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Woolmart Girl – Part 2
A strong padlock now clasped the hawser hidden in the belt
grasping Poppy’s gasp-making wasped waist, and held
the hawser in place even as the temporary nylon rope was cut and discarded.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
Miss Geeves now retrieved Poppy’s
slipped down stockings, and fixed them to the suspenders at the sides of
Poppy’s wonderful thighs. Gold clasps thus gripped the gold rings in the
stocking tops around the golden girl’s golden thighs. A gold band ran within
the wasp-waist enforcing suspender belt. A gold thread ran up from the stocking
clasps to the belt. In the mid-front of the belt was a secreted microchip.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
Curiously designed panties came next. If they were not to be
put on such a feminine creature as Poppy, the panty’s crotch might have been
thought to be a codpiece. It was transparent plastic, with two holes at its
top, with a nipple thrusting up between the holes. Between Poppy’s heavenly
thighs the bottom end of the ‘codpiece’ seemed to form a slightly forward
thrusting cup, and down from the cup’s bottom most
corner at its base, there protruded another nipple.
So, all in all, the article that was being placed over
Poppy’s nude smooth cunt lips,
was a transparent plastic banana-shaped hollowed-out panty crotch, with a
container-bottle at its base.
But that was not all of its present mysteries. For within
the ‘codpiece’ was a gold wire that, when the ‘codpiece’ was in place, ran
between Poppy’s sensitive outer lips, and pressed gently on her inner pink,
next her hooded clitoris.
The panty crotch was tied to Poppy with tight ribbons. One
ribbon ran up her belly to clip, with a gold clip to the gold strip within her
garter belt at front. And at rear, the ribbon divided her tight-clenched deep
side-dimpled bum moons, before going through a hoop at the rear of her
suspender belt, and then being pulled tight, so that soft rubber edges to the
codpiece pressed onto Poppy’s love-lips, and both sealed the fit to her body,
and slightly opened her, toward her giving a beautiful pink love-smile.
Plastic reinforced the cups of the white uplift brassiere
that Miss Geeves fitted under Poppy’s naturally
splendid pendulous breasts to lift them up and point them straight boldly out,
grossly embarrassingly for the sweet girl.
Straps over her shoulders, and tight round her chest to her
back, held this girls forty-inch-E-cup bosom presented as if meat on a
butcher’s counter, with the cups of the bra curving up only to contain her
ampleness from below, whilst leaving her thus presented breasts, bare on their
soft firm uppers, and with a resultant massively provocative cleavage.
Two independent gold wires ran within the brassier, to
emerge bare at Poppy’s pert pouting rosebud pink proud conical nipples, and,
with manipulation from Miss Geeves, to gently enter
Poppy’s nipple’s milk-ducts. More such gold cores ran within her bra straps.
Nestling neatly in her cleavage was a hidden microchip.
Miss Geeves now brought two
transparent plastic tubes, and fastened the first to the nipple at the top of
Poppy’s panty-piece. She then fastened the second, and
longer one, to the nipple at the base of the cup at the bottom of the
panty-piece. Both tubes were then run up Poppy’s front, side by side, through
hoops made for the purpose of holding them at the front of Poppy’s suspender
belt, and then the alike hoops in the brassiere, up the middle of Poppy’s
immense cleavage where they were left, for the moment to hang loose.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
A transparent plastic open bell skirt was now clipped at
Poppy’s hips just above her firmly dimple-clenched hard-slapping-wanton bum.
The short sleeved, puff-sleeved, black dress of close
clinging velvet, was rolled up, and slipped over Poppy’s lovely slim gold-down
glistening forearms, and then over her head.
Her lovely curls were next whisked out, and the dress took
on the magnificence of the boldness of her bountiful bosom, and then the
incredible slimness of her wasped waist, and finally
stretched over to cover the bell, that thus held it flared out, so that her
bare bottom was barely covered, and her cunt, in its
transparent codpiece, was transfixingly apparent for
all to see.
And Miss Geeves checked the white
puff sleeves on the maid’s dress, at Poppy’s upper arms, and that the bell held
Poppy’s sin-black dress’ skirt wide out, and that its hem hid the means by
which that was achieved: the plastic bell itself.
And then she tied a tiny frilly edged white apron, fixing it
with a huge bow at Poppy’s super-slimmed waist at the back, and ensured that
this maid’s apron was straight, and that the low swoop of the neckline of the
hugging black velvet maid’s dress, showed the full majesty of Poppy’s
magnificent bosom, evenly uncovered down to, but short of revealing Poppy’s
proud nipples, save for the clear obviousness with which they shaped the dress’
taut fabric.
Suffering all these strange indignities for her love of Lady
Barnmouth, and her longing to be near her, Poppy’s
wonderful mind had strained at the strangeness of what was happening. And in
the distraction of the pain from her tortured big toes, she let her mind grind
on the indignities of what was being done to her. And her thoughts echoed back
to her time at college, and the protests she had organised
and led against the inequalities of, and the mistreatment of girls in the
modern world.
And a sweet voice, Poppy’s, dared to say: “You’re turning me
into a sex object! You’re turning me into a masturbatory fantasy! You’re making
me akin to a blow-up doll! Please don’t do this to me: I’m a real girl with
degrees and doctorates!! You’re turning me into a shop-bought fuck toy!!!”
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
Miss Geeves sarcasmed
in total derision.
At this dismal summary dismissal, Poppy’s head sunk lower
than her poor heart.
The transparent mask Miss Geeves
strapped over Poppy’s nose and mouth was fed with the two pipes: the one from
the top, and the one from the bottom of the transparent plastic codpiece
covering Poppy’s cunt.
At pretty Poppy’s quizzical look, Miss Geeves
informed: “The first hose is to give you the feminising
pleasure of being, at all times, able to smell your own intimate aroma, with
every sweet breath you take. The second, is for when
you get thirsty”.
Poppy blushed at the first, for, as she drew her delightful
breath in the mask and thus took her air in from the codpiece over her cunt, with its two breathe-holes either side of the tube
now running to her nostrils, she could indeed smell her own seductive
between-legs scent.
The second of Miss Geeves remarks:
the reference to the tube now between the lips of Poppy’s sweet mouth, and atop
her tongue: the reference to a means of drinking when thirsty, even Poppy’s
brilliant mind could not work out.
“We are now going to teach you how you will be instructed
and made to obey”, Miss Geeves commented mildly. “You
surely don’t imagine we would ever let a mere Woolmart
girl think she can think for herself do you?” Miss Geeves challenged mysteriously.
Miss Geeves now put on Poppy’s
wrap-around mirror glasses. They both hooked over her little ears hidden within
her golden curls, and also plugged her ears so as to reduce her hearing to the
minimum: a minimum maximised when Miss Geeves clicked a switch, and the built-in battery-powered
radio in the glasses began to fill poor Poppy’s head with white noise: a steady
hum, so that she was effectively completely deaf.
Poppy’s beautiful eyes showed her terror. Her
eyes. Her lovely eyes could be seen through her wrap-around glasses; but
could not see. All Poppy could see in the one-way glass of her glasses, was the
image of her own golden eyes looking back at her. She looked into mirrors and
could not see out. Her lucky captor could see her eyes, but Poppy could not
see: she was blinded by her glasses.
In her terror Poppy dared to lift a pretty little hand to
take off her glasses.
“Don’t you damned well dare!” spat Miss Geeves
voice suddenly and splittingly loudly through Poppy’s earplug headphones.
Poppy’s mind flashed back to recall the promise that she
would be bullwhipped on her bare body if she were a naughty girl, and instantly
refrained.
“I am going to lead you into the metal floored rooms in
which you will perform your services, for as long a day as required”, Miss Geeves instructed.
“You can be pleased to know that the metal of the floor is
kept flawlessly polished to mirror-perfection, so that Lady Barnmouth
and her guests may see, whenever it pleases them so to do, all
the wonderful equipage you normally have hidden up your dress’ skirt.”
“The floor also carries an electrical flow. It provides the
means by which, you will learn to obey, and through which you will given
instruction. And it won’t be through this present means. Lady Barnmouth will not stand for me radioing you like this”.
“Your gold-cored steel shoes’ toes and heels,
will provide more than adequate contact with the metal flooring to power you up
and communicate with you.”
“If you are wondering: the power will come in through your
steel shoes and heels. After that, gold is a wonderful conductor of
electricity. From your shoes, the power will run up the seams of the stockings
on your incredibly long and equally incredibly beautiful legs.
Your stockings’ seams, connect to
the gold rings at your stockings’ tops. From your stockings’ tops, the power
will flow through your gold suspender clasps, up the gold thread in your
suspenders to your wasping suspender belt. From there
it can run up your back to your brassiere by means of a gold inlay within the
back of your maid’s dress that makes contact between your suspender belt and
your tit-cantilevering bra.
The straps of your brassier form aerials: antenna as back-up
for operating you by remote control. Microchips in your brassiere and suspender
belt are both receivers and instructors. There is more too. That
‘more’ I will inform you of shortly.”
“One last thing before we move to the slave flooring. You
looked querulous when I mentioned the purpose of the tube in your lovely mouth.
I said that it was there for when you became thirsty. You obviously didn’t
understand. But then why should a stupid slut of a Woolmart
girl understand anything so elegant as that particular
arrangement?”
“Let me put it in simple words, so that even a slag tart
like you can understand. You will, when on duty, be dressed, all day, as you
are now: and by that I mean from before dawn until dawn nearly dawns again most
likely.”
“During that time it is, of course, inevitable that you will
have to pee. You will never ever be allowed to go to the bathroom. So, you will
piss your pee into your panties.”
“By now the elegance of the solution to the inevitable
problems of the thirst you will also undoubtedly experience during your
endlessly long days of obedient duty, will even have occurred to you: you
filthy whore.”
“But in case you are so stupid as not even now to
understand. I am saying that you will pee your piss into the pot at the bottom
of your plastic panties, and walk around with that piss slopping pure-goldenly
to and fro no doubt, but always there for when you are thirsty. For when you
are thirsty enough, you will suck on the tube in your pretty mouth, and thus
draw up your piss from the reservoir in your panties.”
“In sum: you will, and you may think you can resist, but in
the end you will, you unquestionably will, drink your own piss!”
There followed a heart-rending muffled sob, and Poppy’s
gentle tears ran rainbow-refracting trails caressing the soft down on the
lovely complexion of her freckled peach soft cheeks, thus telling the true tale
of her utter misery.
…………..
Miss Geeves took gentle hold of
Poppy’s sweet right hand, with it long impractical fingernails, and noted, with
some sensitivity, that poor Poppy, though a fit girl, was perspiring from her
fear, and from the pain from her brutally tortured big toes.
As she walked, for thus she was bid so to do, Poppy felt her
increased femininity.
The heady aroma that she constantly scented from between her
own legs was surprising aphrodisiacal. Even though, through the tube she used
to breathe, she was smelling her own cunt, and not that of a girlfriend she was bedding, Poppy
found the aroma arousing.
And to her brilliant mind, the thought that she was being
compelled to constantly scent her own cunt, turned
her on. Her own musky fragrance, and the compulsion she was under to breathe it
constantly, aroused Poppy in a strange new way. It was also as if her own
intimate fragrance was aromatherapy for her. It calmed her.
Also when she walked, she found she had a new extreme of
femininity in her steps. She could feel the highly erotic maximality
of muscularity and the curvaceous comeliness given her god-made legs, by her
fourteen-inch high heels.
She had, quite literally, only pinpoint contact with the
ground from the toes and heels of her stainless-steel shoes. Her stance and her
walk were therefore at all times immensely precarious. She knew that, at all
times, even as she merely stood on the top ends of her big toes as she must,
with her feet pointing straight down to the ground, she risked wrenching one of
her slim trim ankles, or breaking one of her big toes.
When she walked, to lift one foot was to put all her lovely
110 pounds on the big toe of her grounded foot alone, and thus to be more at
risk of falling than the constant risk she was under anyway.
If she could not get such tiny grip on the ground as her
sewing-needle-pointed toes and heels would provide, she knew she would fall
and, in doing so, almost certainly break one of her beautiful legs.
The fear of falling was constant. Poppy’s brain thus
instructed her leg muscles to use their full strength. And thus, unwittingly,
Poppy’s brain made her legs even more compellingly shapely and orgasmically beautiful.
And there was more femininity to Poppy’s walk in another
way. She had only a twelve-inch waist. Her middle was more wasped
than a wasps, and so she wiggled wider.
Her clenched dimpled bum swung enticingly invitingly
excitingly, and that excitement was not least for Poppy herself, as her bottom
beat side to side in the open bell of her dress’ skirt, for all the world as if
the skirt were really a bell, and her bum trying to beat the bell to make it
sound out in celebration of her being a girl.
At first, the excessive swing to her bum when she walked
shocked Poppy, and only increased her fear she would fall. But when she knew
she had been wasped to make her snake her hips like a
whore, she resigned herself to her fate, and she let her deep side dimpled
firmly clenched bum, beat alluring pendulum, as it swung when she walked, as it
and she could not, in reality, prevent.
Miss Geeves was talking through
Poppy’s earpieces once more. “All of you maid sluts are on a different
wavelength. The master computer is programmed to control you all. You will obey
its commands without question. It will know if you are being dilatory or a
naughty girl in some other unforgivable way, and it will correct you, choosing
its own degree of severity.”
“Throughout the house there are walkways, doorways, and
rooms. And in each of the rooms there are duties. Except on occasions like this
when I teach you something new, you will remain blinded by your glasses and
made deaf by your earplugs, thus ensuring your total obedience, and the
computer’s complete control over you.”
“The computer will instruct you where you are to go. And it
will open doors for you, and tell you which room you are in, and what you are
to do in that room.”
“In each of the rooms there are cameras and sensors. The
computer can thus assess when a bed needs making, or crockery washing, or
clothes laundered.
It also knows where all stocks are held, duvet covers or
what you will. All you will provide is the pair of pretty hands that it lacks.
Your lovely hands will make beds or sweep paths, or whatever the computer
orders you to do.”
“Through the steel floor and your constant contact with that
floor via the toes and heels of your stainless-steel and gold shoes, the
computer will give you messages.”
“Those messages will be literally wired from your
stainless-steel shoes, up the seams of your stockings, through your suspender
clasps, up your suspenders to your suspender belt, and through the back of your
dress up to your brassiere, there to be converted by the microchips on you
belly and in your cleavage.”
“As it is the only thing sluts like you can ever understand,
the computer will reward you for being a good girl, by instructing the
microchips in your bra and in your suspender belt to pleasure you.”
“The wires in your nipples can be made to vibrate. So too
can the wire in your cunt’s pink. That wire can also
sense your wetness. It can communicate back to the computer through the clip
that holds your panty-piece to the front of your suspender belt.”
“Thus the computer can calculate to what degree you need to
be excited, by vibration of your nipples and your clitoris, in order to get you
receptively wet. And thus the computer will keep you constantly receptively
wet, but always, I can assure you, always well short of an orgasm.”
“In return for being nice to you, by keeping you sweet and
wet all day long, the computer will expect your total obedience in gratitude.”
“You will soon find that the computer will order you about,
primarily through tiny electrical shocks to your clitoris. When you are to walk
it will command you to do so by giving your clit two little shocks.”
“You have, of course, two tits: a right tit and a left tit.
Through that fortunate arrangement, the computer is enabled to give you
directions on which way to turn.”
“A shock in your right nipple will tell you to turn right. A
shock in your left nipple will order you to turn left,
and equal shocks in both nipples tell you to walk straight forward or, if a
longer pulse, to stop.”
“Ordinarily the shocks will be entirely bearable and, to a
filthy slut like you, no doubt sexually arousing. But, if you are a naughty
girl, the computer will give you a very painful lesson, and record the
instance, so that the lesson can be later reinforced by a whipping”.
I am going to switch you over to the computer now, and, for
the next hour, it will teach you how to be a good robotic slave. It will give
you a single word command, and the electrical shock in your nipples and / or
your cunt, that ordinarily stands in for that
command. You will do well to learn the Morse code akin
pulse patterns quickly.”
“And finally, before I turn this transmitter off, let me
remind you, Heavenslove, that you are just trailer
trash. You are just a fucking Woolmart counter tart.
All your fancy degrees and doctorates are so much shit.”
“Whilst you are in Lady Barnmouth’s
employ, you are just a pretty face with elegant arms, lovely legs, a great bum,
and gorgeous tits. Those are all you are here for. Don’t ever get any fancy
ideas about your importance.”
“You are just decoration. Whilst you work here you are just
walking legs bum and tits. You are only worth your legs your bum and your tits.
When your legs your bum or your tits lose their attraction, you will be thrown
out in the street.”
At this final tirade from Emelda Geeves, Poppy’s dainty nostrils flared, and her breathing
made her aware, that her between-legs aroma had just become heavier than
before.
…………………
At the switch over to the computer, Poppy felt a pleasurable
vibration in her nipples, followed by the peremptory mechanical female voiced
command: ‘walk whore!’, preceded by two lightly
tickling electrical pulses through her clitoris.
Deafened by her earplugs and the white noise filling her
head, and blinded by her wrap around mirror glasses, Poppy obeyed.
“Is that the new slut?” a sweet contralto voice enquired.
“Yes my lady”, Miss Geeves
answered.
“What a beautiful bum she’s got on her, and her legs are
just so fantastic! She’s a more than adequate replacement for Jennifer. Yet
again Geeves, you’ve done well. In fact, looking at
the legs on that little slag, you’ve excelled yourself. Does the whore have a
name?” Lady Barnmouth enquired.
“She’s called ‘Poppy’ my lady”, Miss Geeves
answered, respectfully as always.
Lady Barnmouth gave no indication
of recognition of the name. She had quite forgotten the lovely girl who had
served her so efficiently in Woolmart not yet three
weeks since.
“’Poppy’ is a pretty name”, Lady Barnmouth
speculated momentarily.
“Of course I leave all the computer wizardry in your good
hands Geeves. But don’t we have a delightful little
Japanese doll called ‘Poppette’ as number sixteen?”
“We do indeed my lady”, Miss Geeves
confirmed.
“Well, we can’t have two with a name starting with ‘P’ – two
number sixteens can we? This pretty tart will
obviously be the new number ten, in place of Jennifer, will she
not?”
”Quite so, my lady”, Miss Geeves responded, ably
hiding her mounting resentment at Lady Barnmouth’s
interference, in what Miss Geeves had begun to think
her sole territory: organising the computer and its
indoor slaves.
“Well, if she’s the new number ten, she needs to be a ‘J’.
So we’ll just call her ‘Jennifer’ again shall we?” Lady Barnmouth
concluded.
“Of course my lady”, Miss Geeves
answered, fighting her resentment at not being able to choose her own ‘J’, and
name Poppy ‘Jezebel’, as she had been so minded when she watched Poppy’s
exciting bum swings inside the bell of her skirt just now before.
It was a miracle of acting that saved Emelda
Geeves showing her resentment when, having been
surprised by Lady Barnmouth’s return, with her
mistress having suddenly come back into the room, she turned to the reopened
door, to see Lady Barnmouth’s lovely face.
“Nearly forgot Geeves. I have the
PM coming to dinner tonight. She’s an eye for a pretty girl and is bound to
notice the new tart. Do you think Jennifer can be ready to give her room
service? She’s not having her monthly is she? The prime minister may want to
bed her….”
“I will do my best to have Jennifer ready by tonight my
lady. And, no, she’s not dripping at the moment...” Miss Geeves
responded.
“Thank you Geeves. I knew I could
rely on you”, Lady Barnmouth smiled again.
…………………
Obediently, under the control of the computer, Poppy was
being made to walk and learn the distances from the ground floor and Miss Geeves’ room, where she had begun, to the slave’s quarters,
the lounges, the kitchens, the garbage unit, the stairs and the upper rooms,
including the bedrooms, the bathrooms, and the lavatories.
It was as if the computer loved her lovely legs too, for it
seemed to have her walk up and down the stairs, where their full amazing length
could be seen, as well as a full view of her dimpled sexily clenched bottom.
True to Miss Geeves’ words, the
computer had aroused Poppy: a matter of no great difficulty with such a
sensitive girl. A momentary steady vibration of her nipples and Poppy was as
wet as a quadruple-monsoon. The computer soon sensed this, and just gave her
nipples tiny throbs once in a while, and thus easily kept Poppy, as wet as a
schoolgirl anticipating the imminent harbouring of
the seventh fleet.
Unfortunately for Poppy, her eager wetness had a side
effect.
If her waist wasping had given a
wanton’s wiggle to her walk, something else was now giving a wiggle to her
wiggle.
She was hot to trot, and not to bed, but in dire need of the
bathroom.
Though she fought this, she inevitably fought and lost.
Within half-an-hour of her computer guided training, she had
peed abundantly into her panties and the container at the base of her
‘codpiece’, now glowed the gold of a summer sunset, filled to the brim as it
was, with her superlative cognac: her golden treasure: her wine: her pure
girl’s pure girl-pee.
……………..
Getting used to working as if she were a blind girl, had cost Poppy a number of short sharp shocks.
The computer knew no let or hindrance in punishing her. It
had instantly calculated that it could hurt her through her sensitive nipples,
and keep her receptively wet by that means at the same time.
With other girls controlled by its electronic tentacles, a
pulse to the clitoris was the most effective cure for a misdemeanour,
but ‘number 10’, Poppy, must be some kind of masochist, for she was clearly
turned on by her predicament, and wholly compliant with the computer’s demands
and commands with the minimum of correction.
The cameras at the end of the fibre-optic
entrails that wove through the fabric of the walls and ceilings of every room
in the house, guided the computer, and the computer the girls in its command.
Thus Poppy could be made to make up a bed through a series
of pulses to her cunt and her nipples, micromanaging
her movements, combined with her own sensuous sensitivity of feel with her
pretty hands.
It would have been more efficient for the slaves to be
allowed to see, but Lady Barnmouth wanted the full
obedience that blinding and deafening the sluts assured: blind obedience being
literal in her household.
As Poppy wiggled along from where she had carried a tray of
potatoes to the kitchen, under orders from the computer to fetch a tray of
carrots, she sipped some more of her piss to quench her thirst.
The computer had worked her relentlessly for eight hours. In
her blindness and deafness she was unaware of a passing presence, until the
woman passing could resist no more, and pinched Poppy’s beautiful
tight-clenched deep-deep-dimple-sided bottom.
Poppy instantly jerked to long-leggy-legged halt and
squeaked with the pain, and then moaned as the computer punished her nipples
and then her clitoris.
As it sensed that she had become over-aroused from the
pinch, and the pulses to her nipples, the imbalance caused by Poppy’s
passionate nature now seemed to take the computer by surprise.
It sensed that Poppy was approaching a climax. That so
trivial a matter as a girl being surprised by having her bare bum pinched,
could arouse her so, was something the computer could not cope with. And so,
even though Poppy was being totally obedient, Miss Geeves
instantly received a message from the computer on her pager.
A repeated pulse in her right nipple ordered Poppy to turn,
and her sexy legs strode, and her bare bum bell tolled, belying a pendulum for
claiming to swing, as she graced her way to the library, and the infuriated
Miss Geeves, who had two of the gardeners with her.
………………
The slap across her pretty face shocked Poppy so much that
she did not even utter a syllable of sound. Her glasses were tipped and slipped
down her nose on her bruised face, and the inrush of extra light burned her
golden eyes causing her to blink.
As she got used to the light once more, she submitted to
being stripped of her glasses, her dress, the plastic bell that belled her
dress’ skirt out, her brassiere and her panties.
They stopped her pretty mouth by stuffing it with her soiled
Woolmart panties.
Roping her wrists individually, they dragged her to the door
of the library’s broom cupboard: toward the edge of that strong panelled oak door, which was standing open.
They tied her wrists so that her lovely arms were hugging
the front and back of the door like a long lost lover.
They tied her wrists to the upper hinges of the door, so
that her chin was pressed on its open edge and her golden curls dangled down
her back.
“Lady Barnmouth will not tolerate
such slatternly behaviour from whores like you,
Jennifer!”, Miss Geeves
hissed, as she played with Poppy’s right nipple.
‘Who is ‘Jennifer’? Why is Emelda Geeves calling me ‘Jennifer’?’ Poppy’s face and eyes asked,
just before her eyes closed to better experience the pleasure of having her
nipple caressed, with a practiced thumb wiping across it relentlessly
repeatedly.
Poppy had no idea what she was supposed to have done or,
indeed, if the opposite was the case, not done.
Despite the tightness with which her tied wrists pulled her
up to the open edge of the hugely strong door, Poppy managed to turn her head,
and look Miss Geeves in the eye, with a sweet and
pitiful plea, begging for forgiveness, and showing fear that she, Poppy, was
about to experience the bullwhipping promised her if she were a naughty girl.
Instead Poppy simply heard Miss Geeves
order to the strong negress
gardeners: “Ruin her. You know what to do. Give her the previous Jennifer’s
punishment….
………………….
In the latter later half of the following afternoon, the
summer sun still shone dust-dance-revealing beams through the library’s French
windows.
As the agonised Poppy glanced
around, her pain filled eyes seemed unable to see, but still lit with
astonishment when they alighted on the redheaded schoolgirl who had wondered
into the library with a woman, perhaps her momma, who had already passed by,
her face unseen by Poppy, to open the French windows that led onto the patio
and the flowing lawns following on.
The schoolgirl, fifteen at most, wore a pleated grey
micro-mini-skirt, that showed the edge of the gusset of her pristine white,
unsullied white, panties.
Her legs were not long, she being altogether only five-two
at tops, but exceptionally pretty, as she wandered her wonder in her heelless
tiptoe ballet shoes.
Her breasts hardly troubled to disturb her blouse’s
uniformity of line, but were pointed out literally by the school uniform
necktie that she wore, and which showed she had cleavage enough, even though
her bosom would never threaten to burst her blouses’ buttons.
Her glory was her hair. Her face was wreathed in livid
curling flames. Her green eyes showed the shear joy she had in being so young,
so feminine, and so alive.
Desdemona, for this was the angel, put her sweet hand on
Poppy’s cunt. She then noticed, and gently caressed,
a curious bruise on Poppy’s clenched deep side-dimpled bottom, a bruise on her
left bum cheek, as if Poppy had had her bottom pinched very hard.
Poppy, moaned at this act of gentle alms from such a pretty
hand.
Desdemona’s momma admired the way it had been done. The two
batons of wood with the pre-drilled holes in their longest sides, to assist in
holding the girl – someone knew what they were doing: someone knew the Roman
way.
Glancing down, Desdemona’s momma noted that the gagged girl
stood in her extremely high-heels on the very tip-top of her big toes, with the
six-inch-long toe-ends, and the fourteen-inch high heels of her shiny steel
shoes, in a puddle of her own piss. ‘What a waste of a fine wine!’ Desdemona’s
momma mentally decried.
Her appreciative eye now followed up and down the girl’s
wonderfully long and equally wonderfully shapely legs. ‘My goodness, it’s that
maid I met in the corridor last evening. What fantastic legs, and what a
gorgeous bum. What a great reaction when she got what she deserved too! Who
could resist pinching such a backside? Wonder how long she’s been in
punishment?’.
All of these thoughts from and by Desdemona’s momma, took no more than a fleeting microsecond.
At one glance she had taken in what had probably happened.
At a second glance, she looked again at the girl’s
wonderfully big breasts.
They were squeezed brutally flat in their middles: the
batons saw to that. Their ends were like child’s party balloons, and the
nipples were clearly constantly painfully swollen.
The batons saw to that too, the batons and the flat-headed
steel nails driven through the holes in the batons: the huge steel nails with
which the girl’s breasts had been nailed to the front and back of the open oak
door she was tied standing at the edge of, that is, of course.
In ancient
Desdemona’s momma, then turned, and having stood a while to
breath the air in the open doorway, left her darling fifteen-year-old daughter
to assuaging her curiosity, by caressing the helpless body of the tit-crucified
Poppy.
Desdemona’s momma herself continued into the gardens to
greet Lady Barnmouth and apologise
for having had to rush away the previous evening.
“Lady Barnmouth, Faustina, how can I apologise
enough for what must have seemed my extreme rudeness last evening in the middle
of dinner?” Lora Georgette’s musical Welsh intonation intoned.
“No apology is necessary, prime minister. Affairs of state
have always been beyond me. I don’t envy you the burden you bear. I only hope
such time as you have been able to spend at my humble abode, has enabled you to
relax a little”, Lady Barnmouth’s voice soothed.
A muffled squeal of extreme pain came through the open
French windows. Both women turned momentarily toward the sound, and then
relaxed again.
Lady Barnmouth knew that
‘Jennifer’ was in the library, crucified by her tits as a preliminary to her
being thrown into the streets, dismissed from her service.
And Lora Georgette readily realised
that the voice behind the decidedly muffled scream, was not Desdemona’s, but
must have been that of the gagged and crucified girl.
“I hope you don’t mind Faustina,
but I had to bring my youngest daughter, Desdemona with me.”
“She is to go to boarding school here in Barnmouth.
Term starts tomorrow, and tomorrow, I’m afraid, I have to entrain for
“I am only too delighted to oblige. Consider my home yours
Lora”, Faustina, Lady Barnmouth,
assured.
“Desdemona can stay and sleep-over here, and it will be an honour to offer you our hospitality too. Desdemona was with
us for a month last summer. She is pure delight, and a pleasure to have
around”, Faustina added.
As the two lovely women spoke, a beautiful negress, followed by two gorgeous Chinese dolls, outdoors
servants, brought a silver tea service and a trestle table to the lawns, and
began to set out what they had prepared and carried, before their superiors.
Another cry of pain: this one decidedly the pain of joy from
the attainment of what sounded as if it must be a truly massive orgasm,
preceded a long sigh of satiation from the same source: the muffled voice.
At this, Lora Georgette, prime minister of
On arrival in the library, her eyes needing to readjust to
the contrasting shade of the room where Poppy of course still stood, nailed by
her breasts to the door, prime minister Lora Georgette could not quite yet see
why her pretty daughter was holding up and looking with sweet curiosity at the
fingers of her right hand; though she was evidently fine.
The smile on the titian ringlet ringed face of the petite
doll Desdemona was one of pleasure achieved. She had just given herself a sex
lesson at Poppy’s expense, and Poppy, coincidentally and accidentally, a massive
orgasm.
The answer to the item of passing interest, the curiosity
Desdemona had, about the bloodied fingers of her hitherto exploratory hand,
came in the sweet lisp of Desdemona’s voice: “Ooh look mummy: I’ve got blood
all over my fingers!”
“Yes”, Lora Georgette replied, in a voice expressing that
she now understood.
“Yes. Well, I dare say she may have been a virgin darling.
Now do hurry up and wash your hands sweetheart. Tea is being readied for us on
the lawns”…
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