“Not yet, Robert, not yet,” she said again and again when his breathing grew coarser, for she knew every sign of the male’s impending spills. Thus she kept him at it, finally raising her beautiful legs and drawing them full back as she commanded him to come and he did so, quivering and shuddering, till every drop was spilled, absorbed, sucked in.
“Off with him, Clara-he is spoilt,” she uttered when at last it seemed he would sink down on her, though straining every tendon not to do so.
His cock dripped as I drew him out and led him stumbling back to what she thereafter frequently called his “cell.”
“You are a good boy now, Robert,” I murmured to him and sat him on the bed like a child until I had him undressed and put into his nightdress which was an old one of my own. “Get into bed,” I told him and he did so, huddling up and with his back to me.
“I w… w… want…,” he mumbled.
I, halfway to the door, turned and asked sharply, “What?”
“To… to… to d… d… do it with you,” he said and hid his face.
“You know you may not say such a naughty thing, Robert, you KNOW you may not,” I told him and waited for his reply.
“Yes, I know,” came his whisper.
“Do as Mama tells you and we shall see,” I said and then went out, myself all a-tremble, though he knew it not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thus was the first new chapter in my life all but rounded off. To the outer world all would have seemed normal, and indeed did so, for no visitors noticed a change in Papa, Robert or anyone else. But to live in an entirely closed world was unhealthy, Stepmama said, and exhorted Sarah and I to spread our wings, to entertain and to seek out subjects. By day Robert wore his normal attire. At evenings I would have much fun in dressing him up, even to putting him into one of Sarah’s corsets which fitted him admirably so that he looked quite adorable in knickerless state thus, stockings taut and tightly gartered, and well-polished shoes.
Sarah, having been prised more out of her shell, would tickle his balls and cock with just her little finger, which she learned well to do, until he had a fine stand, his prepuce drawn back and his knob aglowing. Even so we monitored our own desires as our stepmother taught us to and would accept the males but once a week, which of occasion made me fret and want for more.
“You shall have more when you have tamed your own subjects,” I was told. “The males must not be spoiled, Clara, or they will take airs upon themselves.”
I birched Sarah sometimes and she would then respond by coursing the softened twigs across my own bottom until I came up to a fine heat. Such amusements never took place before the males, however, for it was not seemly for us so to de. Even so, they must have silently remarked the glowing heat of our bottoms when we were tapped or tupped or pistoned, or whatever our word might be for the evening. Sarah gradually grew silent when it was done to her and would lay her cheek sideways on a velvet cushion, her eyes wide with wonder as the shaft urged back and forth and only a gentle quivering of her bottom was to be seen. With the cock firm gliding in her she would come and breathe more quickly when she did so, her eyelashes fluttering prettily and her eyeballs rolling up.
“To feather your sweet pussies when you have the prick up your bottoms would be delicious, but you are accepted now as almost the same rank as I in the household and so must not be seen to be playthings,” our stepmother said, to my own disappointment at least for Sarah still obtained some hesitations. Seeing her apparently incurable in this respect, our stepmother paid her the curious compliment of blindfolding her when, instead of upping her bottom and thus keeping her expression mostly hid, she was put on her back to them which-if our stepmama was feeling mischievous-might be in the drawing room upon a tigerskin. To Tim or Papa or Robert it was a sign of uncaring that she was not put out by whoever’s prick she received, though that was not really the reason, but it sufficed to allay their thoughts and so kept her “queenly” in their eyes.
Once or twice our stepmother would make Sarah tipple heartily before putting her down, which was always done in the absence of males, for it was to be seen by them that everything she did was voluntary. My sister would then be arranged prettily on the tigerskin with her skirt wreathed up and most neatly fanned out on either side of her hips. Her bush was dark and showed beautifully against her snow-white belly. While she lay there with the blindfold on, our stepmother would unbutton Sarah’s corsage so that her firmly jellied tits came into view, the nipples then being teased to fiery points. Sarah would then moan and toss for in the meanwhile I, taking a soft brush, would fluff up her mass of pubic hairs and so tickle her with the bristles at the same time. Becoming passionate, she would seek our mouths, but these were refused.
“All your desires must bubble on the cock,” she would be told. Thus all her will was required to hold herself still in readiness and anticipation when the male was led in, by which time Sarah’s knees were flexed and her thighs straddled so that the pouting of her cuntlips was well in view and glistening not a little from our endeavours. Then the male would be put down on her, he being ever restrained to thread her well and thoroughly until her bush was well creamed with his come and she would lie languid and satisfied, being allowed her own time in which to get up.
I had taken at this time to writing thoughts down on paper. Not only thoughts, for I attempted also to describe such “exercises” as above, and found myself a muff at it, or so I thought.
“Show me what you have written,” my stepmother asked once when I complained to her of my difficulties. She then sat reading earnestly such a scene as I have here described, with much bumping of Sarah’s bottom on the floor and the sweet but breathless look on her face. “It is not so bad as you think,” my stepmother concluded at the end of three full pages, “for what you are attempting even the greatest of writers have failed in, which is to say how to describe even the conjunction of two pairs of lips or the first meeting of the prick to the cunny’s mouth. Such things escape the pen as oil does water. Fret about it not. You have come within good measure of it.” Thereat she laughed and added, “I see you have described the crest of your Papa’s cock as like a garden bulb nosing into loam-that is most amusing! The desperations of the writer are even greater than those of the painter, believe me, for words do not have colour and are flat. Shall you write more?”
I nodded, for I was a little flattered by her attentions and by her question which plainly directed me to proceed. She then bid me write in chapters and not endlessly-“all at a gabble,” as she said-and hence I did and so have built my narrative upon those early efforts.
At this time-so much have I condensed events in this chapter, not wishing to repeat myself-I had reached the age of seventeen and so my titties and my bottom, not to say my pouting slit, were truly worthier of all attentions. My stepmother had not added, however, to our entourage, saying that to do so would encourage laziness in myself and Sarah.
“I could bring men and maidens to you both, but I will not, for then you would be like fledgling birds forever feeding from their mother’s mouth and learning not to fly,” she told us one day, adding that she meant to hold a garden party, and so closely did she run her sentences together that I knew there to be a meaning in it. No sooner had I thought this than she went on: “The guests will be varied but carefully chosen. There will be no merriments, but you are to observe them closely. The rest I leave to you.”
“Shall we have some of them to stay, then?” Sarah asked carelessly.