First training

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thus was the first new chapter in my life all but rounded off. To the outer world all would have seemed normal, and indeed did so, for no visitors noticed a change in Papa, Robert or anyone else. But to live in an entirely closed world was unhealthy, Stepmama said, and exhorted Sarah and I to spread our wings, to entertain and to seek out subjects. By day Robert wore his normal attire. At evenings I would have much fun in dressing him up, even to putting him into one of Sarah’s corsets which fitted him admirably so that he looked quite adorable in knickerless state thus, stockings taut and tightly gartered, and well-polished shoes.

Sarah, having been prised more out of her shell, would tickle his balls and cock with just her little finger, which she learned well to do, until he had a fine stand, his prepuce drawn back and his knob aglowing. Even so we monitored our own desires as our stepmother taught us to and would accept the males but once a week, which of occasion made me fret and want for more.

“You shall have more when you have tamed your own subjects,” I was told. “The males must not be spoiled, Clara, or they will take airs upon themselves.”

I birched Sarah sometimes and she would then respond by coursing the softened twigs across my own bottom until I came up to a fine heat. Such amusements never took place before the males, however, for it was not seemly for us so to de. Even so, they must have silently remarked the glowing heat of our bottoms when we were tapped or tupped or pistoned, or whatever our word might be for the evening. Sarah gradually grew silent when it was done to her and would lay her cheek sideways on a velvet cushion, her eyes wide with wonder as the shaft urged back and forth and only a gentle quivering of her bottom was to be seen. With the cock firm gliding in her she would come and breathe more quickly when she did so, her eyelashes fluttering prettily and her eyeballs rolling up.

“To feather your sweet pussies when you have the prick up your bottoms would be delicious, but you are accepted now as almost the same rank as I in the household and so must not be seen to be playthings,” our stepmother said, to my own disappointment at least for Sarah still obtained some hesitations. Seeing her apparently incurable in this respect, our stepmother paid her the curious compliment of blindfolding her when, instead of upping her bottom and thus keeping her expression mostly hid, she was put on her back to them which-if our stepmama was feeling mischievous-might be in the drawing room upon a tigerskin. To Tim or Papa or Robert it was a sign of uncaring that she was not put out by whoever’s prick she received, though that was not really the reason, but it sufficed to allay their thoughts and so kept her “queenly” in their eyes.

Once or twice our stepmother would make Sarah tipple heartily before putting her down, which was always done in the absence of males, for it was to be seen by them that everything she did was voluntary. My sister would then be arranged prettily on the tigerskin with her skirt wreathed up and most neatly fanned out on either side of her hips. Her bush was dark and showed beautifully against her snow-white belly. While she lay there with the blindfold on, our stepmother would unbutton Sarah’s corsage so that her firmly jellied tits came into view, the nipples then being teased to fiery points. Sarah would then moan and toss for in the meanwhile I, taking a soft brush, would fluff up her mass of pubic hairs and so tickle her with the bristles at the same time. Becoming passionate, she would seek our mouths, but these were refused.

“All your desires must bubble on the cock,” she would be told. Thus all her will was required to hold herself still in readiness and anticipation when the male was led in, by which time Sarah’s knees were flexed and her thighs straddled so that the pouting of her cuntlips was well in view and glistening not a little from our endeavours. Then the male would be put down on her, he being ever restrained to thread her well and thoroughly until her bush was well creamed with his come and she would lie languid and satisfied, being allowed her own time in which to get up.

I had taken at this time to writing thoughts down on paper. Not only thoughts, for I attempted also to describe such “exercises” as above, and found myself a muff at it, or so I thought.

“Show me what you have written,” my stepmother asked once when I complained to her of my difficulties. She then sat reading earnestly such a scene as I have here described, with much bumping of Sarah’s bottom on the floor and the sweet but breathless look on her face. “It is not so bad as you think,” my stepmother concluded at the end of three full pages, “for what you are attempting even the greatest of writers have failed in, which is to say how to describe even the conjunction of two pairs of lips or the first meeting of the prick to the cunny’s mouth. Such things escape the pen as oil does water. Fret about it not. You have come within good measure of it.” Thereat she laughed and added, “I see you have described the crest of your Papa’s cock as like a garden bulb nosing into loam-that is most amusing! The desperations of the writer are even greater than those of the painter, believe me, for words do not have colour and are flat. Shall you write more?”

I nodded, for I was a little flattered by her attentions and by her question which plainly directed me to proceed. She then bid me write in chapters and not endlessly-“all at a gabble,” as she said-and hence I did and so have built my narrative upon those early efforts.

At this time-so much have I condensed events in this chapter, not wishing to repeat myself-I had reached the age of seventeen and so my titties and my bottom, not to say my pouting slit, were truly worthier of all attentions. My stepmother had not added, however, to our entourage, saying that to do so would encourage laziness in myself and Sarah.

“I could bring men and maidens to you both, but I will not, for then you would be like fledgling birds forever feeding from their mother’s mouth and learning not to fly,” she told us one day, adding that she meant to hold a garden party, and so closely did she run her sentences together that I knew there to be a meaning in it. No sooner had I thought this than she went on: “The guests will be varied but carefully chosen. There will be no merriments, but you are to observe them closely. The rest I leave to you.”

“Shall we have some of them to stay, then?” Sarah asked carelessly.

“Most certainly not. Not, at least, until you have them trained. You must go afield in your endeavours.”

“Oh, I could not!” my sister exclaimed, “I would be too shy.”

“Would you really, Miss? You were not too shy to up your skirts last night. You must pay a penance, Sarah, for that remark and you will not be blindfolded on your next occasion but will gaze steadily into the eyes of your jockey the while he rides you. I will take no comment on that from you and no rebellions. Close your eyes but once and I will birch you afterwards until you really howl. That is understood?”

“Yes-oh, perfectly,” Sarah exclaimed, her face aflame, and rushed upstairs.

“There is no taming of her, Clara, but no matter. She must be driven more to boldness and will be so, for she ever tries to hide behind my skirts.”

“Well, she will come to it,” I replied vaguely, for my mind was rather on future events than a repetition of present ones and so I looked forward to the garden party muchly. Of my stepmother’s skill in compiling the guest list I will say this-that she chose with great cunning so that while there were many dullards among the arrivals there were a handful who offered what might be called possibilities. These, as came to me during a pleasant afternoon among the water ices, the strawberries and cream, comprised a young married couple of superior mien, and the local Vicar, his brother and his sister.

Of the married couple, the young woman was called Jennifer, or to give her her full names, Jennifer de Vere Lacey. She was patrician in features, of just above middling height and of some twenty-four years. Her figure was splendid, adorned as it was in a fashionable grey silk dress set off by a superb hat with feathers, flowers and ribbons. The buttons of her corsage spanned tightly down between her fulsome tits and I had a true mischief to see her eyes if of a sudden she were seized and the buttons were undone. As to her husband, he was foppish in appearance with a slightly drooping moustache and the clear skin of a woman. He shared her slenderness which boded well for his appearance when naked. Seeing me appraise them, my stepmother sidled up to me where I stood in the background beneath an elm tree and murmured, “Married couples can be quite fun, Clara.”

Before I could reply, and indeed wondered how she was able to read my thoughts, she had gone to move among the guests, I taking upon myself the role of a watcher. Occasionally I would circulate also to offer pleasantries and see to it that glasses were filled, for in this manner I could better judge the tonality of voices, the shades of expression in their eyes, the way they moved their bodies and their hands, and other things that told me much. In so doing I fastened upon Maude, the Vicar’s sister. She was at my guessing of about thirty years, possessing a superb bosom and a small waist, a pleasantly rounded face with full, slumbrous lips and a voice that spoke of timidity.

How strange that I should feel above them all, and yet I did, yet I was as the donkey between two bales of hay and could not choose until my stepmother-sensing my indecision-murmured to me that Maude would be the easier.

“Why do you think so?” I asked.

“She is a spinster. Think what she must privately suffer in the caves of torment, thinking of cocks and balls and believing herself to be cast aside by life. I know her type. She will have beautiful plump thighs and a very well-furred nest that oftimes seeps desire within her drawers. See to it that they come off, Clara.”

“How?” I began, but she was off again, and wisely so for I would never have moved on my own without this urging and prodding of hers. Thus it came about that I inveigled my way into the good graces of Maude and was soon enough to be found visiting the Vicarage. There I learned the true relationship of the trio, for Maude and her younger brother, Vivian, had been adopted in infancy by the Vicar’s parents. The Vicar, being named Edwin, received me with a kindness which attached itself visually, as I noticed, as much to the lower half of my being as to my upper. Even so I passed a first frustrating afternoon for Vivian, being somewhat shy, though in his twenty-fifth year, seemed to me a perfect subject as I thereafter told my stepmother.

“Bide your time. Cultivate them. Things do not happen in a flash unless one has them well immured in one’s own household,” she told me. “Have patience. Maude is ripe to be mounted and will become, I do not doubt, a secret worshipper at the altar of Priapus. Get well into her good graces, that is the first thing. Affect piety, if you must. Become affectionate and you will learn how to turn her.”

The challenge thus being presented to me, I spurned it not, and indeed intended to win my spurs, for if I retreated from the challenge of this trio then I would be hard put to test myself again. To get into another friendly female’s bedroom is never difficult and this I first obtained by saying that I much desired to help her brush her hair. The afternoon was sultry and much suited to my intent. Being flattered that I had become so loving of her and evidently an admirer, this Maude let me do. When I unpinned her hair I found it lustrous and full and, she being seated before her mirror, I lifted it and ran my fingers through it with a sigh while meeting the reflection of her eyes.

“Why do you sigh, Clara?” she asked innocently-if, that is, any woman can put a question innocently.

“I want to cuddle you,” said I and in so saying let my hands fall beneath her arms so that my fingers came just under the heavy bulging of her tits. Colouring not a little, she could not bring herself to ask what I was at, save to ask awkwardly and with a little laugh, “Do you? How loving you are! Why do you?”

“Because you feel nice,” I responded and with much boldness passed my palms full up under her heavy gourds and felt their fleshiness and weight, at which she blushed.

“Clara, you should not,” she said thickly, but a measure of excitement already pulsed in me.

“Are you not told that you feel nice?” I whispered and moved my lips about her neck which I had bared by raising up her hair.

“There is no one to tell me,” she uttered and then herself gave a deep sigh as I more openly fondled her breasts and felt her nipples stir.

“They are too discreet and shy, are they not?”

“Oh? Who?” was her response, but her face was suffused. She began to breathe heavily as my fingertips kneaded her proud gourds with more and more insistence. I soothed her forehead then as one might a child’s and felt it damp with excitement. An intense thrill ran through me, for I knew I had stirred her and that she was loathe to rise. Her stool being of the swivel type, I turned her about so that she came to half face me. Without hesitation I swooped my lips full upon hers and, swiftly gathering up her skirt, felt first her rounded knees and then her thighs, the skin of which was lustrous, silky, smooth.

“I know not who admires you most, Maude-Edwin or Vivian-for their eyes become haunted at the sight of your swaying hips, the bulging of your breasts, your…”

“St… st… stop it!” she moaned and made to twist her mouth away, but having tasted her saliva and passed a little of my own into her mouth, we were closer than she knew. “How can you speak this way, Clara, it is sinful. Oh! what are you at? Oh goodness, no!”

I had dropped to my knees and, her skirt being already raised, plunged my face between her thighs while all too late she endeavoured to clamp them together.

“Stop! I will not permit it!” she moaned, yet even so I managed to lever her thighs apart and, scenting the muskiness and feminine odours that lay between, moved my mouth up to her crotch where, beneath her drawers, I felt the mounding of her bush. I pressed to it and sought the lips between, pressing the cotton there to feel her moisture. “HAAAAR! Clara! You cannot!” she choked. “Oh! I have never done this before! Please stop!”

One knows it when a woman means such or does not. The slight perspiration twixt her fleshy thighs excited me. A screech from her and I had found the bow-ties of her drawers.

“Oh-ho, Clara, no!”

“How I love you,” I murmured from my furry haven there. Already my tongue had moistened the strip of cloth sufficiently to let me feel her lovelips in their splendour. Her hands beat feebly at my shoulders and yet I felt her weaken. Groping blindly up her hips, I loosed her nether garment so that it sagged about her seat.

I remember ever to this day her strange soft cries of hope and yet despair. Smaller than she, yet I managed to draw her up, wherewith her drawers fell to her ankles, cramped her steps, and with a low cry she fell upon the bed. Then like a small tigress I was upon her. Her gurgled sobs, her moans, went all for naught. Little as she would seeming have me do, I bared her to her waist and found her nest with urgent lips and tongue until she wilted, quivered and lay still.

“Maude dear, you have come,” I said proudly while she stared at me with hazy and apparently unseeing eyes. Her bush was sprinkled with her own dew and my saliva, the clump of dark hairs glistening and the rolled lips of her slit most moving to see.

“Wh… wh… what have you d… d… done to me?” she cried and buried her face in her hands.

“Something pleasant, something sweet,” I laughed and forced her mouth to mine and kissed her deep. “Did you not like it? Oh, do not pretend you did not, for we all do.”

Her long tongue engaged mine at that. For some reason my words appeared to stir her, perhaps because she had desired for so long for someone to say those very words to her, though I believe she would have denied it.

“But how young you are!” she murmured, startled at her own boldness, yet continuing to allow me to peck upon her lustrous lips. I knew her then for mine and stroked her bush with seeking fingers that found her oiled innerness and perked her lovespot up until it quivered like a little penis. “I have never been sinful,” she exclaimed softly in wonderment.

“You silly, why not? And besides, that is only a word. Oh, do keep your legs open for I want to teach you to.” “Why, you naughty thing!” she giggled but being more at ease now and with a little puffiness in her face which showed that she wanted to come again, she permitted me to caress her and stirred her bottom luxuriously as I did so.

“I shall make you naughty,” I replied, and before she could reply slipped my tongue within her mouth anew, rolling it all around her own until she trembled and clutched me and spilled her salty juices to my hand. Being well oiled between her thighs by then, I glided my hand under the heavy bulge of her naked bottom and inquired the tip of my forefinger gently around her puckered rosette, making her jump. Indeed, she tried to evade my finger there but I would not have it and, thrusting one leg over hers, kept her pinned, though ever with a saucy smile upon my face which fully disarmed her.

“N… n… no, not there!” she mumbled, but her mouth was ever now receptive to my own.

“And why not, pray, if it is nice there. I will make you wriggle, Maude, I will!”

“Oh-woh!” she choked, for I had slipped the tip of my finger in and held it so. “That is m… m… more wicked, Clara,” she gasped.

“Is it?” I smiled, for she was all of a wonder that I knew so much and would do so much at my age, yet this very fact intrigued her and perhaps brought her on more quickly than if I had been a full-grown woman. “I do not think you know yet what is nice and what is not,” I chided her, though lovingly. Her mouth was open and she breathed gently through her nostrils while my finger eased within her orifice to the first knuckle.

“Oh, Clara, t… t… take it out!”

“I will not. You have to learn. Has not Edwin at least fondled your bottom ever?”

“My goodness, no! The things you say! Such improprieties can never be.”

A sudden urge came over me at such doltishness and I sprang upon her in such wise that before she knew my intent I was perched with my legs on either side of her shoulders facing her, my skirt up and my knickerless state hovering but inches above her eyes.

“Lick me, Maude!” I demanded. Placing my hands beneath her neck I drew her face up until her lips splurged underneath my quim whose moisture of excitement bubbled to her mouth. For a brief moment she spluttered and would have struggled, but I held her firm, for my posture allowed me so to do, and in a trice had my cunny warm upon her mouth. “Your tongue, Maude!” I insisted. She hesitated for an instant, but the effluvia of my pouting sex already enflamed her nostrils and with a muffled sigh she drove her tongue within so that I squirmed and rubbed my honeypot all about until her lips and chin were oiled.

To demand and to receive is ever exciting. I tightened my stockinged knees to her head. She slurped and choked and slurped again, her tongue ever working like a small snake within me so that when I spilled I salted both her nostrils and her mouth, but kept her under for a longer moment in defiance until I felt her more submissive and finally eased myself up from her very slowly as though defying her to move.

She did not, but wiped her mouth and gazed at me, all words lost and thoughts a-tumble.

“Wait!” I commanded sharply and with that stood up and smoothed down my skirt. I wanted to see if she would wait. It was needful for her to, though she did not then know that. Going to the bathroom-for I had learned my way about the Vicarage-I brought a flannel, dipped it in her jug beside her bed and laved her face, soothing her with words and brushing back her hair. Almost like a doll she lay while then I sat her up, her drawers all pendant at her ankles still.

“N… n… no one will know, Clara?”

“Know? What is to know?” I turned about and gazed down from the window. We were alone in the house; my purpose was suited admirably. “You are no less than you were, nor I. Indeed we have gained, Maude. What sin or loss is there in that?”

“I do not know. I believe we have been wicked.”

So fretting she drew up her drawers, I hearing the sound of her movement but not turning, for it is as well to dismay one’s subjects a little in the beginning, and indeed occasionally to do so thereafter.

“You will not tell, Clara?” Her voice was a silly quaver.

“Tell Edwin or Vivian that I have had your drawers down? Do you not think they have removed them themselves with their eyes before this? Have they not seen in their hot minds the cleavage of your cheeks beneath your skirts, the valley deep between your splendid breasts?”

“Ha! No! You must not say that!”

“Indeed, why not, for it is the truth. Would they otherwise be men? A prick well wrapped in linen, hidden up, is still a prick, my dear.”

“Oh, the things you say! I had never thought to hear the like of it!”

I turned. My eyes were sultry and yet not forgiving of her words. “I have pleasured you, Maude, and you have pleasured me. If our cunnies were not meant to be tickled, would they have been made so? How your clitty budded when I fingered you! Will you deny the work of Nature so and its rich promise of eternal bliss?”

“You have me all about with my mind and I know not what to think.”

I giggled and deliberately changed the mood. Impulsively I kissed her once again. “It was nice, though,” I declared, “and shall be again, for I mean you not to fall again into your old and dried-up ways among the musty books and household chores.”

Even so, my apparent confidence was confounded by what I might do next. True, I could have asked my stepmother, but pride held me from doing so and, upon my return home she tactfully asked me nothing, save in mischief to say (and perhaps to test my mood), “Do you want to be put up this evening?”

She adored seeing me being plugged or corked and ever said that I looked prettier than Sarah with my smaller and even tighter bottom rounded up and back well-dipped and jiggling of my tits as the plunger worked me.

“No,” I said moodily and retired early, there to think, though it got me nowhere and I felt myself the architect of my own frustrations. I had arranged to see Maude the next day and she had not dissented-indeed was ready for more, I believe, provided she could be “forced” to. By some instinct, however-and such, as I now believe, as fate fashions for us-I went not to the Vicarage straight away but took my own pony and trap to the church. Why I did so I cannot explain save that it was indeed “kismet,” or fate, as my stepmother afterwards opined.

Leaving my pony tethered and grazing by a tree, I walked slowly to the doors and looked all about but could neither see nor hear anyone and so thought my aimless journey wasted. Nevertheless, I ventured within, endeavouring not to let the big door latches clang or squeak, and passed down the nave. As I did so a sound came to me and I halted, rather breathless in my daring.

“Ah! Oh, sir!” I heard and the voice was that of a boy and not a girl. “Hoo-hoo! It is too big!” then came to me and with my innocence long lost the full import of those words struck me like a knell.

I tiptoed forward, hearing as I did a certain grunting and then a voice I knew well to be Edwin’s.

“Ha! my sweet boy, is it not nice, not juicy, firm? Do you not like it?”

My cheeks reddened. The youth, whoever he was, choked and moaned. I heard the slap of flesh to flesh. Even my neck felt enflamed for there is nothing that I abhor more than congress between males, and this I instinctively knew was afoot. The sounds of lust were all about. Stiffening my resolve, though I wished not to see what I must see, I passed along and opened a side door. There truly did all wickedness meet my eyes. I would fain not describe it save that the untrousered youth was bent over a desk and Edwin’s corker well plunged up his nether parts. In my carelessness, however, the iron ring of the handle slipped my grasp and sounded sharp against the door. Edwin’s head jerked up. Full-flushed as his visage was, his eyes encountered mine, his cock stopped working. It sufficed. Quick as a flash I closed the door, was gone, and-running madly-sought my own retreat.

That he would not, dare not, follow I felt certain and so, despite my trepidation (which in truth was anger, well disguised), I gained the trap and quick rode off towards the Vicarage and the waiting Maude.