Lady Wycherley's Secret

Chapter One-2

“Get it in again,” Lydia ordered. “Right in, this time.”

The boy took a deep breath and wrapped his lips around the c**k, his head going down until almost all the c**k had disappeared. Lydia held him there for a minute or so, then let him come up again. “Better,” she said. “But you need more training.”

Guinevere had been watching not only the boy, but also the man’s face. There was little expression on it, no indication if he took pleasure from the act. Perhaps he’s not allowed pleasure, Guinevere mused. She knew that some boys were very strictly controlled, totally subjected to their mistress’s will, ruled with an iron hand. They were trained to give selfless service, and only that.

Mrs Atkinson approached again, drawing Guinevere to one side. “There’s a room free now,” she said. “Come and meet one of the new boys.” She led Guinevere across the room, to where a boy was in conversation with Julian. “Get back to work,” Mrs Atkinson said sharply to Julian, who scurried away. “Now,” she said, “this is Henry.”

Guinevere saw a boy of about twenty, quite tall, with curly black hair. He was naked except for a tiny leather cache-sexe. His body was smooth, with no hairs on his chest or genitals. He had a pretty face, with large brown eyes and a wide mouth. Guinevere noticed how long his eyelashes were. She saw that his eyes flickered quickly down to her groin, registering her naked cunt. For her part, Guinevere looked him up and down as if he were some sort of exhibit, or an item offered for sale in a market. She liked to put boys in their place right from the start. It didn’t do to treat them in a friendly manner if you intended to abuse them.

Mrs Atkinson led both the boy and Guinevere to an upstairs room. She ushered them in and gave Guinevere a big smile before closing the door behind her. Guinevere often wondered if there was some secret place from which those using the room might be observed. She knew there were women who enjoyed being voyeurs; it was not, as so often supposed, a habit exclusively of men. If so, she intended to give the spectator a good show.

“Down on the floor, on all fours,” Guinevere said to the boy. He had a slight smile on his face, as if it was all a game. Guinevere’s first objective would be to wipe that smile off.

“Do you know the submissive position?” Guinevere said.

“Yes, lady,” said the boy. He had a cockney accent.

“You will address me as miss,” Guinevere said. “Adopt the position.”

Henry stretched his arms out in front of him, with palms downwards, and pressed his face to the floor. He opened his legs about six inches, and raised his bottom, arching his back. Guinevere walked around him slowly. She put her foot on one of his hands, pressing the sharp heel down hard. Henry gasped. She lifted her foot and put it on the back of his neck, pressing down again. “Do you know what you are?” she said.

“No, miss,” he said.

“You are my s*x-toy,” she said. “Something with which I may amuse myself. You will do as I say, and only as I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes, miss,” he said.

She walked around him again and stopped to press the point of her boot against his anus. “Have you been buggered, boy?” she asked.

“Yes, miss,” he said.

“By men or women?”

“Both, miss.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“It’s not for me to prefer, miss,” he said.

“Good answer,” she said. “Have women f****d you with a strap-on?”

“Yes, miss,” he replied.

“Often?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Have you been whipped by a woman?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Have you been abused by a man while a woman watched?”

“Yes, miss.”

“You’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you!” Guinevere said. Then she kicked him in the balls, lightly, enough to scare him but not hurt him much. “Stand up,” she said.

She took off the cache-sexe he wore and spent a few moments examining his c**k. It was a good size, not unduly large but more than adequate. He was uncircumcised and she peeled back his foreskin. The head was a good shape; he was fully erect now, and the skin on the head of his c**k was glassy smooth. She smacked it in the same manner she had used for the Countess’s man. The boy whimpered.

“Oh, shut up,” Guinevere said. “There’s a lot worse than that to come.” She went over to a chest against the wall, which contained a wide selection of equipment: restraints of all kinds, such as gags and straps, n****e clamps and cuffs, as well as whips, paddles, floggers, canes. Guinevere took out a length of soft cotton rope. She folded the rope in two, then looped it around Henry’s balls, drawing it tight and making a knot. She set off around the room, pulling the boy behind her, tugging hard on the rope. He followed meekly. When they came back to the chest she took out some leather wrist cuffs. She fastened them on his wrists, then clipped them behind him.

On the wall, at about head height, was an iron ring, set securely into the wall. She looped the end of the rope through the ring, then pulled hard until the boy was standing on tiptoe, his balls straining upwards as he faced the wall. She tied the rope to the ring, then stood behind him and took his n*****s between thumb and forefinger. She pinched, lightly at first, then harder and harder, digging her nails into the boy’s flesh. He cried out.

“I don’t like a lot of noise,” Guinevere said. “Every time I hear a sound from you I shall lash you full force across your ass with a cane. I promise you it will be nasty. I’ll give you one now so you know what to expect.”

She went to the chest again and returned with a long thin cane. She swished it to and from. It was flexible but not too much so. She knew what sort of pain it could deliver; the last time she had used it on a boy he had screamed. But this time the boy was not allowed to scream. She stood behind Henry and tapped the cane against his bottom, measuring the distance. She raised her arm high and brought it down swiftly. The cane whistled and there was a sharp crack as it struck the boy’s naked behind. There was a sort of stifled, agonised gasp. A livid red line appeared across his buttocks.

“I’m going to whip you now,” she said. “It won’t be as bad as the cane, but it will hurt.” She fetched a martinet whip from the chest. She trailed it down his back and over his bottom, watching as the goose-bumps appeared on his skin. Then she swung the whip, landing it across his shoulders. She knew the pain would be uncomfortable, more than was pleasant, yet bearable, at least for a time. She worked down his back, paying particular attention to his buttocks, until they were glowing red. Then she worked down the back of his thighs to his calves. He started jumping about and lifted up a leg.

“Keep still,” she said. “Or it’s the cane again.”

Henry did his best not to move, but it was hard. The whip was stinging like crazy now, as if it was taking little bites out of him. He enjoyed pain delivered by a beautiful lady, but he had his limits, and they were fast approaching.

Guinevere paused. She was breathing hard, not so much from the effort of flogging, but because nothing aroused her so much as hurting a pretty boy. She loved to hear their stifled gasps and cries, loved to see them hop about even though it was forbidden to move or make a sound. Her sadistic streak enjoyed forcing them to break the very rules she set out.

She stood behind him and pinched his n*****s some more. She nuzzled up against his ear, whispering to him as she squeezed and twisted. His n*****s were hard, like cherry stones. “Does it hurt, little boy? Oh dear. Do you want the cruel lady to stop? But she is having so much pleasure from hurting you. The more you suffer, the more aroused she becomes.” He groaned as she dug her nails into his n*****s. “Oh dear,” she said. “I told you to be quiet, didn’t I? I fear you must be punished again.”

“Oh please,” he whimpered. “I’m doing my best.”

“Your best is not good enough for me,” she said sternly. “You need encouragement to do better.”

She picked up the cane and swung it, striking him almost exactly where the first stroke had landed. The boy let out a cry.

“Still you make a noise?” Guinevere snapped. “Then you must have another stroke.”

Henry was trembling. Truly there was nothing like the cane, aimed by an experienced woman, to make a boy afraid. The cane lashed down, once more across the centre of his bottom. Henry bit his lip, trying not to cry out.

“That’s better,” said Guinevere. She untied the rope from the ring on the wall and, pulling on it hard, led him to the bed. She told him to lie down on his back. She could see that his balls were a deep purple now, but she had no inclination to release them, not yet. Still wearing her corset, she got onto the bed and straddled him, facing towards his feet. Slowly she lowered her hips, carefully positioning herself so that as she sat on him his nose was pressed into the crack of her bottom, and her cunt was forced down against his mouth. She let her full weight press down on him. After a while his face grew red and he tried to move in order to get some air. Guinevere took up the rope around his balls and pulled it hard.

“Keep still,” she said. His face got redder still. At last she lifted her hips just enough for him to suck in some air. Then she lowered them again. “Now, boy,” she said, “it’s time for you to get to work. I’m going to pull on your balls and pinch your n*****s until I have come as many times as I wish.” Still pulling hard on the rope, she pinched a n****e with her other hand. She moved a little on his face, grinding her cunt into his mouth, finding just the right position so that her c**t pressed against where his upper lip covered his teeth. She needed something firm against which to rub her c**t. Once she found it, she knew she could bring herself off as soon as she liked. But it was much too pleasurable to conclude quickly. She continued to pull the rope around his balls, switching her other hand from one n****e to another, occasionally letting him gasp in some air but then closing off his breathing once more. Face-sitting, she decided, was one of her favourite things.

Finally she came, pressing her c**t against him with full force, grinding out an orgasm. She lifted off for a while, allowing him to breathe again, but then settled back on his face. The second orgasm was usually the best, when the first fierce stab of desire had been staunched, and she could relax, taking time over her pleasure. She came again, more slowly, more luxuriantly. Then, after a brief pause, she came again. She didn’t really need a third orgasm, it was simply greed, and the pleasure of continuing the ordeal of the boy between her legs.

At last she got off and untied the rope round his balls. “Follow me,” she said. Henry got unsteadily to his feet and padded after Guinevere into the bathroom. She ran the bidet. “Get some soap and wash me,” she said, taking off her corset. She sat down and splashed water on her cunt, then lifted up a little. Henry took a bar of soap and began to wash her between her legs, carefully working the lather into every fold. He loved this, handling the cunt of a beautiful woman. He knew she would not let him f**k her; such women almost never did. Denial was part of their pleasure. But his c**k got hard from the contact. She sat down, her soapy cunt in the water, so that he could rinse there. Then she stood up, water trickling down the inside of her thighs, drops twinkling in the dark, clipped hairs above.

“Dry me,” she said. He spent rather more time than was strictly necessary wiping all the water from her, but she was in the mood to indulge him, if only a little. She took hold of his c**k, which was still erect, and led him back into the bedroom. She pushed him down on the bed and sat beside him, still holding his c**k. She began to rub it, very slowly. She knew he would need more stimulation than this to come, even though he was excited. She bent and kissed the tip of his c**k, then circled it with her tongue. She pressed it lightly against her n*****s, first one then the other.