Damsels in Distress (21 page)

‘Now, Sophie,’ the superintendent said, ‘your evening isn’t over, so no time for rest yet. It’s time for you to fellate Mr Peterson. Then you can see how well your tongue does on a lady, and after that I am going to bugger you.’

‘Ah, there you are, Sophie,’ Mrs Powell said, smiling amiably at her. ‘I’ll be wanting both you and Sharon this evening.’

‘Yes, Mrs Powell,’ Sophie responded, and the woman was gone as quickly as she’d appeared. Sophie shared a glance with Sharon, an elegant blonde, who looked rather nervous.

‘Will they want us to…?’ Sharon began, but faltered. She was still fairly new to the household and had only been to two of Mrs Powell’s parties.

‘Dance?’ Sophie finished for her. ‘Yes, they will. They always want us to dance.’

‘No, I meant—’

‘Yes,’ Sophie cut her off a little impatiently. ‘Yes, of course they will want to do that too.’ She thought with dread about the tawse and the awful scoring system, and then she thought about the ‘afters’ with an altogether different emotion. But before that she would have to perform. As time had gone on her scores improved, but she’d not yet been able to get her forfeit under twenty strokes. ‘They always want to indulge themselves in such ways, Sharon,’ she said in a more sympathetic tone, looking into the blonde’s anxious eyes. ‘But if I were you, I should worry more about the quality of your dancing.’

The sound of distant church bells broke into Eve’s reverie, and she wondered how long she’d been sitting there looking at the picture album. She looked at the clock and felt a fluttering in her tummy, a potent mixture of anxiety and excitement thrilling her. There was no putting it off any longer. It was time to get prepared.

First she took a shower, gasping with pleasure as the jets of hot water pummelled her naked body. Eve loved to shower and usually lingered, but today was the big day and time was running short, so she turned it off and quickly dried herself. Then naked she sat in front of the dressing table mirror and blow-dried her long golden hair. She wondered if she should have gone to a hairdresser to have it elegantly styled, but Ross loved it left free to fall in tresses around her shapely shoulders, and so did she.

It took time to dry and brush to shining perfection, and there was more urgency in her actions as she began to apply her make-up with customary skill. She kept it fairly simple; a touch of pale blue eye-shadow to compliment the deeper azure of her eyes and pick out the forget-me-nots in her bouquet, a touch of mascara to enhance her long eyelashes and just the merest hint of blusher. A sugar-pink shade of lipstick, matching her nail varnish, completed the job.

She stood and contemplated herself solemnly, lifting her firm, full breasts appraisingly. She tried to find fault, but she’d never been neurotic about such matters. In fact, Eve had to admit that her self-criticism was unfounded. The truth was that her figure looked pretty damned good.

‘Eve!’ a voice called from downstairs. ‘Eve, get a move on!’

The basque was in a flat box, wrapped in tissue paper, and she took it out almost reverently. It was delicate white lace and satin, and had cost a small fortune. Much too much to pay for just one day, however special, she thought with a guilty smile as she hooked the garment up and adjusted her breasts in the scalloped lace cups.

She took the flat packet of stockings from the drawer and snapped off the cellophane wrapper. They were pure white with deep lace tops. She smoothed them up her long legs and clipped them to the suspenders of the basque with a little difficulty; mounting nervousness was making her fingers clumsy, she realised.

One garter, white lace and blue satin; she pulled it up around her right thigh, then hurriedly slipped on the costly white silk knickers. Little fingerless lace gloves followed and, at last, she was ready for the dress.

She should have got Elaine to help her, she thought as she struggled to get into the thing. Fortunately the white silk creation was front fastening, otherwise she might have been there wrestling with rustling silk for the rest of the day.

‘Eve!’

‘Nearly ready!’

She had to run the brush through her hair again before she placed the veil over her head, then picking up the bouquet she allowed herself a last look at her reflection.

‘Wow,’ she said, astonished; the girl in the mirror really did look pretty damned fabulous, she had to admit. She might have been a model in a wedding magazine.

Ross shrugged off the jacket of his morning suit and placed it on the back of an upright chair. She watched him move with pleasure. He was ten years older than her, but very fit and tanned, six foot tall, with short dark hair.

If the bride was nervous, it was clear that the groom did not share the feeling. Indeed, Ross seemed positively relaxed. As she stood wondering what to do he poured himself a brandy and settled into a comfortable chair. Only then did he give her his attention. She found herself standing a little awkwardly in front of him as his dark brown eyes locked onto hers. He kept looking intently at her, until she began to blush.

‘That really is a beautiful dress, Eve,’ he said at last, slowly swirling the brandy around in the glass. ‘But now it’s time to take it off.’

She could feel her cheeks glowing. Eve had known, of course, that this would be part of the bargain, but she had not expected this moment to come so soon. She looked at the window with something close to alarm. It was still light outside. It was not even time to go to bed.

‘Please…’ she began, but her voice wavered, the look of displeasure in his eyes stopping her short.

‘You have already kept me waiting once today.’ His voice had become a low, menacing growl. ‘I really would not advise doing so again.’

It seemed she had no choice, so blushing furiously she began to undo the dress with trembling fingers. He watched from the chair sipping his brandy, making no move to help.

‘Put it over there, that’s right, now come and stand in front of me,’ he said, quietly but firmly. ‘I want to look at you.’ She could not have explained why, but she found his insistent tone more difficult to disobey than any bellowed order could have been. His strength and air of authority were a part of what had attracted her to Ross in the first place. Now that authoritative aura seemed to hold her in its spell.

Still blushing uncontrollably Eve did as she was told, and feeling an intoxicating mixture of excitement and embarrassment, stood awkwardly in her bridal lingerie before her husband, who calmly sat and contemplated her from his chair.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you to cover yourself. Keep your hands at your sides, please Eve, I want to look at you.’

‘Please, Ross…’ she managed timorously, wishing she could control her furious blushing.

‘What was it you said at the wedding ceremony?’ he demanded, a touch of real anger in his voice. ‘I thought you vowed to honour and obey.’

Eve bit her lip. It was true. However embarrassed she might be, she must honour her vows. Reluctantly she took her hands away from her lace-cupped breasts, horribly aware that the white filigree did little to veil her nipples, which for some reason seemed to have become startlingly erect. Somehow she forced her trembling fingers to her sides.

Ross took a sip of brandy and perused her with unhurried but all too evident relish. Eve found it almost unbearable to stand and be appraised in such a way. She felt like a harem slave, displayed for the pleasure of some eastern potentate. It was too much and she felt she must protest.

‘Please, Ross…’ she began again, but her husband raised a finger and frowned.

‘No,’ he said, quietly but firmly, ‘I do not want you to speak. I want you to be quiet. Now, my girl, come closer.’

She looked at the beckoning finger, and then hesitantly moved to him, feeling hypnotised, somehow powerless to rebel, until she stood so close that her stockinged leg almost touched his suited knee, so close that she could smell the heady scent of expensive brandy in his glass, so close that she could hear her husband breath. He reached out a tanned hand and gripped her lace-encased thigh, just above her knee, and she could not help whimpering in response to his firm, almost painful grip.

‘Be quiet and be still,’ he ordered, stroking the stockinged flesh with evident relish, Eve trying, with limited success, to control the trembling his caressing hand provoked.

‘Turn around.’

Eve did, and gasped as he patted her silk-sheathed bottom.

‘Now Eve, I want you to place your hands behind your neck.’

She did as she was told, and his hand continued to caress her bottom.

‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘You have a truly lovely bum, Eve, and it feels so nice in these silk knickers that I could touch it all day, so it is almost a pity that they have to come down now.’

What did he mean to do next? Her heart was hammering as she felt him slip his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and ease them down to her stocking tops. She was desperate to find out his intentions, but following his firm instruction to be silent she did not dare ask.

‘I am going to spank you now, Eve,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts.

‘Sp-spank me…?’ The statement was so outrageous that for a moment she quite forgot herself.

‘Shhhh…’ His hand was back on her bare bottom, fondling the soft cheeks possessively. ‘You made me wait. I do not like to be kept waiting. I want you to understand that, so I intend to spank you before we go to bed. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said softly, for there seemed to be nothing else to say.

‘All right,’ his hand was still cupping her bare behind, ‘I want you to get over my knee.’

‘Oh please… Ross… sir,’ she stumbled. ‘This really isn’t necessary… ow!’

Her husband chuckled as he pinched her, but when he spoke his voice remained commanding. ‘I will decide what is necessary,’ he stated. ‘Now, I really do suggest that you do as I say without question.’

Not daring to disobey him further, Eve apprehensively lowered herself onto his lap and felt a hand clasp her waist, feeling the warmth of his fingers through the satin and lace of her basque. She could feel something else, too – something rigid beneath Ross’s trousers, pressing against her flank as he held her.

‘Such a sweet bottom,’ he said. ‘My own honey moons.’ He chuckled at his own pun and smacked her gently. Eve held her breath with trepidation, quite unable to share in his amusement, the anticipation becoming unbearable.

Then the stroking stopped and the only sound in the room was the previously unheard clock, as she waited for his hand to sweep viciously down.

Smack
! Eve gave a gasp of relieved tension and felt the heat start to suffuse her left buttock.

Smack
! Another solid spank bounced off her right cheek.

The next smack stung the bare back of her upper left thigh, taking her a little by surprise. She couldn’t stop herself wriggling, and felt her husband’s restraining hand on her waist grip tighter as another slap impacted on her right thigh.

‘Be quiet and stop squirming,’ he admonished, the latter in particular being an order she struggled to obey, her bottom glowing, every new smack making her writhe helplessly in response, the relentless sensuality of the punishment stronger than the spell of his authority.

‘This is to teach you that you are mine now,’ he told her. ‘Rings and churches are all very well, but for you and me this is the real ceremony.’ More solid spanks rained down on her bottom to punctuate his words and Eve tried not to cry or wriggle, but it was just too much, too intense to lie still and endure. Her bottom was really stinging, and every new smack made her yelp with pain.

‘Please Ross, ow!’ she babbled helplessly as her husband spanked her bare bottom with skill and obvious relish. ‘Please I’m, ow! I’m sorry for keeping you, ow, waiting. I promise I won’t do it again.’

At last he stopped, but by now her bottom cheeks were glowing, and in truth the sensation was more pleasurable than really painful.

‘I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Eve,’ Ross said, his voice sounding less assured and authoritative. In fact, he seemed more than a little hoarse. ‘I know it’s still early, but I think we should go to bed now.’

‘Was it good?’ he asked sleepily.

‘Yes, Ross,’ she replied, embraced in his arms, ‘it was great.’

Reluctantly she disentangled herself from his embrace.

‘Stay,’ he said.

‘I’m not going anywhere, silly,’ she replied, undoing her basque. ‘This thing just gets a bit uncomfortable after a while.’ She smiled at the little boy pout he put on. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said with a wicked grin, ‘tomorrow is a bank holiday Monday. If you like I’ll put the whole lot on again.’

He laughed. ‘Funny to think that some girls only wear their wedding dresses once,’ he said. ‘What a tragic waste.’

‘Hm,’ she mused, ‘I’m only worried that mine is going to wear out, the amount of use it gets.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said with an adoring smile, ‘if it does I’ll buy you another one.’

He kept his eyes on her as she unclipped the suspenders of the basque and put the lace confection to one side. Then kneeling on the bed she felt her bottom; there was still a perceptible glow of heat against her palm.