BEATRICE Read online

  Jericho.

  Jenny said we were to ride around her in a tight circle, I clockwise, Caroline counter-clockwise. The servant turned my horse. I faced the house. It looked small and distant. A doll's house. When we returned and entered it we would become tiny.

  Jenny clapped her hands and we began. The movement of the velvet beneath me made my lips part with pleasure. Caroline's face was flushed as she passed me, the flanks of our steeds almost brushing. Our hair rose and flowed outwards in the breeze. We kept our backs straight as we had been taught. Father could not have reached up so high to smack me.

  “Straighten your legs—lift your bottoms—high!” Jenny called. She stood in the middle of the circle we made. The breeze lifted our skirts, exposing us. The hems of our skirts curled and flowed about our waists. The sky spun about me.

  “Higher!” Jenny commanded. Our knees straightened. Frederick had gone. I was pleased. In profile the pale moon of Caroline's bottom flashed past me. I heard her squeal, a long thin squeal as the crop caught her, light and stinging across her out-thrust cheeks. And then mine! The breath whistled from my throat. I kept my head back. In the far distance near the house two figures were watching. My uncle was watching. Katherine's head lay on his shoulder, her parasol twirling.

  Again the crop. It skimmed my naked bottom cheeks, not cutting but skimming as if it were skittering across the face of a balloon. Who had taught her that? It stung, lifting me up on to my toes in the stirrups. I leaned forward, clutching at the horse's mane, breathing my whistling cries to the far-deep empty sky.

  At the twelfth stroke of the crop upon each of us, Jenny raised her hand. We slowed, we cantered, we reined in. Panting we fell forward, exposing our burning bottoms to the air. The breeze was cool across our pumpkins hot.

  “Dismount!” Jenny called. Frederick the servant was returning. He carried things. “Stable them!” Jenny ordered him. She referred I thought to the horses, but he ignored them. My bottom tightened as he approached. The ground would receive me—surely it would receive me. I would bury myself in the longer grass and hide until I was called in to tea. I would be fifteen again.

  The leather collar bands that I now saw in the servant's hands were broad and thick, studded with steel points on the outer surfaces. My eyes said no but he did not look. I wrote a question silently on my lips as I used to do with father in the attic. The servant could not read. He fastened the first collar around my neck. A chain ran down my back. The tip of it settled in the outcurving of my buttocks. From behind me then where Caroline stood I heard a small cry.

  “No, Caroline, be still!” Jenny hissed. “Walk forward to the barn now!”

  Behind us the servant held the chains, one in each hand like reins. We stumbled over the grass, the rough hillocks.

  “Why?” Caroline asked. It was only to herself that she spoke, but Jenny answered her. She walked beside us, ushering our steps.

  “Love is firmness, Caroline. You are the privileged ones. Halt!”

  We had neared the stable doors. They were open. The darkness within yawned upon the meadow, eating the air that came near it. Katherine was there. She closed her parasol and leaned it against one of the doors.

  “Leave this—I will see to them,” she told Jenny.

  “Yes, Madame,” Jenny answered. Was she not queen? Who was queen? The chains snaked against our backs, urging us forward. And within. In the flushing of Caroline's cheeks I could feel my flushing.

  “Over there,” Katherine said and pointed. There were two stalls—too narrow for horses. The dividing wall between them was but a foot high. I saw the chains again, the wall rings. Caroline wilted and would have stepped back. She was prodded forward. The manacles, ankle rings and chains all were secured. We stood side by side, the low wall between us. I wanted the back of my hand to touch Caroline's hand, but it could not.

  “Their dresses, you fool—raise their skirts,” Katherine said. I felt Frederick's hands. They were strong but delicate. Not touching my legs or bottom he bared me to my waist. Caroline quivered and bit her lip as he repeated the action with her.

  “Wash their flanks,” Katherine said.

  I heard a clink of bucket. The sponge attended to us both. Water trickled over our buttocks and thighs. It ran down into the tops of my stockings and lay in rills around the tight rims. Patted roughly, we were dried.

  “They are fair mounts. What do you think, Frederick?”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  His voice was stiff, expressionless. I relaxed my bottom, feeling its glow—the aftermath of the cropping. The outcurving cheeks above my dampy thighs were roseate. I could see them in my mind. I wished I could see Katherine now in her white dress, but my back was held to her. She is very beautiful. Her dark hair flows down over her shoulders.

  “Display, Frederick!”

  Her voice was curt. She waited. I could hear her waiting, the sound of her waiting, like a bell that has stopped tolling and waits for the rope to be pulled again.

  “Madame?”

  His voice was a croak. Was he afraid? I felt not afraid. The day lay upon me, soft of the morning. My flesh bloomed. The damp upon my flesh was warm with my flesh. The tops of my stockings chilled. Caroline breathed through her nose. There were noises, shufflings, small metal noises; cloth noises.

  Cloth makes noises like fog.

  Display? What was display?

  “Turn them!” I heard Katherine say. Ah, it was strange. He held his loins back as he obeyed so that the wavering crest of his pintle-pestle would not touch us. It was long and thick. I like long and thick now. The chains rattled. We were turned. I saw through the barn doors as through a huge eye. The world outside disenchanted me. There was an emptiness. Katherine sat on a bale, her legs crossed. Her skirts were drawn up to show her knees. She smiled at me a light smile, a wisp of a smile. Caroline's face was scarlet. The servant was naked. His balls were big. His penis was a horn of plenty.

  We stood side by side still—children waiting to be called to the front of the class. For punishment or to be given prizes? Frederick's body was slender, muscular.

  “Come!” Katherine said to him. He turned and moved to her. His back was to us, but he did not look at her. I could feel he did not. His glance was high. Above her head. In homage high. There was a trestle close—two pairs of legs shaped in a narrow V with a bar across. He moved to the front of it and stopped. His back touched the bar. Then he bent—a backward bend—so that his spine arched over the bar, his palms flat on the floor beyond. His penis stuck straight up.

  Katherine moved her long wide skirt with an elegant gesture and slipped down off the bale. She came to us. We had kept our legs apart. She was pleased.

  “Caroline will lie with her face between my thighs tonight, Beatrice. I shall wear black stockings—pearls around my neck. My thighs will clench her ears. Will you see? Do you wish to see?”

  My eyes pleaded. She laughed. She squeezed my chin until my lips parted. “You can see his cock,” she breathed. Her tongue snaked within my mouth. I tasted the breath of her, warm and sweet as Benedictine. She twirled her tongue, then moved to Caroline.

  “Put your tongue in my mouth—Caroline!”

  Oh, the fool—she should have obeyed immediately. Katherine slapped her face. The tip of Frederick's prick quivered.

  “I shall commence exercising you soon, Caroline. Do you understand?”

  “No.” My sister's voice was small as if she were hiding behind a pew in church.

  “You say, `No, Madame.”'

  “No, Madame.”

  Caroline can be dutiful. I like her body. It curves so sweetly. Her breasts and bottom are plentiful.

  “You will learn,” Katherine said. Then Jenny entered. It was a play—a private play, I felt. She stood in the doorway, hands on hips, observing us. Was she jealous? When Katherine turned, Jenny's hands dropped immediately to her sides. There were no words yet. It was a mime.

  “Let him rise,” Katherine commanded. Jenny smiled. Sh
e walked forward and flicked her crop against his straining tool. He groaned in his rising. His eyes were haggard.

  “You may choose,” Katherine told her. Jenny tossed her head. She looked from one to the other of us. She strode—strode to Caroline and pulled her forward.

  “Please no,” Caroline said. Her feet skittered, dragged. Her free hand pleaded to the air. The chaffeur had turned to face her. He had tucked our dresses up sufficiently tightly for them to remain so. I wanted to kiss Caroline's bottom. The cheeks are firm and plump. Her pubis pouts.

  “Bend her over the trestle,” Katherine said.

  Caroline shrieked. Jenny had hold of the chain from her neckband and pulled it tight, forcing her over. Caroline's shriek dropped like a fallen handkerchief and lay there, crumpled and used. Her back was bent until she was forced to place her palms on the floor. Her bottom mounded. The sweet fig of her slit showed.

  The servant waited. His erection remained as stiff as ever. There was excitement.

  “Dip!” Katherine said.

  There were new words. I was learning them. Display—dip. His eyes burned. Caroline's hips were high. He took them, gripped them. Rebelliously she endeavoured to twist them but he held her. His lips moved. I wanted words to come—a revelation—but no words came. His loins arched. The crest of his penis touched, probed.

  “Caroline! Do not move or speak or you will be whipped!” Katherine said.

  She stood observing, as one observes. It was so in the drawing room the night before when my aunt watched the waiting penis enter between the cheeks of Arabella's bottom. I could see now only the servant's haunches, his balls hanging below. Caroline bubbled a moan. Was it speech? His shaft entered—slow, but slow—the petal lips parting to receive it. The straining veins, the purplish head, the foreskin stretched.

  Caroline's head jerked up and then was pulled back down by the tensioning of the chain in Jenny's grip.

  “No, Caroline!” Jenny said softly.

  Four inches, five. Caroline's mouth opened. Perhaps she had not, as I thought, sucked upon the penis. Her lovemouth gripped. The ring of truth. Cries gurgled from her lips. Six inches, seven. The fit was tight. I saw her buttocks squeeze, relax. His hands moved to the fronts of her thighs, suavely gripping them. A burr of stocking tops to his palms.

  “No-ooooh!”

  A soft, faint whimper. In! Ensconced. Buried to the hilt, his balls hung beneath her bottom.

  A second ticked. Two. Three.

  “Out!” Katherine snapped.

  Gleaming, his shaft emerged. I saw his face in profile, the lines etched as by Durer. She jerked her head. He moved towards his clothes. Caroline blubbered softly, her hips wriggled as if she still contained him. Jenny drew her up by the chain. Caroline's eyes floated with tears. Her face suffused.

  In the house—not until in the house—were our neck halters removed. We stood in the morning room. We waited. Katherine moved to Caroline and stroked her cheek.

  “Are you learning?” she asked. There was summer in her voice.

  “Madame?”

  Caroline's voice was blank, soft as the sponge that had laved us. Katherine shook her head. “It does not matter,” she said. We shared secrets, but I knew not what they were. The secret between Caroline's thighs tingled. I could feel its tingling like a buzzing on my lips. Caroline was wicked. I felt certain that she was. Her containment had been too great. She should have cried. Would I have cried? Kathy turned away.

  “You know I will whip you if you do not tell me, Caroline.”

  Caroline's lips moved, burbled, hummed. “M . . . m . . . m . . .” Her thighs trembled. Kathy turned back to her.

  “That is better,” she smiled, “you are naughty, Caroline, you know you are. I have to train you. Edward is trained. Do you not think he is well trained?”

  Caroline bent her head. She was alone. Each of us alone except when we are kissing, touching. Sometimes when I am being touched I am alone. There was a small cloud around her lips, pretty lips. It said yes. Katherine was pleased again. Aunt Maude entered. There was movement. Unspeaking she took my arm and led me out.

  Upstairs in my room she removed my dress. I saw the bed and it was not my bed, not the bed I had slept in. The headboard was different. Wrist clamps hung from the headboard. She made me lie down. She straightened my stockings and drew my legs apart. I waited for my ankles to be secured. I was passive. She drew my arms above my head and fastened the wrist straps. Her face bent over mine.

  “It is for your good, Caroline. Are you happy?”

  I said yes. I wanted to please her. Proud in my bonds I lay. My belly made a slight curve.

  “Perhaps,” she answered. It was a strange word. “You will grow happy. Edward was weak for you, was he not?”

  I nodded. The morning light grew and bloomed over my body. I had fine breasts, good haunches, a slender waist, Aunt Maude said. Was Jenny nice to me, she asked. I thought yes, no. I wanted to be kissed. I parted my lips as Jenny had told me to. I was not sure, Aunt Maude said. I would be sure soon. She bent over and kissed me and laid her fingers on the innerness of my nearest thigh. Her mouth was warm and full.

  “Flick your tongue a little, Beatrice. Quick little flicks with half your tongue.”

  She was teaching me. Our mouths fused together. Her forefinger brushed my button—too lightly. My hips bucked. My aunt stopped kissing me and smiled. She sat up. Regarding me, she unbuttoned her dress and laid it back from her shoulders. Her breasts were heavy gourds, the nipples dark brown and thick. Brown in their darkness brown. The gourds loomed over my face, brushed my chin, my nose. My aunt purred a purring sound. Her breasts swung like bells across my mouth. The nipples grew and teased between my lips. I wanted to bite.

  Katherine entered. She waited and my aunt rose.

  “He has not whipped her yet?” Katherine asked. Aunt Maude shook her head.

  “Soon, perhaps.”

  “Yes,” Katherine said. She removed her dress, the filmy folds. Her stockings were silver, banded by black garters of ruched silk. Her drawers were of black satin, small, such as a ballet dancer wears. Her breasts jiggled free. She sat at the dressing table beside my bed. Aunt Maude stripped off her own dress and stood at Katherine's back, brushing her hair. They smiled at one another in the mirror. The smile would stay there for a moment like the impress of my lips when I used to kiss myself after father had spanked me.

  Katherine rose. My aunt looked superb in her stockings, bootees, a waspie corset, frilled knickers. They exchanged sentences with their eyes as if they were posting small, personal notes. My aunt nodded. Katherine mounted the bed over me at my shoulders, facing my feet. The moon of her bottom loomed over my face.

  “Her legs,” she said.

  The board of the bed to which my ankles were now tethered and spread moved forward, making my knees bend. It was an ingenious device, as I later discovered. The upright board was fixed to the legs which rested on heavy castors. Being slightly wider than the bed itself, the legs and the board were able to be moved at will. My knees were bent up, splayed. The globe of Katherine's knickered bottom brushed the tip of my nose. It descended. In a darkness of bliss it squashed upon my mouth, my eyes, my face.

  I tasted her.

  “Do not move your lips, Beatrice—it is forbidden!”

  I could not breathe. The fleshweight of her hemispheres was upon me. The impress of the lips of her slit in their silken net were upon my mouth. Her bottom bloomed its bigness over me. I panted.

  Her bottom moved, ground over my face. It lifted but an inch. I gulped in air. Smothered again, I grunted, gasped. Aunt Maude had a feather. The tip of it, the tickling tip of it, passed upwards in my cunny. I gurgled, choked. The feather twirled, inserted and withdrew. Air whistled through my nostrils and was squashed again. My loins shifted, jerked.

  The agony of ecstasy was intense at the feather's touching. A wisping of wickedness, it passed around my clit, tickling and burning. My bottom thumped. The bed creaked. The sides
of my face were gripped tight between Katherine's silken thighs. Long tendrils of desire urged their desire within my cunny. My bottom lifted, pleading, in my smothering. Musk, perfume, acrid sweetness—I knew them all.

  Let me be loved, in my desiring.

  No—Katherine swung off me. Her panties were wet. Sweat glistened on my brow, my cheeks. My loins itched, stung. My mouth was wet with her. I closed my eyes and whispered with Caroline behind a pew. We wore candy-striped blouses, pretty bonnets. We chewed bonbons. I wanted one.

  They turned me quickly, unloosing the shackles swiftly. Once on my belly the bonds were refastened. The board at the foot of the bed pressed farther up, forcing my knees up almost to my breasts. The cleft of my pumpkin was exposed.

  Something nosed between my cheeks. A velvet touch, a thin dildo of leather swathed in a velvet sheath. The oiled nose of it probed my rose, the tight puckering of my secret mouth, the O of my anus.

  “N . . . n . . . n . . . n. . . .” I choked. It penetrated sleekly, entered. My mouth mouthed in my pillow. In the heat of it, the ice of it, I felt it, slender, long, like Edward's penis. Edward had never attempted my bottom. He did not know it had been smacked.

  “Oooooh!”

  One should not cry out. Should one cry out? I am quieter now. I accept. I am given, loved, I submit. In my moods. It was different then. My bottom mouth gripped it in a grip of treachery—the sleek black velvet of my velvet love. The pointed nose oozed in and twirled. My bottom was riven. In the wild twisting of my face and hips I saw Katherine's legs. Thighs of ivory splendour. Rotating, it withdrew. I was opened. I bit my pillow. The stinging sweetness tremored in my loins. The oil which had been smoothed upon it made it slippery. I grimaced, cried. Katherine laughed.

  “Enough—it is enough. How sweetly she sobs—how her bottom bulges to it.”

  “It was so when she was spanked. She should be whipped now,” my aunt said. A faint succulent plop and it deserted me. I was hollow, empty. I needed. My O was a bigger O. I dived beneath sandcastles of shame. My toes wriggled. Foutre.