First training

CHAPTER EIGHT

For the next few days Sarah avoided me as much as possible and spoke coolly to me only when necessary. When I mentioned this to my stepmother-who was equally distant with her-she waved her hand airily and said, “She will learn.”

“When shall I?” I asked pertly, making her laugh.

“Do you want to?” was her response, and we both knew what was meant. I was torn for a reply and she, seeing this, asked, “Who with?” Again I could not bring myself to answer.

Finally I blurted out, “I want to. Like Clarissa.”

“How grown up you are in all reality, Clara! I mean to take you by the hardest route now, for nothing else will suffice. So far you have obeyed me. Do you promise to continue to do so?”

I nodded, being eager to please, though little knew my fate.

“What a pity,” she went on, “that Sarah has proved recalcitrant and quite unexciting, though I mean to get her over the hump. It brings me to a solution I did not yet intend, but sooner or later the full circle must be drawn. So long as it remains incomplete then we cannot draw other females and male serfs into the arena. You understand what I am saying, Clara?

For a full minute my mind remained blank, then as some intimation came to me of what she meant by completing the circle, I swallowed and stared at her and my lips quavered.

“It will be all right, you know,” she said gently.

“B… b… but… Sarah,” I blurted.

“She has been difficult, hasn’t she, but she will soon get over it. There is nothing nicer in all the world than bringing all together and having things nice and trim. One day you will wish to make your own way in such matters and I shall not impede you. You will see then even better how necessary it is to have free rein and not to have forever to arrange the training of young ladies and, of course, of males behind closed doors. The sense of freedom you will obtain will be infinite. You will, as a sage said, wear life like an old cloak.”

Until then perhaps it had all seemed to me like a bizarre game, but now it was clear that her intent was wholly serious.

It was at this time mid-morning and I had seen nothing of Robert whose manner remained pleasingly dutiful and quiet to us both. Upon asking where he was-which I did partly to distract my thoughts-my stepmother gave a mischievous grin and replied,

“I believe Bertha has made him ready. Come upstairs with me:”

On the stairs we passed Bertha who gave my stepmother a nod as if to say that all was well and then passed down. “You are going to milk him,” then was said to me and with trembling excitement I followed along the upper hallway and together we entered his room.

There to my profound astonishment he sat upon his bed attired in a chemise that I recognised as one of Sarah’s-a rather pretty blue one with white lace at the hem and neckline-stockings and shoes. His hair had been well brushed and there was rouge both upon his cheeks and on his lips which doubtless Bertha had applied. At our entrance he sprang up, the flurrying movement of his feminine garment betraying the gathered legs of a pair of white batiste drawers around his thighs.

“Robert! How sweet you look!” our stepmother cooed while he stood awkwardly with hands to his sides and blushed to see me regarding him. “Does he not?” came then and the door was firmly closed. While I scarcely knew whether or not to nod, she snapped to my brother to hold his head up well and stand in the centre of the floor the better that “she” could be inspected, as she said. So shuffling forward-and being then reprimanded for not stepping more daintily-Robert presented himself the better and gazed past me at the door. “The sweet thing is not yet fully accustomed to her new attire, but soon will be. Do you not like the feel of stockings up your legs, Roberta?”

“I d… d… do not m… m… mind,” stammered he.

“Do not mind indeed! Why they are lovely and of the finest silk. Feel up under her chemise to feel her garters, Clara!”

I would have blushed myself had I not now known better, but knew I must put a boldness on in front of him. Besides, being slim of figure and having a remarkably smooth skin, my brother indeed did look sweet, though his toes moved uneasily in the tight feminine shoes. Steeling myself and not without an intense fluttering of excitement, I approached close to him and ran my hand up beneath the lacy hem of the chemise, causing him of course to tremble. I felt the ridge of his stocking tops, the ruffling of the garters and then the warm skin rising up above.

“Go on, Clara. See if he is hard. I know you want to.”

My fingers crept like spiders to their prey. Robert jerked his hips but otherwise kept still and I knew that I was tickling him a little but could not help myself, so tentative at first my explorations were. The drawers being thin, I could feel first the heavy hang of his balls with my fingertips which felt all around and beneath them. My breathing sounded softly and I could feel my pulses racing as he stood passive under our stepmother’s eyes while I sought the stem of his prick.

“Yes,” I husked.

“Yes, what, Clara?”

“His prick is hard,” I managed to convey.

“The naughty thing, and one pair of drawers already wet in his excitement. Should she not be spanked?”

I giggled. Robert’s prick was thrusting out mightily through the soft cloth of his drawers and felt like a tentpole.

“As you said downstairs, Clara, a naughty girl does need to be. Turn her around and pull her drawers down. Make her bend over the bed!”

I thought Robert would resist, but he did not, though his eyes pleaded, but not entirely for salvation, I thought. Beneath the urging of my hands he turned full about and placed his palms upon the bed while I, flipping up his chemise with rising pleasure, untied his drawers and let them flutter down. In profile his penis was now to be seen at full stand.

“Now, Clara, stand to one side of him-that side, yes-and cup his balls firmly while I smack him.”

Robert’s gender seemed to change from moment to moment, but it did not matter. His plums nestled warmly on my palm, and heavily. I did not squeeze them, for some instinct told me not to, then heard his wincing cry as our stepmother’s hand landed SMACK! upon his bared bottom. Then came SMACK! again and I saw a glinting of tears come into his eyes which I divined were not entirely of pain. A pink hue showed on his white skin where her palm had blasted in.

“Now, Clara, hold his cock loosely. Ring it in your fingers and let it move back and forth while I spank him. He will come soon enough, far it stimulates as much as it stings, does it not, Roberta?”

“I d… d… don’t want to be a g… g… girl!”

It was his one protest, being followed by a howl and then a gasp as simultaneously our stepmother’s hand smacked in again on his out-rearing bottom and his stiff pego nestled in my warm hand. Ah, the ineffable thrill of holding it! I had little time for my thoughts, however, for I was constantly being instructed, and indeed taught.

“Your other hand under his chin. Hold it up, Clara. As for you, Roberta, it is not what you want, my girl, but what you are going to get. Some things will be quite nice for you provided you obey me.” Smack! Smack! Smack! “Is he throbbing well, Clara?”

“Oh, yes!” I gasped, for indeed he was, all the veins pulsing warmly to my skin and the knob shiny and emergent. My other palm formed a rest for his chin and held his gaze straight forward. With each SMACK! his hips of course jerked forward and thus the full length of his pego made a thrilling journey in between my ringing fingers.

I expected him to be smacked harder-perhaps naughtily I wished it so-but then of a sudden our stepmother ceased, opened a drawer while I held him still, and laid a large white kerchief on the bed beneath his prick.

“Milk him, Clara. He will not move. Work your fingers back and forth until he comes and Bertha will then take charge of him again.”

“Gooooo!” choked he, for no sooner had she spoken than I was eager to obey. That he was naughty-though I knew not in what way, and it did not matter-I convinced myself. It is easy so to do when one has experienced the overlording of the male. Many times in the past Robert had teased me and played awful jokes on me and now I was getting my own back. Stepmama moved away and watched, no doubt approvingly, for I had wilted not. My teeth set a little as I spurred him on and even, to her delight, murmured the words, “Come on, come on,” as though impatiently.

Naturally I felt his weapon throbbing all the more and tightened my grasp beneath his chin. How glorious it is to so subdue the male! How weak he looks when in a woman’s hands! His jaw sagged, impressing its weight upon my hand, and a mad, breathless sound came from his throat while his hips jerked the faster to my titillations. Then, taking two steps forward, our stepmother gave him two hard smacks indeed and with that he let out a cry and a helpless gasp, the engine of his tool seeming to expand in girth in my grasp as a long cannonade of sperm leapt from his knob, arced in the air and spattered down upon the waiting handkerchief, there to be joined by another and another while I-hotly observing his virility-madly wished it up within my quim. Again and again he spouted, his buttocks tightening visibly, my fingers being frothed with his spendings and his cock like a greasy pole.

“Feee-oooh!” he moaned and then the last spurt came and after it a dribbling as the thick drops fell.

“Leave him!” my stepmother commanded, and I learned again that after emission the male is not to be coddled except in special circumstances but is to understand that his duty is performed and that the attendant female or females have more important matters to attend to than his momentary satisfactions. Handing me then another kerchief, my stepmother saw to the wiping of my hands, which were pleasantly warm and sticky from his effusion. Robert remained bent over, not having been told to do other, though his legs trembled a little in the aftermath.

“Come, darling, shall we take some wine?” I was asked and thus we departed as smoothly as we had come. The door closing, my stepmother seized me and hugged me on the landing. “You liked it, Clara? You did?”

“Oh yes,” I responded hotly, and quite truthfully.

“You see, then, you have nothing to fear. They are all alike. In their hearts they adore to be subdued by us and some would give all the world to be, for it releases responsibility for their actions on to our shoulders and permits them often to do what is otherwise forbidden. Should they be punished then it is their joy to be so. Do you remember what I said to you about the little boy and the larder door?”

“Yes!” I responded gleefully and could scarce contain my excitement for I was now more fully converted than ever to her cause.

Putting her arm around me as we then went along to her room, my stepmother explained: “The naughty boy reaches for a cake or biscuit, although he has not asked if he might have it. Being apprehended by his Mama or perhaps his elder sister, he receives a smack on his bottom. Although it stings, he feels certain secret pleasure in the fleeting pain which serves to stir his cock a little. So he resolves to be naughty again, although he may not fully recognise the reasons for his actions. He wants to be smacked, you see, and his cocky to get hard, for he wishes it to be seen and taken hold of. Then he will be even naughtier and so progresses until his Mama or sister takes him more in hand, just as you have done with Robert.”

“I could not have done it on my own, though,” I confessed.

“What is to that? It will come in time and sooner than you think, Clara. Each step you take imbues more confidence in you. In time there will be no male whom you will be afraid to take in hand.”

“But as to girls…,” I began, for after her treatment of Sarah I was a little lost and had not got the jigsaw all together, as it were.

From her cabinet my stepmother took a flask of wine and poured two glasses. “As to girls, Clara, there are generally three sorts. Those like Clarissa who know their destiny and put themselves in due course to the cock while having the male believe that affairs are quite the other way around. Of course, it may take a while for they do not all have mentors such as myself. As matters progress, however, and as they come to a clearer understanding of their role, so they take the male or males in hand and reverse the quite unnatural order of things. Hence they are able to take charge of their domains. One must divine by instinct-such as you will slowly gather-whether a girl is such or whether she needs some sterner treatment. In Sarah’s case the latter obtains. She little knows that pride is one of her best possessions. It must be broken in order to make it whole again and stronger.”

I brooded on this a while as we drank and then she continued: “So you see, Clara, there are those who will themselves to destiny and others who are wilful and must be guided to it, however hard the path may seem. As to the third category I must confess to you that some females are born to be submissives. So be it, for they make excellent slaves and willing bedmates. The shy ones are quite delicious and ever wish themselves to be seduced. Now that you have had Robert’s prick in your hand and felt him come, which do you prefer-the male organ or the female tongue?”

“I like both,” I responded unthinkingly, and this pleased her.

“So it should be, my love. Such inclinations become a woman, for she then may take her pleasures as she will with either sex. What a delight it will be for me to tongue your cunny while you have a cock up your bottom.”

I rolled my eyes and could not imagine such a pleasure, though it was soon to be. Already I could feel the piston urging in me and longed for it as I did the agile lapping of her tongue.

“Shall I have to tie you?” she asked teasingly. Love showed as strongly in her eyes as ever I knew.

I laughed and felt quite choked up with excitement. “No, but you may smack me first for I shall feel very naughty,” said I.

“Once his cock is up you, you will feel more than that,” she replied solemnly and bore me back upon the bed. Our lips met in the hottest of kisses. Our tongues swam together. I parted my legs as her hand crept up beneath my skirt.

I knew well enough whose prick she meant.