GOOD BREEDING (4 page)

“Good girl. Now, if you want another ride, you’ll need to pay your respects to Mr Cock horse……”

He smiled into the dark as the sheet rustled beside him and he felt her breath caress his stomach as she made her way down his body. Then he sighed in pure bliss as he felt her soft lips and tongue begin to beckon his slumbering member back into life and presently he could feel her sharp little teeth just graze his helm teasingly as she slid him in and out of her mouth
and he pulsed into full erection.

She slid back up his body and knelt astride him, pushing the sheet off them
both
. Then she reached down between her legs and held him while she slid her quim down his length and then set about going for a proper ride. He reached up and pinched her nipples sharply, making her cry out and accelerate her jigging up and down, then he twisted them hard and she sighed happily and began to orgasm.
Tomorrow she had an appointment in the Torture Garden, he thought, and would find scant pleasure there so she might as well be allowed an orgasm now.

“Harder Archie!” Lady Isabelle urged. The window onto the upper terrace
from their bedroom
was
open and the moon shone in brightly making the candle whose wax he was dripping onto Dorca’s cunt burn palely even at that late hour. He reached down and pulled the girl’s clitoral hood back as hard as he could then took aim with the candle held a little closer to her and let some drips go. They landed square on the target and Dorca arched up off the bed on which she was spreadeagled
on her back
and to which she was fastened at wrists and ankles.

Isabelle was squatting over the girl’s chest and holding her face up, grinding it against her own clitoris.

“Lick me deeper Dorca, you filthy little whore, or I’ll have the whip taken to you every day for a week
.
Aaaah!” It was not an idle threat and seemed to do the trick as Isabelle began to thrust herself harder and harder against her maid’s mouth. Sir Archibald doused the candle by thrusting it up into the hot swamp of Dorca’s recently fucked cunt and grasping his wife’s head, turned her to face his rigidly erect cock. She immediately opened her mouth for him and the trio sped towards their individual climaxes
. Isabelle came first, crying out around the thick shaft that filled her mouth and encouraging her husband to ram into her violently one last time and half drown her in thick splashes of his come. As the couple began to relax in the after-spasms, the flood of juices
that Isabelle released into Dorca’s
mouth must have tipped her into orgasm too for a brief series of clenches and jerks from the sleek, dark body under them announced that she too had found her release.

Lady Isabelle lay back, her head between Dorca’s spread legs and her husband lowered himself to lie beside her, yawning as he did so. He had whipped and fucked both women and had earned his sleep.
Besides,
the next day was going to be a busy one.

Sleepily they arranged their pillows and pulled a light sheet over them but left Dorca tethered beneath them and between them. Sir Archibald rested his cheek on one soft thigh
and let his fingers play with the fuzz of wet pubic hair at the slave’s crotch, picking wax out of it and feeling her wince. His wife rolled onto her side to face him, her fingernails trailing up and down the inside of the slave’s other thigh

“
Clara
is a real beauty, Archie
,
” Isabelle murmured. “I can’t wait to see her under the whip.”

“Nor I, my dear,” he assured her. “
But t
omor
row will tell us much of what we need to know
.”

They kissed goodnight and composed themselves for sleep, leaving Dorca tied for the night. One of them was bound to need one end or the other of her body before morning.

At the far end of the corridor and unaware of the goings on around her, Clara Bestwood eventually slept lightly, her mind filled with vague longings and the memory of the strength of her husband’s grip on her arm.

Chapter Four

At breakfast the next morning, Clara was surprised by her hostess’s good colour and bright disposition, in spite of a certain stiffness about her movements. Sir Archibald and Adam excused themselves on the grounds of work straight after breakfast was finished and Lady Isabelle offered Clara a spin in a Surrey. Clara was delighted and eager for a chance to talk further about the previous night’s events
, she waited patiently at the front of the house while
Lady Isabelle fetched the trap
.

In the stableyard, Alex handed Lady Isabelle
up into the driver’s seat beneath the
Surrey’s
tasselled canopy.

“Have you done as Sir Archibald asked?” she asked him.

“Aye,” he growled. “I’
ve selected Flora. She’s a lash-
hungry little trollop that’ll dance at a rope’s end all day if there’s a white man’s cock to be had.” He made no apology for his blunt words. He and Lady Isabelle were well accustomed to working the mating sheds.

“Good, see to it you’re whipping her at the tree where the tracks fork down by Shaw’
s M
eadow. And don’t bother to ask permission if you want to tup the whore while we’re there.”

Alex grinned lazily. “I won’t M
y Lady,” he said and turned away to attend to his orders.

Clara savoured the breeze in her face as the pony trotted easily along the b
aked earth tracks of the estate, its hooves kicking up the
brown
dust.

Lady Isabelle had brushed aside Clara’s apologies for her gaucheness the night before.

“To be honest, my dear, I do think Archie was a little too eager to indulge himself. I did try and tell him that you might find our ways difficult to adapt to. But, bless him, he is very proud of me and wanted to show me off. I suppose a wife must be glad of that at least!” she had said.

Clara blushed furiously but managed to mutter something about her looking very comely and the two women lapsed into companionable silence while the pony trotted on and the harness jingled.

They took a route that had them pass several fields and once or twice Lady Isabelle reined in to talk to the overseers. But eventually they turned a fairly sharp bend and saw a tree beside a fork in the track. From one branch a lithe, brown female body hung by i
ts wrists
. Alex Sweeney stood behind the slavegirl and was whipping her. As the girl’s feet could
just
touch the ground she was constantly twisting, bending, hopping and flinching under a steady barrage of lashes. Alex was stripped to the waist.

Up until now, Clara and Phyllis had been driven away from the sights of naked slaveflesh being disciplined. But this girl, her skin a relatively pale coffee colour was stark naked and Lady Isabelle reined in
, clearly intent on watching
.
After such a recent reconciliation with her hostess, Clara felt she had no choice but to make no protest.

Both players in the scene were concentrating solely on what the other was doing so there was very little noise apart from the swish and slap of the whip and the scuffling of the girl’s feet as she reacted to and tried to avoid the lash. Occasionally Alex would fool her and she would ship a heavy strike across her breasts
, hollowing her chest as her breasts flattened against it and letting out a breathless shriek.

At first Clara didn’t know where to look but Lady Isabelle seemed so unconcerned that she too began to relax and watch a little more closely. The flagellator and his victim continued in a kind of dance, he always seeking a new, more vulnerable target, she always trying to protect herself as best she could. But steadily her hide began to mark more and more plainly a
nd her shrieks became more frequent
. Suddenly Alex saw an opening and swung the whip up between her parted legs. She lifted one thigh and tried to cross it over the over, jerking down on her wrists and letting out a strange throaty growl. Alex whipped her back and made her straighten up, then as she twisted, got her between her spread legs again. And again she growled. Clara found she was biting her fist in horror and fascination. Alex’s shoulders and chest were muscular, his stomach flat and rippled with sinew. She watched how his body worked as he plied the lash on the helpless girl. She had
almost
given up trying to dodge the lash and now stood with her legs apart, braced to take the lash wherever he chose to lay it on
, twisting and flinching only in the wake of an especially telling strike
. Clara squeaked as she saw the braided leather snap up between her legs again and, as the girl now had her back to her audience, they were able to see how the length, carved up between the buttocks and the end thudded into the lower back. There was something terribly compelling about the spectacle. The girl’s body had a strange sort of beauty as it spun and the man seem
ed so arrogantly sure of what he
was doing that it never occurred to Clara to wonder what the girl had done
to earn such a thrashing
. It was enough that he was whipping her.
And
that
she was being whipped.

Then suddenly the whip dropped from Alex’s hand and he strode forwards, unbuttoning his breeches as he did so and picking the girl’s thighs up as he reached her. She wrapped her legs around him and Clara hid her face as she realised what she was seeing.

“Look, Clara,” Lady Isabelle told her. “This is the sort of thing we have to put up with even when our men are away. Is it any wonder we need keeping in line?”

Clara risked a look and saw Alex’s body jerk as he pushed that huge arrogant thing that men had and which Adam insisted on putting inside her far too often for her liking, into the flogged girl. And what was truly remarkable was that the girl was moving against him in a most licentious way, even as her whip striped body hung by its wrists from the branch above her.

Lady Isabelle, touched the pony with her driving whip and urged it forwards. Neither Alex nor the slavegirl paid them any heed but as the track was about to take them out of sight, Clara turned to look back and saw Alex had stepped back and was tucking himself away before stooping
to retrieve the whip. She told L
ady Isabelle in a horrified whisper.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. He’ll probably whip her most of the morning. He’s very good isn’t he? And isn’t she a pretty little thing?”

Clara sat back in stunned silence, aware only that despite the canopy above her, she felt very hot.

“Every big house on the island has a Torture Garden,” Sir Archibald told Phyllis as he led her and Dorca along a track.
“
It’s frequently too hot to discipline women indoors, so we indulge o
urselves outdoors as well
. The slaves who made mine have all been sold and
apart from
Isabelle
and myself
,
only Dorca knows where it is and has a key.
”

They had long since lost sight of the house and were walking between shrubberies of high, brightly flowering hedges, the women’s skirts swishing in the grass. From the trees raucous birdsong poured into the air and the sky was its usual cloudless blue. Abruptly Sir Archibald turned
left and led them
into a sort of tunnel that led off at right angles. It was scarcely three feet wide
and was stone flagged between the high bushes. Several yards further along, they came to a door set in a high stone wall. Sir Archibald unlocked it and ushered the two women through.

Phyllis Latham had grown up in the poorer parts of Bristol and had been forced to earn her living by prostitution on many occasions. She had met Adam Bestwood in a seedy club that had catered for gentlemen with very particular tastes as regards women.
He had delivered a rather impressively vicious beating and had followed it up
with
one of the most amazing fuck
s she had ever had. As she
had spent most of her life on the receiving end of male dominance she had long since learned to take her pleasure where she could. Two spells in
a debtors’
prison had also underlined for her the
close
proximity of the lash and the cock in the male psyche.

But what met her astonished gaze in the Torture Garden was a complete revelation. The place was stone paved throughout and walled in totally. Against the walls in places, roses had been trained to climb and spread.
But apart from those only whipping posts and frames sprouted from the ground. And of these there were plenty.

“The
roses make a fine spectacle when a slave is tied against them for whipping
. I have seen the whitest of blooms transformed into deepest carmine from the blood.
” Sir Archibald told her, standing very close behind her as if he was concerned that she might try and bolt. Phyllis’s first reaction was
indeed
one of fright but then she felt the familiar stirrings in her belly and realised the sexual potential of what she was looking at. There were X crosses, plain, tall stakes and Y shaped ones. There were ones with wooden phalluses sticking out from them. There were gibbets for hanging girls by their wrists from to deliver full body whippings.
There were
various sorts of
stocks to take head and wrists, wrists and ankles and just the breasts.
There were rectangular frames for full, four limb suspensions – either head up or down and there were benches and trestles galore, some with wickedly sharp tines designed to torment the softer areas of the female anatomy. Proudly, Sir Archibald showed her round
and pointed out the padded shackles for wrist and ankle suspension – Phyllis had to admit that suspension was something she had not undergone before.

Along the wall opposite the small gate was what in any other grand house might have
been an orangery, a long glass-
panelled room. But in this place it fulfilled the function of a
n indoor dungeon to ensure that no entertainment need be curtailed by inconvenient rain
. Here were stored the rather more slow and refined tortures, the w
ooden pony, the rack and, strangely a large barrel laid horizontal to the floor and supported by rests at either end. But most importantly there were mahogany case
s with glass fronts on the wall
and these contained the implements essential to disciplining female slaves, whips, crops, paddles and tawses hung next to canes and chains. There were cuffs and manacles and hooks; strange screw clamps that Phyllis had not come across before and
the familiar
spurs and rakes to torment whip-tenderised flesh.

“At weekend parties we have
hooded slave
s and wives
mounted on every single item,” Sir Archibald told Phyllis proudly. “But regrettably toda
y we have to attend to business. H
owever, I do look forward to being able to entertain you in more leisurely fashion at some time in the future. Now, if you would care to undress, we’ll get started.”

Phyllis began to unbutton her blouse, her pulse racing as she did so. All of a
sudden Adam Bestwood’s promised rewards
seemed a rather long way away. Presently she was alone with an experienced sadist who even now was selecting an implement with which to beat her. And never had she come across such a range of implements. It w
as Dorca who came to her rescue. S
miling, she came to help her undress and her calmness made Phyllis’s momentary fears subside.

As she
shrugged her blouse off and began to try and reach behind her to unlace her corset
, she became aware that Dorca had also taken her blouse off and wasn’t wearing a corset. The half cast girl’s breasts were almost as big and full as Phyllis’s own, crowned with umber areolas and
dark red
nipples. Again she favoured Phyllis with a smile and came to help her finish her undressing.

Sir Archibald gazed on approvingly as she eventually stood naked before him, hands behind her back with Dorca partially supporting her.

“You are a most delightful woman, Mistress Latham. Big breasted and buttocked to be sure
,
but shapely withal. I’ll warrant you can stand an hour or two under the whip,” he said. “And I’m rather afraid a prolonged flogging is in order now. Adam says, and I concur, that wherever the lovely Clara looks on your body, she sh
ould find traces of my cruelty.” He came close to her and held her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “But if he had not said so, then when I saw you naked, I should most certainly have made it up!”

Phyllis laughed and held her arms up for Dorca to tie her wrists together and they trooped back out into the garden, Sir Archibald holding a coiled stock whip in one hand.
She was not in the least surprised that he selected a gibbet, if an all over flogging was needed then it was ideal. Dorca let down the chain a little and tied her wrists to the last link and then hauled it up so that she could just stand on tip toe
. While she was doing that Phyllis watched Sir Archibald strip off his shirt to reveal a wiry but well toned torso with a mat of greying hair at the chest. He stood with his hands on his hips, the whip trailing down one thigh in his dazzlingly white breeches and sunhat.
She couldn’t help her eyes being drawn to the hard ridge of his erec
tion pressing against the front
as she was pulled up ready for the lash. He seemed to her to be the epitome of arrogant manhood, concerned only with taking his pleasure from the nearest female.