Maid Service (30 page)

“Am I right in thinking you could do with some assistance for this business with Lord Bearslake?” Stephen asked.

“Very possibly,” Peter replied. “I haven't thought through all the permutations yet, but we're going to have to be very careful.”

“You can count on me for support,” Stephen assured him. “Financial or otherwise. I need to make a booking too, Clemmie probably. I need somebody tough.”

“Why's that?”

“Kralj has taken a liking to English corporal punishment. He wants to beat Vivienne.”

“Are you're not going to let him?”

“No. I spank her occasionally, and she quite likes it as long as I'm not too rough. But she couldn't handle six-of-the-best, let alone what Kralj wants to dish out. After the party I made the mistake of telling him about the birch, and you know what a cold, sadistic bastard he is. He didn't even get his cock out with Felicity, did he. But I'm sure he came in his pants while he was beating her. That wasn't enough for him, though, because she got off on it too.”

“Isn't that the whole point?”

“Not for him. He wants a girl who's going to hate it, not a masochist. I can't let him have Vivienne, but I need to stay on his good side. That's why I need a substitute, and fast.”

“Bastard. Still, that can probably be arranged, but I don't think Clemmie's the right choice. He's seen her in action.”

“Perhaps you're right. Who then?”

“Not Flick, obviously, and Chloe couldn't handle it. Maybe Elspeth, unless the girl has to be blonde?”

“That was Drach's personal kink. This is a one to one.”

“Okay. Elspeth is due a spanking anyway, for breaking the rules.”

“That was mainly Gabriel's fault.”

“True, but that's just the way it goes. He gets a light ticking off and she gets spanked, or in this case, birched.”

“Are you sure she can handle it? He means to hurt her, and he's not the sort of man who'll stop if she can't handle the pain. In fact, that's exactly what he wants.”

“I'll make sure she knows what she's in for,” Peter assured him. “But she's tough, and a good little actress. Besides, if it's her or Vivienne …”

Elspeth swung from the tree by her bound wrists, her feet barely in contact with the ground. Her beautiful, pale body was naked and slick with sweat, her mouth hung slack and open, her eyes were unfocused and her long red hair hung in disheveled wet rat's tails. Welts from the birch criss-crossed the front of her body, turning the flesh of her breasts, belly and thighs an angry red. But it was her bottom that had received most attention. Her lovely, rounded cheeks glowed red with abuse, squeezing slowly in her pain.

She'd been put through the full birching ritual, first taken deep into the Berkshire woods and ordered to strip as Peter and Kralj watched. Then made to pick birch twigs in the nude. Long before she was finished she'd been in tears, with her fingers shaking as she used the fine red ribbon from her hair to tie off the handle, making the implement she was to be beaten with. Peter had felt more pity than lust, despite knowing that she was putting on an act. But Kralj had been delighted, his thin mouth twitching with pleasure for every step of her degradation and finally breaking into a skull like grin as she was strung up by her wrists from an overhead branch, so high that her toes scarcely brushed the forest floor beneath her.

He'd taken his time with her, using the big, bushy birch to tease her breasts and cunt, touching her as intimately as he pleased, keeping his black leather gloves on even as he penetrated her cunt and anus before making her suck his fingers. When the beating had finally begun he'd shown no mercy at all, laying in with the birch so hard that she'd bounced and swung from the rope, jerking wildly and trying in vain to turn away from the blows, alternately screaming and begging for mercy—no longer in pretense—as the supple twigs bit into her flesh over and over again.

Her pain had only served to enhance her tormentor's pleasure and amusement, until he'd finally stood back, leaving her to hang limp and broken on the end of the rope, as he freed his cock. Peter had been told what to do and quickly released the rope from her knees and ankles. From there, he went to where the rope was tied off to another tree, tugging the knot lose. Elspeth collapsed into the leaf mold, unable to stand, too far gone even to try and close her legs, and as her body hit the ground her bladder gave way, an arc of fluid spraying out from her.

Kralj watched, grinning, as Elspeth wet herself, his hand tugging at a long, almost unnaturally pale erection above a pair of rounded little balls that jutted from the opening of his black leather coat. She could do nothing, spread helpless in the dirt with her wrists bound tight above her head and her thighs wide as her gushing stream gradually died away in a series of little spurts that finished with a thin trickle running down between her cheeks. Only when she was fully done did Kralj step closer, to mount her, driving his cock deep into her sopping cunt with a single, hard thrust.

A low, despairing moan escaped her lips as she was entered. Her moan gave way to bitter sobs as her fucking began, Kralj's long cock pumping into her as his balls squeezed against her anus with every thrust. As with the whipping, he took his time, withdrawing after a while to roll her over and fuck her from behind with her bottom held up high to greet the thrusts of his cock; then making her suck him; rubbing his prick over her welted breasts and in the slit of her bottom; then mounting her once more before pulling out to finish himself off over her face and in her open mouth. Even then he wasn't finished. Elspeth lay spread out in the dirt, naked, soiled with sweat and cum, her body a mess of whip marks. Still, even after he'd come he showed no mercy, no sympathy, waiting until his cock had gone limp before casually urinating over her prone body. He then put his cock away and turned to Peter, extending a distinctly sticky hand. Peter shook it anyway, determined not to offend, and Kralj grinned as he spoke, his voice now cheerful and friendly.

“Thank you, that was a pleasure. You English, you have an art with girls. If there is ever any little favor you wish to ask of me in return, you must do so.”

With that he left, joining the two burly bodyguards who'd been watching from among the trees to make sure they weren't disturbed while Elspeth was used for his pleasure. Only when he was sure that the three men had gone did Peter step forward to untie Elspeth's wrists as he spoke to her.

“Are you okay?”

“No …” Elspeth sighed, “I need to come … and I need to come
now
…”

Peter smiled and shrugged as he put a hand to her cunt and began to masturbate her.

Ophelia proved to be every bit as appealing as Gabriel had said—small and winsome, strikingly pretty, with a coquettish manner and a round little backside that was ripe and ready for corporal administration. Despite his friend's commendation, Peter had insisted on vetting her properly, with a long session across his knee while Gabriel looked on, before she was put on her knees to fellate them both with her hot red bottom pushed out behind. She'd passed with flying colors and happily agreed to introduce them to Lord Bearslake at his country estate. Bearslake had been doubtful at first, but had finally agreed on the condition that Peter bring down two girls of his own.

In response, he'd taken Rhiannon and Elspeth to Master Jacobaeus, who'd whipped and sodomized both girls before agreeing to loan two of his own, both highly experienced and safe from any risk of scandal. One Peter already knew, Slave Green, or Gemma, who'd surrendered her virginity on the night of the party at St. Botolph's church. The other, Slave White, or Laurel, was new to him, but easy going and friendly. The three of them had been swapping dirty stories as they drove west on the M4, and they were on the best of terms by the time Peter drew the Jaguar to a halt on the carriage sweep of Bearslake Hall.

“That's quite a place,” Gemma breathed, looking up at the facade of the great mansion. “He must be loaded.”

“Loaded indeed,” Laurel agreed.

“Never mind the scenery,” Peter instructed. “Strike a pose. Tits out, please.”

Both girls were giggling as they quickly pulled up their tops to show off braless breasts, allowing Peter to take a series of pictures with the hall in the background. As he slipped his camera back into the pocket of the scarlet hunting coat he'd bought for the occasion, a man appeared between the high gates to one side of the building and beckoned to them.

“Not out in the front,” the man said as Peter and the girls drew close. “Bring the car in here. Discretion is essential.”

“Of course,” Peter agreed. “I'm Peter Finch. This is Gemma and this is Laurel, and you are?”

“John,” the man answered. “I work for Lord Bearslake, as a gamekeeper, so to speak.”

“Ah, I see, good. Is Ophelia here too? …”

Even as he spoke, Ophelia was stepping out from one of the old stable buildings behind John. The sight of her left Peter opened mouthed for an instant, while Gemma gave a squeak of delight and excitement. Ophelia was stark naked save for heavy boots, a cleverly designed fox's mask and a huge, bushy, red-brown tail rising behind her and quite clearly plugged into her anus. Her entire body had been painted too, with a fox's red back and flanks, but a paler abdomen and darker limbs, cunningly executed to show off her breasts and belly, making her at once exotic and intensely sexual.

“Are we going to be painted like that?” Laurel asked hopefully.

“No,” John answered her. “You two are the hounds. Come in here and I'll show you. The car please, Mr Finch.”

Peter went to retrieve the Jag, returning to find John and the girls in a big, open building that looked as if it might once have been a forge, only it was now being used for very different purposes. A table ran the full length of one wall, loaded with tools, leather straps, body paint and more, while the wall above was hung with coils of rope, handcuffs and whips. Opehlia had been put in a collar and was fixed to an iron ring at the far end of the room, while Laurel and Gemma were in mutual ecstasy as they examined the gear, comparing articles to things they owned or they'd used. But Peter's attention was drawn to a set of brushes laid out on a newspaper beside pots of black and white body paint.

“Are they going to be collie dogs?” he asked. “I thought they were used for rounding up sheep?”

“Dalmatians,” a deep voice spoke from behind him. “Not strictly authentic, perhaps, but then, I make my own choices.”

“Absolutely,” Peter agreed, turning.

He'd known Lord Bearslake was a big man from pictures in newspapers and the occasional television appearance, but he'd never realized how big. Not only was the newspaper magnate immensely fat, but he was well over six feet tall, giving an impression of daunting bulk even without his commanding manner and deep, masculine voice. Both Gemma and Laurel had backed away a little at his appearance, and John's voice was positively servile as he spoke.

“We're almost ready, your Lordship. I just need to get the girls painted up.”

Lord Bearslake merely grunted in response, then lowered his bulk onto a chair, watching as John began to fuss around the girls. Peter had expected to be offered drinks, or at least some form of hospitality, but Lord Bearslake appeared indifferent to his existence, small, piggy eyes feasting on Laurel and Gemma as they stripped to John's command. Both looked impressive nude, Gemma a little taller, Laurel slimmer, both gloriously feminine. Master Jacobaeus had trained them exquisitely in the art of erotic display so that now it was instinct. They were also full of enthusiasm, perfectly happy to be nude and giggling at John's attentions when he allowed his hands to stray to their breasts and bottoms.

Being painted made them giggle still more, and gasp at the sudden cold as the body paint dried on their skins. Each was painted white first, then given a moment to dry before large black spots were added in an irregular pattern that nevertheless drew the eye to their figures. Unlike Ophelia, they were not given masks, just black running shoes, but by the time John had finished there was no doubt at all that they were intended to resemble Dalmatians. Already they'd begun to get into character, barking and sniffing at each other as Lord Bearslake rose to extract two curious objects from a long box.

“Perfect,” he announced. “Very pretty indeed, both of you, now pop these up inside yourselves, my dears; not your front, your back, if you please.”

He was holding out what appeared to be Dalmatians' tails, but at least twice the normal length, while the base of each was equipped with a shaft that ended in a thick rubber plug. The girls took them, sharing nervous smiles as they realized how thick the plugs were, but Master Jacobaeus had trained them well. Gemma had quickly found a tub of anal lubricant among the items on the table, and the girls took turns to prepare each other's backsides, making a deliberate show for Lord Bearslake, who became ever more excited.

The tail was designed so that the base ran up between the wearer's bottom cheeks in such a way that it appeared to be growing from the base of her spine, and Peter found himself nodding his approval as Laurel turned to show off how she looked with the tail in place. Gemma took a little longer, her mouth widening slowly as her bottom hole stretched to take the plug. She was waddling a little once she'd got it in, but Lord Bearslake didn't seem to mind, clapping his podgy hands in delight as the two girls presented themselves for his inspection, bottoms pushed out and tails wagging over their bouncy butt cheeks as they gave him a teasing wiggle.

“Very nice, my dears,” he drawled. “But I won't touch you yet, as it would be a shame to spoil your paintwork. So, I expect you know the rules? The fox gets five minutes start, then you chase her, run her down and tie her up nice and tight, then leave her to us for fucking.”