Babala's Correction (11 page)

Now the woman was here, standing before Babala in the kitchen where she had been so used and humiliated, and where she was held fast on the smacking stool, her bottom raised high and glowing red from its treatment by Rata. Babala tried to close her thighs to hide her sex folds and Rata's copious juices, but the smacking stool was so designed that it would not allow her to hide that part of her body. No matter how she wriggled and squirmed she was held fast by the gripping cup about her tummy.

‘Get on with your work,' Desilla ordered, ‘or it will be the worse for you... all of you!' The cooks and maids scattered and pretended to be busy with their chopping and kneading of pastry.

Desilla stood over Babala. Shiny black leather boots, thought the girl. She hadn't worn those in the portrait, but dainty pumps such as ladies wore for dancing. Babala raised her head, straining her neck to observe the rest of Desilla's outfit, but was rewarded by a pain that made her arch her back in an attempt to escape the smacking stool's clutches and bite her lip until she tasted blood to mute the scream of agony that rose in her throat.

‘Stare at
me
, would you, you little strumpet? screamed Desilla. ‘How
dare
you?'

This time Babala saw the many-stranded lash as it rose through the air. It seemed to move in slow motion and she tensed as she anticipated the pain upon her already tortured bottom. It was worse than anything she had experienced before. It was like cuts with many red-hot knives slicing across the tender flesh of her raised and vulnerable bottom.

‘Oh, please madam!' she begged.

‘More? You want more?' said Desilla in a husky voice. ‘That's good. I like a girl with spirit.'

Babala heard giggles coming from the darkest corners of the kitchen and knew it was the other maids laughing at her distress. ‘No, madam,' she managed. ‘If it pleases you, madam...'

Desilla knelt before her and Babala could see more clearly what the woman wore. It was a very fine black leather tunic; short, reaching only to the very top of her shapely thighs. The boots were long and the cuffs chafed the woman's full pussy lips at every movement. These, the cunny lips, were darkly bushed like the Lady Fazath's, but where her thighs met them the skin was cleanly shaven, seeming to make the cunny lips stand out more prominently.

‘Well, girl,' Desilla said huskily. ‘Do you like what you see? For you will be seeing it very intimately in a moment or two.'

The kitchen maids working in the shadows giggled again, but Babala blushed and hung her head. She had not meant to stare at Desilla's cunny. It was just that she could hardly help it with the woman crouching so close and almost thrusting it into her face.

‘I think those pretty lips of yours will fit very nicely about my cunt; will do delicious things between my open thighs, but for the time being you can remain clutched in the smacking stool.' She looked about the kitchen and frowned. ‘Rata, come here! You've had your fun with this girl and now you can do something for me.'

‘Yes, mistress.' Rata was almost grovelling as he hurried over to do the mistress's bidding. ‘How may I serve you? Perhaps give the girl another taste of your splendid lash?'

‘You can leave that to me,' said Desilla, her words shrill with suppressed anger. ‘Bring me a cushion so I do not have to sit upon this filthy and cold floor while the girl services me.'

‘Indeed, mistress, at once.'

‘And make sure it is made of something soft... velvet or cool satin,' Desilla called as Rata hurried away.

‘When you have serviced me to my satisfaction I have all manner of treats for you, my dear,' the woman continued, turning her attention back to Babala, her voice dripping honey. ‘What do you say to that?'

‘I am very grateful, madam,' the girl said humbly.

‘And so you should be.' A shadow appeared by their side; Rata, head bowed in submission and a black satin pillow held out in front of him.

‘Idiot!' screamed Desilla. ‘If I had wanted black I would have given you strict orders for black, would I not?'

Rata looked cowed. ‘I-I suppose you would, madam,' he agreed, in a quavering voice.

Desilla rose to her feet, her strong legs parted to steady her, and lashed out at Rata with her whip, striking him on his broad shoulders. At least, thought Babala ruefully, he wore a tunic to save the full smart of the blow, whereas her bottom caught the full wrath of the wicked instrument.

‘Bring me something pretty, something which will show off my cunt to the full as this girl services it with her tongue.' Desilla dismissed him with a wave of her hand and bent to crouch before Babala once more. She wagged a warning finger at her young charge.

‘I want this done diligently, young miss,' she said. ‘You understand that, don't you?'

‘Oh yes, mistress,' said Babala. Hadn't she received the same instructions from the Lady Fazath those long days ago in the forest before the guards caught them?

‘Gentle caresses with your tongue and lips,' Desilla went on, ‘and you must not mind if the cooks and maids gather round. I enjoy an audience when my cunny is being serviced. It makes it more exciting, you understand?'

‘Yes, mistress,' answered Babala, already shaking in the clutches of the smacking stool at the task ahead of her. She knew that if she did not pet Desilla's cunny to her satisfaction it would be the worse for her; that she would feel the lash on her bottom and shoulders until they were raw.

‘Ah, here comes Rata with my cushion,' Desilla gushed delightedly, clapping her hands.

Rata bowed and held out a plump satin cushion the colours of which were like jewels - emerald, sapphires, ruby and topaz. They seemed to shimmer and meld into one until Babala blinked her eyes at the brilliance of them.

‘That's better, Rata,' Desilla cooed. ‘Now place it on the floor in front of the girl and make sure it is close to her so we are in a position nice and close to each other.'

‘Yes, mistress,' said Rata, bowing obsequiously, and Babala caught a glimpse of his cock as he bent in front of her. It was stiff and upright under the short tunic and he grinned at her, surreptitiously rubbing it as he placed the cushion in position before Desilla.

‘I saw you, Rata,' the woman warned, as she positioned herself on the cushion. ‘But I am prepared to ignore your randy little ways on this occasion, you wretch. Now get on with your work.'

Rata bowed deeply as he walked backwards away from the imperious woman, but grinned wickedly at Babala.

Desilla spread her legs, lifting the short leather tunic to give Babala a full view of her flat and muscular stomach and neatly trimmed bush. ‘Can you reach my fleshpot, my dear?' she asked. ‘Or shall I move closer?'

Babala looked at the pouting outer sex leaves, which framed a flushed cunny, and knew the woman was intensely excited. ‘Just a little nearer,' she said submissively, stroking her tongue around her lips to moisten them for the task ahead.

Desilla lifted her knees and spread them outwards, giving Babala full access to her cunny. She leaned back on her elbows, her eyes heavy with anticipation of the joys to come.

‘You may pet my bottom hole, my dear,' said Desilla, as though bestowing a great favour upon Babala, ‘but make sure you do this when you have fully serviced my cunt.'

‘Yes, mistress,' said Babala.

Tongue generously coated with saliva, Babala touched Desilla's clitty with the very tip and stroked the pouting outer leaves of her flesh pouch.

‘Not like that!' Desilla was incensed with fury. She sat up and fumbled for the lash, which she had placed behind her head. ‘Stupid girl! What do you think I am - a piece of china that will break at the slightest touch?' The woman arched her arm back and the long strands of the lash beat upon Babala's tortured bottom, making her strain and mew with pain.

‘Oh, I am so sorry, madam!' she managed, trying desperately to catch her breath, which seemed to be beaten from her by the lash. ‘I shall try to do better!'

‘Not try, girl!' Desilla spat. ‘Do! Do! Understand?' She was already repositioning herself before Babala, legs spread and knees raised, but she kept the lash loosely clasped in her long fingers, ready to beat the girl given the slightest excuse.

‘Yes, madam,' Babala whimpered, swallowing a sob, for she knew that sobs would simply anger Desilla more.

‘Now lick me, girl,' ordered the woman, ‘tenderly but firmly. Lick my clitty; go deeply into my opening as if your tongue was a little cock, stiff and thrusting. Do you think you can do that?' This last was said as if Desilla was speaking to someone lacking in normal intelligence.

‘Yes, madam,' whispered Babala, her voice quivering with trepidation. She raised her head to look at the woman. More than handsome, she was almost beautiful with her raven hair and her dark eyes gleaming with pent-up lust. Her lips were full and red, although this was natural rather than painted with carmine, as some aristocratic women were wont to do in Brentasi. They curved and parted in a sensual smile as her free hand entangled itself in Babala's hair, urging her to bury her pretty face into the openness of her cunt.

The woman's musk was strong, but not unpleasant. Babala licked the underside of her clitty stem, which was long and engorged. She heard Desilla moan in ecstasy and transferred her petting to the tip, which was bared and the hood drawn back. At the same time she thrust a trembling middle finger into the woman's pulsing cunny.

‘Two fingers, my precious,' Desilla instructed, ‘or even three, but do not make me come too soon. Make my pleasure last, or...' she thrashed the stone floor with the whip, making Babala start and lose the rhythm of her licking. Instantly the tips of the leather strands swept down upon her bottom, making her mew into the liquid softness of Desilla's cunt.

With trembling fingers Babala thrust into the soft and welcoming cunny, and felt those fingers clutched by the woman's muscular fleshpot.

‘Hm, that feels delicious, my darling,' murmured Desilla. ‘Just slow down the licking, but make sure you lap from the base of my stem to the very tip. No quick side-to-side little smacks with that lovely tongue of yours.'

Desilla began to shudder and Babala knew she was very close to her orgasm. Her cunny was saturated with juices that glazed Babala's cheeks and chin.

‘Slow down,' Desilla said hoarsely. ‘You must slow down. I do not wish you to make me come so soon. Stop it this instant...' The whip lashed Babala's shoulders but the blow was weak, without strength, and was a mere tickle compared to those that went before.

Babala stopped her petting and stroked Desilla's smooth buttocks in an almost tender fashion. The woman's breathing slowed, but Babala became aware of the audience that had gathered and the murmurs that grew in volume as the moments passed.

‘She will have you opening her rear hole before you know it,' said Rata.

‘Yes!' exclaimed a girl, pretty as a picture and no older than Babala. ‘That's what she did to me, but she tires of the new girls very quickly.'

Babala felt her cheeks flush and burn scarlet that she should be placed in such a humiliating position.

‘How dare you talk of me in such a fashion?!' Desilla lashed about the watchers with her whip and they staggered back, holding their hurts and cringing at their owner's anger. ‘I am mistress of this castle and I own every one of you!'

The watchers scuttled away to their duties and Desilla and Babala were again alone.

‘Lick me again, my sweet,' ordered Desilla. ‘But this time as I begin my orgasm touch your tongue to my rear hole, but then touch the pulsing little rose with your finger until it is drawn in by my convulsing.'

Babala could not help wondering how she would know these exact moments; how she would know when to lick and when to finger. ‘How...? she began, a curious frown on her flushed face.

‘Oh, come now,' Desilla's face wore a wry and sarcastic smirk. ‘Come now, don't pretend that you have no knowledge of such matters. My husband, the Slavemaster, gave me to understand that you are well-versed in such matters.' She lay back, resting on one elbow and stroking her open flesh pouch with the soft strands of the whip. ‘What was the word he used?' She made a pretence at frowning. ‘Used? Yes, that was it...
used
. Fit for nothing except a whore house or this kitchen where the cooks can use you as they wish.'

Babala bowed her head to hide the spots of scarlet that blossomed on her cheeks. How could she help it if the guards used her day after torturous day? She had been too weak to defend herself and the Lady Fazath was bonded to the cave wall. ‘I did not intend to—'

‘But you did, didn't you?' Desilla mocked, waving the whip that now smelled so strongly of her musk. ‘But we waste time. You know what I want of you and I want it now.'

Once again Babala began to lick, her petting firm, just as Desilla desired. The fingering, too, seemed to please the mistress of the castle for she groaned and shuddered, pressed her cunny closer and closer to Babala's smeared mouth.