Lucy's Bedroom

Saying Yes When I Mean No

I have some hairclips that look like butterflies. They’re sparkly bits of nonsense from Claire’s Accessories covered in shiny enamel and mounted on little springs so they tremble and flutter as you move. They’d been sitting in a box on my bookshelf unworn for months until D found them.

“These are vicious-looking little beasts, aren’t they?” he said, opening and closing the clips which have serrated edges. 

“Oh those things, I don’t know why I bothered, I never wear them.”

He snaps them playfully near my nose.

“Stop it!” I say, batting him away.

“No, not going to stop it.  Take your top off.”

We stand and stare at each other for what seems like a very long time. At first I want to say no to him. But the more I think about saying yes when I mean no, the wetter my pussy gets. Slowly I peel off my top and unhook my bra.

“Good girl.  Now sit on the bed”

I sit, leaning back, propped by my elbows, my back arched slightly, thrusting my tits out towards him. He bends and gently sucks my nipples until they’re stiff and throbbing.

“Give me your finger.”

He slowly closes the clip on my finger tip so I can feel it. Its bite is hard but the serrations aren’t sharp and after a moment my finger feels numb.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

He opens the clip from my finger and I glance down at the red marks dug into its flesh. Then slowly he closes it around my left nipple. I bite my lip, gasping as it squeezes shut, my nipple throbbing painfully, scarlet and twisted. I throw my head back and pant loudly, forcing my breathing steady, riding the pain. Gradually my breathing steadies, my nipple grows numb. He squeezes the other clip slowly round my right nipple and I squeal and gasp and pant all over again.

He cups my breasts, letting them drop back against my ribcage, watching the butterflies tremble and glitter on their springs. They tug on my throbbing nipples as they shudder and I moan. D slaps my breasts sharply and I cry out softly, lying back on the bed, hands thrown over my head, gripping the bedclothes.

He slides my jeans off me and lifts my legs, unbuttoning his cock and slipping it into my dripping slit, fucking me with sharp little shoves, making my tits bounce and wobble with each thrust, reaching forward to squeeze and slap them occasionally before fucking me again harder than before.

I cum quickly, a sharp little orgasm. The pulses in my clit rise again almost before they’ve subsided and I cum again deeper and more lasting. Grinding and cumming against his cock, cumming on the numb pain in my nipples, cumming on the idea of submitting to him.

He doesn’t let me take them off when we’ve finished. Wrapped in my bathrobe I sit in the kitchen eating scrambled eggs and listening to D talk to his housemate about football while my nipples throb and ache in their clasps. Upstairs again, when he removes the clips, tingling pain floods into them as sensation returns and I squeal and burst into tears. D kisses the tears from my cheeks as he pinches my nipples with his fingers.

Am I Doing It Right?

Here’s an interesting thing. When looking on line for something completely unrelated, you can come across a sex-tips-for-teenage-boys website. Of course I had a look, just to check what erroneous nonsense they’re teaching them these days. And it was only a short step from there to printing out the ‘masturbation techniques’ page and sticking it to the fridge.

You see it’s one of the great puzzles of female life – “Am I doing it right?” Men always say yes, but I suspect that’s because they’re easily pleased. D looked a little startled when I announced my intention to work my way through the ‘masturbation techniques’ with him but I assured him I didn’t mean ‘all in one evening’ and he’s starting to relax into the routine of it now.

He’ll give me a slap on the bum and say, “Come on girlie, time for your lesson.” And I’ll trot out into the kitchen, consult the chart and say, “Okay, we’re doing number eleven today.”

We’ve invested in lubricant, done comparative tests on the same techniques in the bed and the bath and D has been writing marks out of 10 on the chart. In the lead so far is ‘finger and thumb circled and pressed repeatedly over head of cock before sliding down to base while other hand gently squeezes balls’. In second place is ‘fingers of one hand wrapped firmly round base of cock while thumb and two fingers of other hand lightly jerk just below head of cock’.

Though as D has pointed out, “It’s a hand job off a girl, isn’t it?  It’s not going to score less than 7/10 however you do it.”

The Maid Part 6

Hauled before the Revolutionary Tribunal, Lucy wept as she pled her cause.

“Please, my masters, you mistake yourselves. I am no aristocrat but a maid of the house, used and abused at their vile whim. I have been raped and whipped, branded and imprisoned, buggered and abandoned to the dogs. See, look what they did to me.”

Lucy lifted her coarse prison shift, displaying to the court her branded thigh, her whip-marked arse.

“I see nothing but the marks of your perversion, harlot” said the stern-faced, black clad magistrate. “The writings of the Marquis infect your class, driving them to acts of degradation this revolution will eradicate. Take her down.”

Sobbing, Lucy slumped between the guards who dragged her limp body down the stone stairs to the prison cells, tossing her into the nearest – a cell filled with lunatics and rapists. They fell upon her, tearing the shift from her body, stretching her limbs wide as they took their turns with her. Lucy turned her head away, offering no resistance to their pounding cocks, her spirit broken.

As the days passed, Lucy watched, balanced precariously on a stool peering through the high window of the cell, as a wooden structure was erected outside the prison. The first crowd, the first tumbrel came for her former mistress. Lucy barely recognised her, stripped of her fine clothes, her hair undressed. Lucy thought about the mornings she’d curled and scented and powdered her long hair before kneeling to trim and lick her pussy and she felt a shudder of compassion before remembering the cruelties her mistress had visited upon her.

Her mistress was dragged onto the wooden platform as the crown roared and jeered. Her prison shift was ripped from her shivering body and tossed into the crowd who tore it to pieces. Then naked, she was forced to her knees, her head shoved into place upon the guillotine, the block lowered to hold it in place. She screamed and wept and begged forgiveness, her pleas turning to curses as she felt the executioner at her back, his cock unbuttoned from his britches straining against her buttocks.

“Which is it to be?” he cried to the crowd, “My lady’s cunt or my lady’s arse?” The crowd hollered, chanting and whooping as the executioner laughed and jammed his cock into her cunt. Her screams were lost among the groans of disappointment from those members of the crowd who wanted to see the aristocrat whore buggered. “No,” cried the executioner, “I want to see her cum, I want to hear her scream and see her writhe. This is one aristo who’s going to get well and truly fucked by the revolution!” The crowd broke into laughter, stamping their feet and chanting in time with the executioner’s thrusts. “FUCK HER! FUCK HER! FUCK HER!”

Lucy put her hand to her mouth as she watched her mistress squirming on the executioner’s cock, fighting it, biting her lip and struggling to avoid what she knew was coming. As he fucked her faster her orgasm was rising and her body twitched and jerked as her clit began to swell and throb.

“That’s right my lady, you ride it nice and hard, feel it coming do you?”   

“NO! NO! Never!  You dog, you’re not worthy to grovel at my feet, you’ll never break me!”

He slapped her arse and rode her harder as she felt her body give in, her cunt clasping his cock tight, her heart pounding, blood singing in her ears. Her eyes fluttered closed, sparks began to crackle through her nerve endings and with a full-throated scream her orgasm shot through her body. In the same instant, the executioner let slip the cord and the blade of the guillotine flashed as it fell, slicing her head with a wet thud. For a second the crowd was silent and then let loose a blood-curdling howl. The executioner let his cock slip from her cunt and walked round to the front of the guillotine, lifting her severed head by its hair. He looked at her expression of frozen horror – her eyes wide with terror, her full lips wide open. Then slowly he slid his cock into her throat, fucking it as the crowd yelled and whooped, shooting his spunk into her lifeless mouth then holding her head aloft, dripping with blood and spunk.

Lucy covered her eyes and turned away, shuddering. Already she could hear footsteps approaching her cell as the guard came to take her away. As the door creaked open she fell to her knees, trembling and staring at the feet of the guardsmen and the minister who had come to bless her passage from this world to the next. As he laid his hand on her brow he said, “Have courage my child, God will have mercy on your miserable sinner’s soul.” Lucy looked up at his kind words and, numb with horror, looked into the face of her father who gazed back at her, expressionless.

The guardsmen grabbed Lucy by the arms and dragged her, screaming, down the stone corridor towards the tumbrel.

The Maid Part 5

Lucy’s mistress laughed delightedly as she read aloud to the assembled party from the leather-bound book. 

“I can’t believe you found it in the little tart’s bedroom”

“Things have come to a pretty pass when common little trollops like her think they’re fit to read the writings of an aristocrat”

“I hear the authorities had moved the Marquis to an insane asylum before the mob could storm the Bastille.”

“Are you a revolutionary, maid?”

“She is!  Look at her, she yearns for liberty!”

The whole room broke into cruel laughter as they surveyed Lucy. Seated on a stool in the middle of the room, her cunt and arse stretched wide around brutal dildos, her ankles roped to the stool’s legs, bent at the knee, the soles of her feet striped with whip marks. Behind her back her arms were pinned tightly, thrusting her breasts forwards, rope looped round them, her nipples pinched between her mistress’ hair clips, their diamonds glittering as Lucy trembled. Her back arched painfully, head jerked back by the taut rope around her neck, its trailing end tied to her wrists, her lips stretched wide around her dildo – the one she had brought with her to give her comfort in this cold house – now jammed deep into her throat.

“I think she yearns for the Marquis and his little games.  Shall we play with her?”

Lucy’s arms ached and the chandelier tinkled as she kicked and struggled, feet inches above the floor, suspended in the air as the whip curled round her thighs. Her screams were muffled by her gag and she clenched the muscles of her cunt and arse tight, squeezing the dildos inside her, fearful of what might happen to her if she disobeyed her mistress’ instructions not to let them fall. As she kicked her legs wide, spinning and jerking, the tip of the whip cracked against her clit and she lost control, yelping and shuddering as the dildo slid slowly from her cunt, clattering to the marble floor.

A groan went up from the party and they cut her down. She slumped heavily to the floor, breathing hard. Her mistress grabbed Lucy by the hair and pulled her head towards her dripping cunt. She felt smothered as her mistress locked her thighs around her head and, obediently, Lucy began to lick as she felt hands spread the cheeks of her arse, drawing the dildo from her gaping hole. She shuddered as she felt the gob of saliva land on the rim of her arsehole and slowly slide deep down inside, swiftly followed by the wide head of a stiff cock. Mercilessly it thrust hard into her arse, shoving her face against her mistress’ cunt. Barely able to breathe, Lucy lapped deeper, probing her tongue deep into her cunt and swirling it around her clit.

With only a few brutal thrusts, the first cock jerked and spat its spunk into Lucy’s bowels while she whimpered and squirmed. As it slipped from her it was immediately replaced by another, then another until Lucy had lost count of how many times she had been buggered and spunk dripped from her hole, trickling down her thighs, splashing into a pool between her legs. Her mistress squirmed and screamed as Lucy licked her to orgasm over and over until her face was shiny with her juices and her jaw and tongue ached.

Finally the last cock was pulled from her stinging arse and Lucy slumped forwards onto her belly on the cold floor, legs splayed, buttocks pink from slaps and pinches, the fingers of one hand rubbing weakly against the tip of her clit. They gave her no time to recover, dragging her screaming by her hair out onto the terrace where two snarling guard dogs lay, gnawing on bones.

Her mistress’ lover tugged the first dog to its feet by its studded collar. It growled, sniffing the air, the hair at the nape of its neck standing up on end as it scented Lucy’s cunt. Lucy stared with horror at its dripping jaws, its slavering tongue, its narrow yellow eyes. She wrestled desperately against the many hands that held her, kicking and arching her back and screaming as she was gripped tighter. The beast lowered his head to sniff at her cunt, its long rough tongue lapping her swollen pussy as she pleaded with her tormentors. Her mistress bent over her and whispered in her ear.

“I think you forget why you’re here Lucy. Your father sent you to me because he thought your conduct no better than a beast’s. Well let us see if he was right.”

At that moment there was a commotion from the gate, a confusion of shouting and blazing torches approaching the house. The dogs began to snarl and bark, Lucy’s mistress ran screaming into the house and the party fled leaving Lucy sprawled naked on the lawn as the mob began to overrun the house.

The Maid Part 4

Lucy knelt before the blazing fire, her skin pink from the fierce heat, her head bent over the stranger’s lap, her cheeks bulging as she sucked on his cock. From the broad leather collar round her neck an iron chain trailed to the floor beside her, snaking across the rug to the chair where her mistress’ lover sprawled, one leg dangling over the arm of the chair, watching her idly through a haze of brandy and cigar smoke.

After dinner the ladies had withdrawn – lifting her head Lucy could glimpse them through the open door, a tumble of skirts and petticoats on the salon couches as they licked and rubbed and giggled and sighed. Only Lucy was left in the library with the gentlemen, her eyes lowered shamefully as she was led into the room, paraded round for all to see, pinched and slapped and assessed like a prize filly. Now, hours later, Lucy’s belly was full of spunk, her arse criss-crossed with scarlet stripes, her cheeks wet with tears. She gagged and gulped as yet another cock spurted into her throat, swallowing hard, a trickle of cum dripping onto her chin.

“Look, the little slut’s spilled some.  She gets another whipping!”

A drunken, sleepy cheer went up from the assembly as Lucy was roughly jerked by her chain to the library table. A roar went up as the first lash cut across her buttocks and they stamped their feet and jeered with each one as Lucy sobbed and moaned, squirming against the edge of the table, trying to evade the worst of the stinging slashes, whimpering as her aching clit brushed the polished edge of the table.

“She’s like one of those whores from the writings of the Marquis. See, she’s enjoying it! You ought to treat her like he treats his women – chained up and branded and punished – it’s the only thing sluts like her understand.”

Lucy slumped, weeping softly, across the table and watched, curiously, as her mistress’ lover slipped his signet ring from his finger and held it to the flame of a candle.

“Where do you think, gentlemen – breast, belly or arse?”

“Hardly any room on her arse between the marks of your whip.”

“Breast if you really want to hear her squeal.”

Flipping her over onto her back, he lowered the burning ring over the sensitive flesh of her belly. Lucy screamed as she felt its heat, almost brushing her skin, squirmed away, eyes wide, silently pleading. Lucy’s whimpers were the only sound in the room, the other men drew close to watch. He gazed at her for a moment, his mouth slowly curling into a smile, then suddenly forcing her thighs apart he pressed the hot metal into the hollow of her thigh. Lucy howled and jerked, her body twitching and shuddering as she sobbed convulsively. He pulled his ring away with a tiny hiss of seared flesh and examined his handiwork. Red and glowing in her thigh, the perfect image of his family seal. He blew on it gently, kissed it and listened to Lucy whimper at this relief.

The room erupted into cat calls and whistles and stamping of feet and cheers. Still trembling, Lucy was hauled to her feet, dragged down the stone corridor and out into the night. Her mistress’ lover mounted his waiting horse, hitched Lucy’s chain to the saddle and set off across country towards his chateau. Dazed and frozen, Lucy stumbled behind him, falling in the rutted country tracks, splashing through the icy water of rivers forded, scratched and stung by brambles and nettles, the only heat in her body the burning flesh of her thigh. In the cold, grey light of dawn they reached the stable yard. Dismounting, he dragged Lucy towards the well, circling her waist with his arm and lifting her legs over the edge.

Lucy struggled, screaming as she felt herself topple over, gulping in air for the expected drop into water. She heard the chain rattle against the stone sides of the well as she fell, her heart gripped with dread as she realised it might not be long enough to reach the bottom, it might suddenly snap tight against her neck, her body dangling limply. With a soft wet thud Lucy landed. The well was almost dry, she sat in a couple of inches of stagnant water and mud and she yelped and flinched as a rat scuttled past her feet. Looking up, Lucy could see the small circle of sky high above and her mistress’ lover gazing down at her. Then, with a scraping sound, he pulled the wooden well cover slowly across, plunging Lucy into darkness. Her screams echoed round the well walls as he walked away.

The Maid Part 3

Kneeling between her mistress’ parted thighs, Lucy brushed the soft hair of her bush with the silver-backed hairbrush. Her duties included all aspects of the grooming and care of her mistress and already this morning she had bathed her and massaged scented oil into her skin, dressed her hair and brushed her cheeks and lips with rouge. Now, slipping a tiny pair of silver scissors onto her fingers, Lucy carefully trimmed her mistress’ bush, snipping away its damp curls, slowly revealing the pink lips beneath. Sliding her fingers into the slick slit she spread its open, snipping away the last stray hairs. Her mistress sighed heavily, shifting restlessly in her seat, her robe open as she stroked her breasts. Roughly she grabbed Lucy’s hair and shoved her face between her thighs, grinding her pussy against it as Lucy began dutifully to lick.

Lucy lapped at her pussy with long slow licks from her arsehole to the tip of her clit, stopping to swirl the tip of her tongue around the swollen clit, kissing and sucking it gently before lapping again. Lucy’s face shone with the juices dripping from her mistress’ pussy, she dug her fingers into her thighs spreading them wider, rubbed the hard bridge of her nose against her clit and probed with her tongue deep inside her cunt.

A clatter of hooves and the crunch of gravel below the window made her mistress sit up suddenly, shoving Lucy away. 

“He is here.  What are you doing you stupid girl?  Get back to your duties you little slut!”

Sadly Lucy picked herself up off her knees, tidying away the hairbrush and scissors, as her mistress shrugged off her robe and sprawled naked on her bed. Lucy stepped out into the cold, tiled corridor and knelt down beside her bucket, rubbing carbolic soap on her scrubbing brush then bending to scrub the floor. She heard urgent steps approaching but dared not look up as her mistress’ lover passed, his riding crop tapping impatiently against the side of his boots as he marched past Lucy, not even glancing in her direction. He slammed the bedroom door behind him and, as Lucy scrubbed, she listened distractedly to the sounds of their love making.

Her mistress squealed and giggled as the bed creaked, her lover’s voice a low rumble, the words inaudible. The swish of his crop and a series of sharp screams were followed by a rhythmic creaking and the soft grunts and slaps of their bodies. Lucy felt her clit swell and throb as she listened, slowly scrubbing away at the same patch of floor by the door. Finally she couldn’t bear it any more and pressed her eye to the keyhole, her fingers gathering up the hem of her skirt.

She saw her mistress, lying with her head hanging back over the edge of the bed, her lover’s cock fucking deep into her throat, her legs raised high in the air and parted wide as he gently flicked at her inner thighs with the tip of his crop, each flick making her jerk and moan. He slid the crop between her pussy lips, rubbing it back and forth, circling its tip against her clit and fucking her face harder. She gagged and groaned and reached back to grip his thighs, pulling his cock into her faster. He rested the tip of the crop on her clit for a second then flicked it sharply. Lucy gasped as her mistress screamed into her lover’s cock. He leant over her, one hand flat on her belly, holding her still while he whipped her clit and she hollered and wept and sucked his cock harder.

Lucy’s fingers were busy between her thighs as she watched. She slid them into her dripping pussy, frigging herself and rubbing her thumb against her clit. She pinched it and flicked it and rubbed it, her parted lips trembling, beads of sweat on her forehead, breathing heavily as she leaned against the door watching her mistress, on her hands and knees on the bed now, the crop gripped between her teeth. Her lover slammed his massive cock into her with a single, snarling thrust and she grunted, gritting her teeth against the crop. After a few sharp, savage thrusts, he pulled out again and pressed the tip of his cock to her puckered pink arsehole. Lucy held her breath as she watched the agony on her mistress’ face, her eyes wide and filled with tears as he screwed his cock into her arse. With a series of short thrusts he was in, buried to the hilt and fucking her roughly, yanking her hips, tugging her onto his cock.

Lucy fumbled about her on the floor, finally splashing her hand into her soapy bucket and picking up the scrubbing brush, its stiff bristles softened by the water. Slowly she rubbed it against the mound of her pussy, wriggling as it tickled and scratched, then gasping softly as she slid it between her thighs. Gently she rubbed it back and forth, its bristles prickling against every inch of her swollen flesh, tiny pin pricks of sensation teasing her clit. As she pressed her eye back to the keyhole she saw her mistress, on her back now, bent double under the weight of her lover, his cock still buried in her arse, sobbing as he fucked her mercilessly, one hand wrapped round her throat, squeezing gently. Lucy rubbed harder, writhing against the brush, burning with jealousy of her mistress.

Both women began to cum at the same time, both gasping and crying out, their bodies jerking, heads thrown back, eyes screwed shut. Lucy slumped, panting against the door, listening to her heart pounding. She didn’t hear his footsteps on the other side and shrieked as he wrenched the door open, tumbling forwards into the room, the scrubbing brush still pressed between her thighs. She gazed up, horrified, as he stood over her, riding crop in hand, cock already twitching back to life and a cruel smile on his face.

The Maid Part 2

Alone in her attic Lucy unpacked the one small bag she had been allowed to bring with her to the big house. It was midnight, the first rest she had been allowed since dawn when her work had begun. Stripped of her muslins and dressed in a course wool dress of the drabbest grey, her hair demurely hidden beneath a starched cap, she had scrubbed the grate and the vast stone kitchen floor. She had laid the fires and emptied the chamber pots then pumped water from the well and carried it across the yard, boiling it in vast coppers to scrub at linens against a rough washboard until her fingers were raw. She had been sneered at and shouted at by the other servants, slapped in the face for being clumsy, slapped on the rump for being too slow. Now she shivered in the bare and freezing room – no fire in the grate, wooden floors, an iron bed frame and a single chair. Her only light was moonlight through the casement window.

Hidden in her bag, beneath the folded clothes, wrapped in a night gown, were the few precious things she had inherited from her poor dead mother. A silver locket contained a miniature portrait, her face eerily like Lucy’s, a leather bound book, Bible black, contained the forbidden writings of the Marquis, now languishing in the Bastille and the last object, Lucy’s best-loved, was the carved wooden dildo, the wood warm to her touch, its shape familiar and comforting in her hand.

Climbing into bed still dressed, pulling the single miserable thin blanket over her, Lucy leaned back, her thighs parted, the tip of the dildo sliding between her moist pussy lips as she opened the book and began to read. She read of innocent girls, imprisoned and whipped, sodomised and humiliated, branded and broken. She read of a girl lashed in a wood by her wrists and ankles to four trees, her limbs stretched agonisingly wide, her head thrown back screaming in terror as snarling mastiffs sniffed and licked excitedly at her dripping cunt. She read of another girl tied to a waterwheel, howling as the whip cut her buttocks on the upward journey around the wheel, spluttering and coughing as the downward journey plunged her below the icy river water. All the time she read, Lucy worked the dildo in her cunt, twisting and rotating it, sliding it all the way out then thrusting it wetly back in, fucking it in furiously until her arm ached then slowly drawing it out and sucking it clean of her cunt’s juices.

Suddenly, with a shriek, Lucy let it slip from her mouth, dropping it clattering to the floor as the attic door burst open. Framed in the doorway, swaying unsteadily, a bottle of port in one hand, stood the young master. He laughed coarsely as he watched the dildo roll away across the floor, saw Lucy’s frightened eyes as she tugged the blanket to her chest.

“They told me you were a whore.  I’m so glad to see they’re right.”

Crossing the room with two strides, he snatched the blanket from Lucy’s fingers and tugged at her bodice. Lucy squealed and he slapped her face hard with the back of his hand, sprawling her across the bed.

“Shut up, bitch! You’ll bring the whole household running. Do you think this is a party that anyone can come and join? This is just you and me. And you’ll do as you’re told.”

He ripped her bodice to her waist, Lucy’s breasts springing free. Lying heavily on top of her he hauled up her skirt and unbuttoned his britches. Lucy whimpered as the head of his cock thrust between her pussy lips and he pressed his hand firmly over her mouth, his fingertips digging into her cheeks as he brutally thrust his cock deeper. Lucy’s eyes widened with shock as she felt his thick cock rip into her. She threw her arms above her head, curling her fingers round the iron bedstead which began to rock and shudder and squeak as he fucked her violently. Squirming and trapped, she tried to arch her back, desperate to rub her throbbing clit against his belly but he pulled away, his cock still buried inside her, one arm braced against the bed, the other reaching for his port bottle.

He took a deep swig then forced the neck of the bottle into Lucy’s mouth, laughing as she spluttered and choked, tossing her head from side to side as the sticky liquid poured down her chin. The bottle empty, he renewed his efforts, stabbing his cock viciously into her bruised and pulpy pussy, grunting with each thrust, calling her a whore, a slut, a cunt. With a bellow he spat spurts of hot spunk into her, shuddering as his cock twitched and jerked. For a moment he leaned over her, gazing at her heaving tits, her tear-filled eyed, the bruise on her cheek.

“Poor little serving girl.  Ravished by the master and never even got to cum.  Shall we do something about that now?”

Lucy bit her lip and shyly nodded. Sliding his hand between her thighs he spread them a little wider, still gazing down at her. He ran his fingertips along her swollen cunt lips and smiled as she shivered. Then, without warning he rammed the neck of the bottle into her cunt, jamming it in deep. Lucy’s face froze with shock, her eyes and mouth wide, her lips trembling, tears coursing down her cheeks. Sneering, he turned it as he screwed it in past the shoulders of the bottle, stretching Lucy’s pussy lips achingly wide.

Laughing cruelly and buttoning his britches he sauntered from the room. Sobbing and alone in the freezing attic, Lucy plucked helplessly at her clit, the bottle lodged firmly in its place.

The Maid Part 1

Lucy’s toes skimmed the cobbles as she wriggled, bent over the end of the cart, her fingers gripping the sides tightly, naked breasts rubbing against the rough wooden timbers as he sank his cock into her eager cunt. The horse in harness whinnied, stamping his hooves and snorting clouds of steam into the cold night air. From the farmhouse a single candle, guttering in the window, cast an orange glow across the yard, from the barn the lowing of cattle betrayed their agitation as they listened to the creak of the cart and Lucy’s moans as the cock thrust roughly into her.

Lucy smiled to herself, licking her lips, her long skirt tossed over her head, the straps of her bodice sliding off her shoulders, her hair disordered and tumbling down around her face and neck. From his unbuttoned britches protruded the monstrous cock she had hoped they concealed, slick with her juices as he toiled over her, this farm hand she had watched so often from the kitchen window, a simple, stupid boy, enraged with lust, pounding his cock mercilessly into her dripping cunt while she groaned and rolled her hips. He reached forward and grabbed the back of her neck, like an animal caught by its scruff, and leaned in hard, grunting as he fucked her faster, the cart rocking on its squeaking wheels, the horse snorting feverishly, its nostrils flared with the scent of sex. Lucy whimpered with excitement, grinding her clit against the rim of the cart, thighs trembling as she felt his cock start to twitch deep inside her. He dug his fingers into her shuddering buttocks, pinning her in place as his cock jerked. Lucy frantically struggled to rub her clit faster as the first spurt of spunk shot into her quivering cunt, throwing her head back and groaning as she felt it splash inside her, her groans turning to screams as the farmhouse door was flung open, light flooding the yard. His cock slipped from her, spraying her arse with cum as Lucy lay, panting, cum dripping from her cunt, eyes wide with fear as she gazed at the forbidding figure of her father, standing in the door.

Lucy’s toes skimmed, not cobbles but the scrubbed wooden floorboards of the plain cottage. Her wrists, lashed to the beam, were burned by the rope tied cruelly tight. Her unbuttoned dress hung about her waist, her breasts swaying as she kicked and swung helplessly. Before her in the candlelight stood her father, frock-coated and solemn, every inch the preacher, his Bible open in his hands.

“I have prayed for you my daughter, I have sought to forgive you your whorish ways, I have moved you out of the city to this remote dwelling. Yet still, you persist in your wickedness. Every man who crosses your path, whatever age, you tempt him. Yes, and women too I’ve heard tell. They speak of you in the tavern as a witch who drains men of their vitality, feeding off it. They say you dance naked in the moonlight and copulate with the farm animals. One day they will come for you as they did for your mother. Three whole days she spent in the stocks, open to every degradation man could visit on her. Then three times they ducked her in the pond, each time she floated, coughing and struggling to the surface, until finally the blacksmith’s anvil, tied around her neck, set her soul free. I will not have you humiliate me as she did. I should have beaten the wickedness out of her before it was too late – I pray it is not too late to do the same to you.”

Lucy squealed with horror when she saw the whip, a six foot long bull whip with a mighty handle and knotted thong. Mumbling a prayer under his breath, her father ripped her skirt down over her hips leaving her naked and exposed except for her woollen stockings, tied with ribbons for garters and her laced boots. She bit her lips, tears already brimming in her eyes, as she listened to her father pace slowly away behind her then, after an agonising pause, the whip cracked through the air, slashing across her thighs, curling round them, its tip stinging the mound of her pussy. Lucy howled as it cracked again, circling her waist, biting into the soft flesh of her hips. He cracked it again and again across her soft buttocks, striping them scarlet as Lucy jerked and wept. Walking around her, surveying her trembling body, her tear-stained face, he slashed the whip across her belly, flicked it up at the underside of her breasts, its tip kissing Lucy’s nipples until they throbbed purple and swollen to double their normal size. Finally he lowered his hand to his side, the whip snaking across the floor, and Lucy sighed gratefully as she slumped in her ropes, exhausted. But then she saw an almost imperceptible twitch of his hand, a tightening of his fingers around the whip’s handle and Lucy screamed as she realised, too late, what was coming next. The whip snapped up between her thighs as she kicked wildly, its tip curling between her pussy lips, flicking the tip of her clit. Lucy’s body was racked with sobs as it flicked with unerring accuracy, over and over at the same spot.

“I will teach you humility girl! You think yourself a lady, you beckon every eager cock and expect to live in idleness and debauchery as though you were an aristocrat. Well I will teach you your place – for your own good. You start as the lowest maid in the big house at 5 a.m. tomorrow, and may God have mercy on your soul!”

Bad Things

Kneeling at his feet, his hands entwined in my hair, tugging me roughly towards his engorged cock – which pokes me hard in the eye. I yell and screw my face up, eye watering copiously as I swear and shove him away. The next day my eye is alarmingly bloodshot and bruised. “What happened?” coo friends, compassionately. I haven’t planned what I’m going to say – I can’t possibly tell the truth. “Um, D hit me…I mean, No! Ha ha ha! I walked into a cupboard door, yes that’s it.” I am not universally believed.

Sprawled on the bed with my thighs spread as D kneels beside the bed, lowering his head to my dripping pussy. I shift slightly, angling my hips towards him – and kneeing him squarely in the nose. He drips blood malevolently while batting me away saying, “No, it’s OK I don’t need any help.” “What happened?” his friends ask in the pub the next day when they inspect his bruised nose. “Oh, Lucy kneed me in the face while I was going down on her last night.” Less inhibited than me, you see.

Nice Things

Sleepy morning sex, when his cock is more awake than either of us is. At its best when I’ve been enough of a slut to fall asleep with my pussy still slick. That way he can spread my sticky pussy lips with his fingers and slide right in. Morning’s not the time for foreplay but for wrapping limbs lazily around each others’ bodies, sighing, still half asleep, not talking or kissing, my face buried in his neck as he sprawls on top of me. We fuck slowly, sometimes drifting off, asleep again with his cock still hard inside me.

An urgent knee-trembler, scooped up and pressed against the wall, his fingers digging into my buttocks as he shoves his cock hard into my cunt. At its best when I’m almost but not quite wet enough to let his cock glide in effortlessly. My flesh drags against his cock, tight and unyielding for the first few agonising thrusts before my juice starts to flow. I wrap my arms and legs tightly round him, arching my back against the wall, grinding my cunt against his belly, rubbing my clit against his pounding cock, aching to cum. He ignores me, fucking me only for his own orgasm. We’re not making love, he’s having me.

At the end of a night of fucking, when he’s lying beside me, one arm cradling my head, one hand between my thighs, watching my face with bright, amused eyes as he slowly circles and tickles my aching clit. At its best when I’ve cum repeatedly and my clit is almost too painful to touch. He pinches and flicks at it with his fingernail, dragging his fingertips across it while I flinch and whimper. If I ask him to stop he just smiles at me sadly and says, “No”. My orgasm feels like a fist, knotted between my thighs, as though all the energy it contains, that wants to burst out into my whole body is locked in my clit, its intensity concentrated. As I start to gasp and shut my eyes he says, “Open your eyes. Look at me.” It is almost impossible – I want to screw them tight shut and throw my head back but every time I do he quietly repeats, “Open your eyes. Look at me.” As the last aching stab of orgasm dies away I burst into tears. Which is what he’s been waiting for.