"Nnnnnnnnn…" Amanda hummed. Her neck and shoulders strained against the pressure of Jenny's hand in vain. Her hips twisted wildly. The dildo rotated slowly in my aunt's fingers, half embedded. Twirling it, she began to glide it back and forth.
"Sweet mare-you will take his piston yet," she murmured. Her voice was without malice. It spoke of hushed rooms, drawn curtains, a muted sun.
"No-oh-OH!"
Amanda's voice rose on a long singsong note, but there was no reply. The dildo entered another inch and then withdrew. Jenny unstrapped her and led her back to the cage. Amanda slumped down sobbing, her face covered. Her elbow tilted the bottle of wine. The neck fell trapped between the bars.
"Why does she cry? We are a benediction," my aunt said.
"They are tears of wrath," Jenny answered. She looked uncertain as if she had collected the wrong words together. She looked to Aunt Maude for refuge. My aunt frowned.
"The spirit of NO is being driven from her," she said. She motioned to my cage. The door was unlocked. I was led without as if I were going to communion. The bar received me. "Caress her first-she is the worthy one," my aunt said.
With my thighs together I was bent as slowly as a mechanism under test. I grasped the bar. My fingers lay upon the ghosts of Amanda's. Jenny's fingers felt for the pouting of my nest, the lovelips pursed. With her free hand she palmed the warm cheeks of my bottom. The upper crease of my slit into which her fingertip wormed, parted just sufciently to allow her to lovetease my button. I murmured softly in my mind. Pleasuretravellers voyaged through my nerves. The cheeks of my bottom quivered to the urging in-thrust of Jenny's other forefinger.
From the other side of the bar my aunt bent and fondled my breasts very gently as if she. were handling hothouse fruit. Her thumbs spoke to my nipples, whispered over them, erected them. Rigid cones on hillocks of snow.
"It is enough-she holds the pose well," Aunt Maude said.
I knew the strap then-knew its bite. Jenny who wielded it permitted me to sway my hips, catching the left cheek as I swayed left-the right as I swayed right. I knew the humming sound in my head-the burgeoning of images, pictures, wickednesses. The heat was tempest to my flesh. I moaned in my undoing.
Twelve? Did I count twelve? My knees sagged. I needed a mouth beneath my open mouth. Amanda was a wax statue in a cage. I parted my knees. The gesture was not unseen.
"Come," Jenny said. There was comprehension in her voice. My moist hand in her cool hand. Wriggling like a schoolgirl I was taken to a divan so narrow that when I lay upon it my legs slipped down on either side.
"Heels firm on the floor-head back," my aunt said. The heavy heat of my bottom weighed upon the black leather beneath.
Jenny moved behind, took my arms and drew them far back above my head. She held me lightly, fearing no rebellion perhaps.
From her sleeve my aunt drew a long white feather with a curving tip. It passed across my vision. My hips jerked.
"No, Beatrice," my aunt intoned. Her words were chiding, soft. The stinging in my bottom from the strap deepened and splurged. "Look at me, Beatrice. Peep your tongue between your lips. Just the tip."
My eyes were Aunt Maude's eyes. They knew countries of the past I had not visited. My tongue peeped. Amanda would lie on her bed at home. The veils of her undoing would be raised. The strap would rise and fall. The metal bands would become gold bands. The roseate hue of her bottom would dwell in his mornings, illuminate his evenings.
"Good… so… remain… do not stir," my aunt admonished me. The feather tickled and moved between my thighs. I bit my lip. My tongue retreated.
My aunt was kind. She waited. A bubble of saliva floated from the re-emerging tip of my tongue. It dwelt on my lower lip. I sang in my throat and felt the twirling of the tip -the white heat of it around my button.
Aunt Maude's eyes dared me to turn from hers. I held. Up, down, the feather teased. It entered me. My buttocks rose, fell, rose again. My eyes were saucers on and on. I writhed-the ceiling in my vision swimming in its blankness. On and on.
I broke the rules.
"Na! Na Aaaaaah!" I choked.
Starbursts in my belly. My bottom heaved, my heels chattered on the floor. I bucked, absorbing each long inflow of sensations. Starwheels of white heat spun around my clitoris. Out-shooting tendrils of fire swept my body. My tongue protruded. A quivering cry and I slumped, stilled, vacant in frustration. The empty skylights stared at me. A swallow passed across one. Here, now, gone.
In a moment I crouched in my cage again. Amanda and I stared at one another like strangers who have too many questions to ask.
TWELVE
Were they good today?" my uncle asked that evening.
We were dressed once more in clinging dresses of the finest wool, our curves displayed. Our boots were thighboots. Stockings. Otherwise we were naked beneath.
"They played in the garden. It was sweet to see them playing in the garden," my aunt replied.
Katherine was dressed in black-a high-necked dress. A pearl choker adorned her neck. Jenny was dressed identically. My aunt was less formal in an ordinary day gown. Amanda was absent. We sat formally.
"You may talk," Jenny told us.
Caroline and I looked at one another. We had nothing to say. It was all in the looking. Her nipples peaked through the wool of her dress as did mine. Our globes were outlined. Katherine rose and played softly at the piano. We waited for dinner.
Katherine smiled at us. "They do not talk very much," she said.
My aunt inclined her head. "No-they are lost in their dreams," she replied. She clapped her hands. There was a tinkling, footsteps. It was Amanda. She bore a tray sparkling with glasses. A tiny white lace cap perched on the side of her glossed hair. The pale-pink of her breasts showed through a thin white blouse. The black maid's skirt that she wore had been shortened to show her thighs. With the swaying of its hem the metal rings showed, ringing her black stocking tops.
Walking to my uncle first she bent and offered him a dry sherry. The skirt rose at her bending. Her naked bottom shone pale. No one spoke. When she came to Caroline and me a flush showed on her cheeks. I posted a small smile between her lips. My look was motherly.
Jiggling her bottom cheeks selfconsciously, she left. Our eyes were pasted on the halfmoons of her bottom like mementoes of a journey.
"She will train better here than at home," Aunt Maude said. There was a nodding.
"He will give you jewels," Jenny said and pouted. There was laughter. I contained my own. Caroline's laugh was a small apology of nervousness. My uncle consulted his watch. There was the sound of carriage wheels beyond, a crunching of gravel. The housekeeper flurried to the door. It was Arabella. Her cloak removed in the hallway, she entered in a dull-red dress of silk with elaborate overlays of white lace about the neck. Her diamonds sent messages of light. Without a word she stepped daintily past our chairs like one who is uncertain where to sit. A glass of sherry waited at her elbow.
"The days are good," my aunt said and smiled at her, raising her glass. Caroline and I were as invisible. "You have passed the days well?" It was my uncle's voice.
"There was hunting," Arabella said. She looked faintly bored, as aristocrats often affect to do. Leaning back in her chair she crossed her legs with an audible swishing of silk. "Three girlspretty and sprightly. They ran not far. We used the walls of the enclosures and the rose garden beyond. They squealed louder than rabbits upon being caught. We pinioned them and carried them within. There were pleasantries. The gentlemen mounted them in turn. They were common girls-field-girls given to such lusts, I believe. Of no account."