Macho Sluts (16 page)

Clarissa babbled pleas for forgiveness and release. Berenice fingered her lightly, evoking a painful moan. She repeated her caress, more insistently, and Clarissa's whole body begged for more. “Please go into me,” Clarissa cried. “Take my maidenhead. I don't want to give it to anyone else but you, Mother. Elise says she loves having you inside her, more than anything. I can't stand it when you won't give me what you give her. Please! Please!”

Berenice frowned. “You're jealous,” she said. “I find that very unattractive. Do you think you can coerce me into anything? Hmm?” She tickled her pudenda, applied light pressure over her hymen, but would not enter. Then she returned to Clarissa's pink pearl and took her to the brink of orgasm. “Apologize,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you'd better make me believe it, or I'll deny you satisfaction and send you to school in a chastity belt!”

Their voices raised to shouts, a disjointed cacophony of curses and humiliating confessions, they urged each other on. “I'm nothing,” Clarissa cried in ecstasy. “I deserve nothing but the most brutal and rigorous punishment. I beg your forgiveness, your clemency, your correction. I plead for the opportunity to expunge my guilt, to redress my failing. Oh—I am sorry, sorry, sorry!”

“Ah, yes, that. Will a little more of this do it? It usually does,” spat Berenice. “Yes, my little abused angel. Come to me. You will come to me. Now. Yes, now.”

The chains and the horse protested as Clarissa flung her body from side to side and drenched Berenice's hand with profuse evidence of her pleasure. Then she was deathly still. Berenice moved to her head and petted her as one would a frightened animal. “There, there,” she said. Clarissa lifted her head. Her eyes were overflowing. “Am I still here?” she whispered. “Oh, thank you, dearest Mother. Please don't leave me. Don't ever stop loving me.”

“Hush, darling. I'm going to take you down.” As she plied her key among the tiny locks, Berenice instructed Clarissa on the behavior that would be expected of her at the school. “You must show your headmistress and teachers the same respect and cheerful obedience that you give me. I'll read your reports every month,” she concluded, working on the chains that locked the spike heels onto Clarissa's feet. “If they are satisfactory, when you return I will deflower you, if that is your wish and your maidenhead is still intact.”

“It will be,” Clarissa said. “I pro—”

“Hush. Don't promise me anything. You're too young to vow constancy. Wait until you've met the headmistress of Hightowers, then see if you bring your heart back to me in one piece—let alone your little oyster, my love.”

Clarissa could barely comprehend the woe and distress in that bitter speech. Before she could compose a reassuring reply, Berenice gathered her limp body up in her arms, kicked the door open, and called down the hallway, “Elise! Draw a bath for two. Lay out plenty of towels and birching ointment. I want a tray of cordials and a cold supper laid out in my room. Then you may retire for the night.”

“Yes, madam,” was the civil reply that floated back to her. The sound of running water came faintly from the other side of the house—Elise was adding boiling water to the tub she had already filled. Berenice took a fresh grip on Clarissa, who was patting her face and murmuring endearments in French, and carried her away from the room. Elise would clean up. Reliable, invaluable Elise!

By the time they arrived, the bath was prepared. Fresh, snowy towels were heaped on a little cart along with an open jar of ointment, two cakes of large fragrant soap, and a saucer on which chilled segments of tangerine had been arranged. Beside the saucer was a crystal pitcher of ice water and two cut glass tumblers. The tub— large, round, deep enough to stand in—was full to the brim and steaming. On the surface of the water floated a single gardenia.

Berenice eased Clarissa down, unlaced and removed the corset, then helped her climb into the tub. The little girl winced when the hot water made contact with her bottom, then an expression of happy pride lit up her face. “You marked me!” she exclaimed. “I won't be able to sit down on the train tomorrow.”

“You may not,” Berenice said ruefully, hanging her robe on a bronze hook, “but I couldn't resist your plump little hot cross buns. Let's relax and refresh ourselves.”

She climbed into the tub beside Clarissa. There were marble benches inside the tub at the right height for them to sit down and still have their shoulders covered by the lovely hot water. While they soaked, they fed each other slices of tangerine and took tiny sips of the cold water. Clarissa recovered quickly, and was the first out of the tub. She dried herself, then held out a thick towel to receive Berenice. She dried her mistress carefully, daring to kiss her shoulders and the place between her breasts. She brushed against the older woman, hugged her tight, and whispered, “Will you take me into your bed tonight?”

Berenice considered this request. She felt a certain lassitude, the cynical melancholy that overcame her when she was exhausted. Then she contemplated Clarissa's enthusiasm, her fresh face, her hope and affection, and could not bear to disappoint her. Perhaps the maraschino cherry mouth and the dove-like hands could arouse her interest and restore her contentment.

But they could not go like this, like a pair of simple-minded, medieval shepherdesses slipping hand-in-hand into the nearest patch of willows. She seized Clarissa by the hair and dragged her closer, until the tips of her toes barely touched the thick white carpet. “Oh yes,” she threatened. “I'll take you into my bed tonight. And you won't get any sleep at all—not a wink.” Forgetting her robe (but not the birching ointment), she hauled Clarissa out of the bathroom and pushed her toward the stairs. “Let's see what your gratitude is worth,” she sneered.

They got as far as the landing before Clarissa broke away, sank to her knees, and buried her face between Berenice's thighs. From the bottom of the stairs, Elise (on her way to tidy up the disciplinary chamber) caught a glimpse of the beautiful pose. She smiled wistfully, shook out her feather duster, and went in solitary pursuit of her domestic duties.

Berenice did not quite keep her word. She fell asleep an hour before dawn. Clarissa watched the first light of day suffuse the room, and contemplated this small betrayal of her love. Her eyes seemed to be full of fine sand. Invisible wrinkles in the bedclothes plagued her, and she was afraid her backside would hurt in an ugly way if she thought too much about it. It was odd, how little it took to satisfy Berenice's lust once the whipping or other punishment was over. She, Clarissa, could not say, “Remember you will be six months without me. Surely you need a little more of me to last those six long months.” She wore two dozen welts, some of which were bleeding, but she had not dared leave a love-bite in the hollow of her lover's shoulder. Clarissa could not swallow her indignation. It left a dry lump in her throat. She had tried to prolong the sweetness, reaching for Berenice's breasts with her lips and hands, but Berenice had pushed her down between her thighs, relegating her to genital service, withholding her breasts. Even then, Clarissa had teased and toyed with her, postponing the particular tongue-flickers that would bring her mistress to the peak of pleasure. But Berenice had grown angry with her and threatened to bring herself to climax if Clarissa did not give immediate satisfaction. Now she could only sigh and twist the sheet in her hands and try to fend off the miserable thought of leaving home. She could not even find a trace of Berenice's musk on her fingertips or beneath her tongue.

“Be still,” Berenice ordered her. Her voice was surprisingly clear for someone who had just been awakened. Clarissa froze, appalled at herself. Berenice drew her closer, put one arm beneath her shoulder, and used her other hand to trap Clarissa's wrists. It was not long before both of them slumbered, after that.

But it seemed to Clarissa that this deep peace lasted only a few moments before Elise reached under the covers, scooped her up, and took her away from Berenice's side.

“I'm to get you dressed and ready for the train,” Elise explained in a whisper, putting her down so she could close the bedroom door.

“But Elise—”

“Hush, child. The mistress isn't coming to see you off. She said so herself. I'm to see you packed and on your way. Your aunt will be motoring up for you shortly. Her niece will be going to school with you.”

Clarissa nodded, dumb with shock. Elise sighed in sympathy. “I'll make you strawberry waffles,” she said. “There's even whipped cream. And you can have coffee this morning, since you were up so late.” She took Clarissa by the hand and led her toward the kitchen. “Do you want to wash up and dress first? I've already packed your bags.”

“Would you mind if I just ran around this way for a little while? I'll wash my hands and face at the kitchen tap.”

“Well—it's a fine, warm day. No harm in it I suppose. Let's go, then. You and I don't often have the morning to ourselves.”

Clarissa brightened. “Oh, Elise,” she said, flinging her arms around the maid's neck, “you are so good to me.”

They embraced. Then Elise drew her down the stairs and into the sunny kitchen. Strings of garlic and peppers hung from the rafters. There was a big, cast-iron, wood-burning stove, the huge white sink with its brass taps, the shelves of glass mixing bowls (each a different color), the racks of herbs and measuring cups and knives—all the magic implements of the chef's art.

“She did you with quite a heavy hand,” Elise said enviously.

“Ooh!” Clarissa squealed. “Does it show?”

“Look in the mirror by the china closet. Here, climb up on this chair. See?” Elise's fingers traced the perfectly even stripes. The center of each weal was raised a little.

“How will I ever sit down?” Clarissa gloated, sweeping strands of pale hair over her shoulder so she could get a better look.

“I'll give you my traveling pillow. People will think you want to raise yourself up enough to see out the window. When Berenice gave it to me, Mamma praised her lavishly for her sisterly concern. She would have fainted if she had lifted my skirt and discovered what I was sitting on. It's nice to keep something like that in the family. Maybe someday you can pass the pillow on to your little girl.”

Bored with this genealogical sentimentality, Clarissa was smacking her own behind and wincing at the sensations. “Are these fine marks, Elise?” she asked, getting the conversation back into more interesting channels.

“They look as deep and even as any I've received from her hands,” Elise said, catering to the youngster's vanity. “I swear it.” She took her hands off the young, tender bottom with regret. Her own needs, ignored for so many weeks, stirred and made her itch. “You admire yourself for as long as you like. I've got to mix up these waffles.”

Clarissa stayed bent over the mirror, one hand parting her buttocks, for only a few more seconds. Then she straightened, tossed the hair out of her eyes, and jumped down. After replacing the chair at the table, she went over to the steaming urn and poured a large mug of coffee for each of them.

“Tell me a story,” she said, bringing the blue-and-white cups to Elise. She cleared away the broken eggshells and disposed of them, then dragged a high stool over to the counter. Elise was mixing batter in a green glass bowl. “I'll hull the strawberries while you talk to me.”

Elise was charming in her short black uniform, white apron, and lacy cap. Clarissa admired the ruler-straight seams that ran up the backs of her legs, the high spike heels (two inches higher than her own training shoes), and stared at the rings that pierced Elise's dainty ears and the fine chains that ran from each earlobe to the ring in each side of her nose. She wondered if Berenice would give her rings when she grew up, or let her wear a little uniform like that. It was darling, so short that it showed off Elise's bottom every time she bent or moved. Really, her black silk panties were very tight.

It never occurred to Clarissa that she might be Berenice's favorite, despite the fact that Berenice regularly caressed her sex and rarely touched Elise at all (except with a bundle of birch twigs or the nasty lithe cane). She was terribly jealous of Elise's rings and uniform and the sophisticated psychological games Berenice would play with her. Also, Elise was allowed to wait on the parties. These occasions excited Clarissa to a fever pitch, but she was always sent up to bed after a brief presentation and demonstration of her latest feat of obedience. Elise got to greet the little groups of elegantly dressed women at the door, take their wraps, serve them drinks, bring out trays of canapés, escort their slaves into the cells in the dungeon, worship their high boots, kiss their knees and hands, perform every menial and intimate service they required. On one occasion, she had been relieved of her serving duties and used solely as an ashtray. Clarissa made a resolution to do very well at this awful school they were sending her to, to make Berenice love her the best of all.

“What do you want a story about?” Elise said briskly. Her cheeks were flaming red. She was a little out of breath, and not from being too tightly corseted or stirring batter too vigorously. The child had such a direct, piercing gaze! Must she look at her that way, at the hem of her skirt and the chains that brushed her cheeks, with such unflinching calm? It was unnerving. Really, that itch was getting worse. She smothered an image of Clarissa slowly lifting her short, black skirt and slowly pulling down her damnably tight silk panties and firmly bending her over the counter for a vigorous spanking. Then Clarissa would take one of the long wooden spoons and … oh, she had been kept waiting for so long. Would Berenice ever take pity on her, perhaps today?

“Tell me about you and Mother and how she enslaved you and you lost her and found her and laid your fortune at her feet so you could wear a maid's uniform every day and she had me, and you both decided to bring me up without any of the flaws that were present in your early education and—”