offline Pornhubby

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Reply #12 on: September 13, 2023, 04:00:18 PM
My one handed moment was reading “A Stranger in the Mirror” by Sidney Sheldon with my girlfriend on the bus to a distant “away game.” The novel had numerous graphic descriptions of sex, including oral and anal.  We both got so worked up, we masturbated each other furiously to climax under our band jackets. If I wasn’t a full blown pervert before then, I certainly was after.


”You can be mad as a mad dog at the way things went.  You can swear and curse the fates.  But when it comes to the end, you have to let go.” — The Curious Case of Benjamin Button


Offline msslave

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Reply #13 on: September 13, 2023, 04:10:30 PM
Fun to hear about those early beginnings that led us to KB.

BTW, You were in the band. What instrument?

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Offline Pornhubby

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Reply #14 on: September 13, 2023, 04:36:19 PM
Fun to hear about those early beginnings that led us to KB.

BTW, You were in the band. What instrument?

Drums. I was a prodigy. They moved me up to the high school band in eighth grade and I became drum corps first chair. Held that position for 5 years. Went to regional and state on drums as well.

My biggest proud moment was when my son also became drum corps captain of his high school band. Like father, like son.

”You can be mad as a mad dog at the way things went.  You can swear and curse the fates.  But when it comes to the end, you have to let go.” — The Curious Case of Benjamin Button


Offline staci

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Reply #15 on: September 13, 2023, 04:44:23 PM
you've been 'beating" ever since.

one of the originals


Offline Pornhubby

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Reply #16 on: September 13, 2023, 05:22:21 PM
you've been 'beating" ever since.

Would you like some contrapuntal drumming? “Dat dat dat, diddle dat, diddle diddle dat!” I have good rhythms.

”You can be mad as a mad dog at the way things went.  You can swear and curse the fates.  But when it comes to the end, you have to let go.” — The Curious Case of Benjamin Button


Offline Valley Vixin

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Reply #17 on: September 16, 2023, 08:36:19 AM
Endings

The Yuletide was approaching, and of course the Master of the House, was in Gibraltar taking part in some very hush hush negotiations with Eastern potentates who were supposed to be solidly in France’s camp, but were open to softening that stance for the right considerations.  The Earl was good at finding levers to separate people from their sworn oaths and moral obligations.  This made my position as his wife right now Ironic.

I was on my knees, hands bound behind my back with a silk scarf, eating the pussy of Fat Preeta, the Hindu undercook.  Fat Preeta had been the cook in charge of our entertainment for the Ladies Reading Club, and it had been an epic success.  The Club had been my own invention.  There were many well educated women who were serving in their own right in management positions in their families and even independent business concerns.  They were few in number, most women still adhered to their traditional role, but educated and driven women were on the rise, and their role in society was one agitating for change.  To have a hand in shaping that change could only be a great advantage to her husband’s political aspirations, and business needs.  Even beyond shaping these women’s opinion was learning their own desires, needs, struggles, and the fault lines of the various other political and economic powers in London, and thus all the world that mattered.  In discussions about books, to defend a point, or clarify a point, one tended to draw parallels to ones own shared experience to explain.  In this way, a discussion about a conflict in a single story could yield more intelligence about the private doings in the great houses than any hundred spies, and be more reliable.

It was my thought to spur the separation from traditional roles by making each meeting exotic and themed, the wildness and richness of experience to cause each of them to be more willing to step beyond propriety and be bold.  This last meeting was given to Preeta to sculp, from the series of teas, to the meal and the snacks, as well as their presentation.  The ladies had been overjoyed, and my own standing in the Ladies Reading Club was thus greatly enhanced.  Such service requires a reward, and when I offered Preeta whatever was in my power to give, she chose…….me.

I had started with gentle kisses and caresses, worshipping Fat Preeta like some Hindu Goddess as Kira and the gathered staff watched.  I worshipped at her small oddly long breasts, and the intriguing plum like nipples to both of our delight.  She had taken much joy in spanking upward from beneath my breasts, to make them bounce and turn them red.  As I gently suckled at her breast, she would pinch my nipples hard and make me whimper.

Kira, making a great show of concern stepped forward.  “Let us make sure you are not hurting Miss Annabelle.”  Kira said, before running her hand over the curve of my rounded bottom, and down to my little red furred cleft.  I closed my eyes in shame as she probed with her fingers.  Pulling them out and examining their wetness, making a show of it for the gathered staff, Kira laughed.

“Oh it seems Slut Anna is quite wet.  Little Anna likes her big white milkers spanked by Fat Preeta.  Carry on Preeta.  The slut yearns to serve you.”  Kira laughed, and the staff laughed in answer.  I was the lady of the house, wife to an Earl, and on my knees to the cook’s assistant.

I kissed my way down to her dark furred jungle.  She was very hairy, thick curls scented with the sweat of her work and that of her womanly musk. I rubbed my face in it as I caressed her bottom with my hands.  I placed my mouth over her dark flower and began to trace her petals with my tongue, to worship her gently.

Fat Preeta was working up a rage.   She pulled my hair back and shouted. “Open your mouth!”  I did so, and she spat inside it, then slapped my face.  Calling over her shoulders she shouted. “Bring the clamps!”  and the head cook, Ming came and placed two screw clamps on my aroused and engorged nipples, they were connected by a chain.  Preeta tugged on the chain and lifted my breasts by the clamps, the pain shot through me and my hands went to the chain by reflex.

Kira grabbed my hands and pulled them behind me.  She bound them with a silk scarf, and whispered in my ear.  “Slut Anna exists to obey and to please.  Slut Anna does not resist, she submits.  If you cannot do that, you won’t be allowed to be Slut Anna anymore.  Can you do it alone, or do you require my instruction?”  Miss Kira asked as she knotted my silk scarf around my wrists in the small of my back.

“Please instruct and correct this slut!”  I begged.  I could not lose Slut Anna.  If I did, there was only the cold lonely prison of Lady Annabelle as a social tool for my husbands political machine.

Kira bit my earlobe, and thrust my face back into Fat Preeta’s thick lipped pussy.

I looked up into Fat Preeta’s snarling face as she rode my own pale face like I used to ride my pillow when I was too scared of Jesus to touch myself with my fingers.  That is what I was, a tool for getting Fat Preeta off.  I was a sex toy.  A thing.  I would have touched myself if my hands were not bound, and everyone watching knew it.  I sucked and lapped, squealed like a piglet when my chain was pulled by Preeta to break my rhythm when I had her close to orgasm before she was ready.  Finally, she could endure it no more and came so hard her legs flew up into the air, and she lost her balance, falling on top of me in a great untidy heap.

Laughing hands pulled her off, and Kira, in a ritual peculiar to us, drew my face to hers to let me offer the gift of the cum I had won from the woman she had me please.  It was my offering to her.  No matter who I pleased in this house, it was always and only as an offering to her.  Although many of them did things to me that Miss Kira would not do, each of these acts, to me, was an offering to Miss Kira.  So important had she become to my life, and to my heart.

She took me up to bed, to put me to sleep.  As always, she examined my little wounds, and clucked or kissed alternately at them.  Her rules were strict, no permanent marks were ever allowed.  Her mother had been permanently marked, as had her father, from plantation discipline.  She herself had been the first generation not branded, as the governor at the time had been of Abolitionist leanings.  She stroked my flanks like a rider inspecting her horse after a pleasing afternoon ride, and kissed above my belly button in a gesture that was loving, rather than sexual.

“My dear Miss Annabelle, what a gift you have become.  Now, Yuletide is approaching.  What sort of gift shall I get for you?”  Miss Kira asked.

I looked at my dearest love and blushed.  “It is the position of the Lady of the House to gift her servants and staff, it isn’t required to return it.”  I said, stating the truth the world outside this house understood.

Miss Kira reached up and sucked one of my abused nipples into her mouth, making me moan, then released it with a “pop” sound, causing me to flinch.

“It is an owners place to offer gifts to a beloved pet, to let it know that it is loved, cherished, even if sometimes it must be disciplined.” Miss Kira stated, causing me to moan and throw my arms around her, hugging her to my naked chest.

“Please Miss Kira, please, there is only one thing I want from you.  Only one thing.  I know it is dangerous, and I know it is forbidden, but I really have thought this through.  Please, Miss Kira, if I mean anything to you at all, grant me this one gift this Christmas.”  I begged, tears in my eyes.

Miss Kira pulled back, suddenly serious.  She studied me for some time, then quietly, seriously, asked me.  “What is it you are asking for?”

I turned away from her, stalking from the bed that was once my matrimonial bed, but was now the place I served Miss Kira when she chose.  I stood in front of the full length dressing mirror so I could see her face, without facing her.  I began to talk.

“You know the Roman’s called this feast Saturnalia, before Christ.  It was the time the Lord and Lady of the House would serve the slaves with their own hands.  A time when the slaves would live as lords and the lords as slaves, with the lords giving gifts to their house slaves for their loyal years service.”

Kira absorbed that little historical non sequitur with a slow nod.  “I will assume you are correct, your education was quite a bit different than mine, after all.”  She offered wryly.

I looked into the reflection of her eyes in the mirror and got this next bit out in a rush, as if I could not permit any interruption or I would be too terrified ever to speak it again.

“I know you are the first one in your family not to be branded, to bear the mark of my house upon your skin.  Your mother bore our brand, as did your father, and their parents before them.  A mark that said they were property.  They could not run, they would just be brought back.  They could not hide it, could not deny it.  They were forever separated from free humanity by that mark and what it meant.”

Kira’s voice was hard and flat, her eyes cold and angry.  “What are you asking.”

I had to finish before she stopped me.  “I want you to brand me at Saturnalia, I want to have your mark burned into my ass before the staff, that everyone who looks upon me will know me to be always and forever your property!”  I shouted as I trned to face her.

With a look of shock upon her face, Miss Kira responded with widening eyes “NO!”

I pounced like a leopard.  I pushed her back to the bed, our naked bodies slapping as I drove her beneath me with a will.  I grabbed her lean ebony leg so much more graceful than my own, and raised it.  I locked us together like interlocking scissors, my own body on top, our wet sexes pressing together, as I leaned forward I could slide my clit over hers.

“Brand me, Mistress!”  I screamed as I began to hump her like a deranged rabbit.

Miss Kira thrashed beneath me, but while she was by far the more graceful, I had the wide birthing hips, the great udders, but beyond those features I had the body of a family of border gentry, too many Vikings in the mix to be anything but a wide shouldered over muscled powerhouse, capable of dropping a future knight and returning to the milking barn the next day to toss hay bales and milk cows.  I pinned her in place and began to show her all the tricks she had trained into me as she made me into her sexual plaything.

“NO!  Your husband would have you killed.”  Miss Kira shouted.

I humped her, scissoring our sexes across each other.  It was different than tongues or fingers.  It was raw, and the motion, like when my husband used to thrust into me.  That feeling of power, of conquest, of taking.  I could see why it made him so excited.  Not that he could last very long, or that his constitution was up to trying such things anymore.  It was so much more when it was two women’s sexes sliding over each other.  Like a saw made of lighting.  Not a sharp defined pleasure of tongue or finger, but a rasping cacophony of sensations, a chorus of a hundred voices from whispers to shouts, from moans to whimpers of pleasure all mixed and mingled in a confused knot.

“My husband has never even seen me naked.  He took me through the laces of my drawers, with only my breasts bared.  Even then, he has not called for me in that way since our last son’s birth.”  I gasped, panted, and grunted as I felt my own control starting to fray.  I had one hand on Miss Kira’s calf, pinned in my strong hand, and the other locked to her hip as I felt her start to move against me in rhythm, falling into synch, her back arching, her left hand reached up to cup my breast, her right to grip the bed covers in clawed fingers.

“No, you are Lady of this house, I just keep order in it for you.”  Miss Kira moaned, denying even now, as we both raced towards a soul destroying edge.

“I am your slut, I am your whore, I AM YOUR SLAVE!”  I screamed as I began to cum, thrashing against her.

Kira bent like she was trying to buck me off, she didn’t even breathe as she bent and thrashed, her jaw clenched and nostrils flared as her upper body shook like she was soundlessly sobbing.

I fell across her, unable to coordinate myself enough even to sit.  She rolled on top of me, pinned my hands above my head with one hand, kissed me fiercely, and bit my lower lip, pulling it as she pulled away.  Her eyes bore into me as her right hand stroked my cheek.

“Very well Anna.  I will brand you.  From the day I brand you, you will never be Lady Annabelle in my eyes again.  There is only Slut Anna.  My slut Anna.  My property.  You will retain your other duties to husband, to children, to estate, but your body, your heart, your soul, will belong to me to use and to share solely as I choose. Do you understand?”

I smiled.  “Yes Miss Kira.”

The only time I ever dared test my strength against Miss Kira resulted in my victory.  I would have my brand.  She would have me.




I am the conservative good girl I was raised to be.  I am the submissive slut I was born to be. 
My stories


Offline msslave

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Reply #18 on: September 16, 2023, 05:42:41 PM
Damn, damn, damn. And another WOO.

What??? Only 94 WOOs? How can that be with such wonderful writing. C'mon people, get to reading Vixin's great stories. She's a very creative writer.

Well trained and been made compliant....by my cat Neville