The moans that then sounded came softly through the door, causing a passing Vanessa to tut-tut amusedly and smile to herself. Another half an hour and she would unlock the door as a signal to Margaret to release her young sex slaves, since such they appeared to be. But Vanessa had no envy of that. It was as pleasing to her to manipulate as to enjoy-a vicarious pleasure, perhaps, but there were always males in waiting to service her. Even Reggie, who would somehow have to be fitted into the new entourage rather than the other way round. Most amusing, and it served him right.
Eric meanwhile, having entered Mabel's room, found her preparing to don a blue chemise trimmed with cream lace. Other than that she was attired only in drawers and dark blue stockings and shoes, her breasts bobbing in firmly-jellied fashion as she strove quickly to cover them.
'Your dress and drawers will suffice, Mabel. I intend that we shall go for a refreshing ride. Let me not find you wearing other than those. I shall await you downstairs. Five minutes!' uttered Eric with a firmness that astonished even himself.
'Papa?' bleated Mabel who had succeeded in covering her twin globes, but was then forced to free them again as she pettishly and with reluctance cast off the chemise again, his words causing her brow to furrow. He had not even replied to her and that was unfair, especially as she was going to be caned later. Miss Markham had told her again that she was to be and had said that she knew why: 'Just as you yourself do, Mabel', Vanessa had said coolly during a brief 'lecture' in Mabel's boudoir.
It was going to be awful, that stinging; she wouldn't be able to bear it, Mabel thought. Quite dizzy with conflicting ideas as to what was what and what she was about, Mabel cast on a dress, tidied her coiffure quickly and, with a sulky, pouting look, descended to find both her Papa and the groom waiting with two fine mounts.
Stubbornly silent in the ensuing ten minutes, Mabel lagged a little behind her father until he turned, snapped his fingers angrily, and brought her to canter level with him.
'Miss Markham is going to cane me, Papa', Mable said broodily as if that were an excuse for her laggardness.
'It may be, it may be', Mr. Partridge replied crisply, aware that her eyes were darting to him curiously and with much wonder at his constrained attitude.
'Papa, please, can you not persuade her otherwise?'
'We will ride to the woodman's hut, Mabel', came the curt reply, whereupon Eric galloped forward, making his daughter follow with her hair streaming out from under her peaked velvet cap which, being boyishly fashioned, gave her an even more entrancing look.
'Papa, I asked you something?' Mabel begged, jogging desperately up and down on the saddle.
'In a moment, my dear, in a moment. Ah, there it is, and there is no one about, I see. We shall dismount and rest. Come within, for we shall be more in the shade there'.
'But it is dark, Papa, within and my dress will get dirty!'
'Inside, Mabel, I tell you!'
Tethering his horse, Mr. Partridge strode within the low-roofed hut in one corner of which, as he well knew, was a crude structure known as a trestle which was used for sawing wood. It was an object which had occupied his mind for long minutes past. The floor was planked and fairly even, and the only light entered from the doorway in which Mabel hesitantly appeared, asking hesitantly, 'What is it, Papa?'
'Wait here, my dear, and you will soon see', came the bewildering reply whereat, by peeping-and much to her astonishment-Mabel saw him divesting his mount of its saddle which he brought within and, brushing past her, laid across the top of the sturdy wooden trestle.
'Wh… what is that for?' Mabel asked nervously, taking a step backwards to the more inviting doorway, but then having her wrist seized and finding herself drawn towards the darker wall.
'You asked me a question, my pet. As to Miss Markham and her intention to cane you-it is a form of proper discipline for which you apparently knew the reason, did you not?'
'No, Papa, really, I did not. Oh! what are you doing!'
'You asked me to dissuade her, Mabel, from caning your bottom. I shall. Even so, I intend to apply my crop to you if you prove recalcitrant again, young lady. OVER, please- right over-yes!'
'Oh, Papa, no! I…aaaah!' Mabel gasped as she found herself slid over the momentarily wobbling saddle which firmed itself the moment that her belly was pressed upon it. Head and shoulders hanging, and with the tips of her fingers just able to touch the floor beyond, Mabel wailed as a firm elbow settled in the small of her back, pinning her tightly over, while hands swirled her skirt up and piled its folds around her waist.
'Papa, you mustn't! Oh what shame you bring me to! My drawers! NO! Oh don't-please, Papa, don't!' Mabel blathered as she felt that most intimate of her garments being loosed and swept down to form a puddle around her feet.
'You will be still, Mabel, or I shall indeed bring the crop to your adorable buttocks much more fiercely than Miss Markham will wield the cane tonight. Unless I can persuade her otherwise, of course. You hear me?'
'Yes, Papa-oh! but please don't look! YAH!' Mabel squealed as the leather tip of the crop swished across her bulbous bum, bringing a streak of fire in its wake.
Having observed her every movement-or lack of such save for a wild and most inviting wriggling of her hips- Eric had stepped back to afford his well-curved daughter the first burning strike which, however, left no mark upon her rearing halfrnoons save for a pink blur. The rest of the skin was creamy and smooth, the furrow between the chubby hemispheres faintly tinged with a darker shade. By inclining his head downwards he could glimpse part of her delicious fig where brown curls sprouted around the tight-closed lips.
'You said
'No, Papa-dear Papa-but-yeee-ouch!'
'That was a second, my pet, for the
Her face at first contorted and then slowly relaxing again as fanning heat surged around and between her stricken bottom cheeks, Mabel whimpered something incomprehensible, and this causing Mr. Partridge to ask sharply, 'What? Speak clearly, Mabel-HOLD your legs apart. What pretty stockings you have on indeed! The question now is mine. You know of what I speak'.
A sniffling sounded then and Mabel's hips rotated once again, her belly gliding on the leather surface of the saddle. Waiting patiently, her sire heard at last a faint, reluctant 'Yes'.
'It is good that you do, my pet, for it is about to receive its first injections. Steady now, Mabel-steady, I tell you'.
'Yeeek!' Mabel squeaked, yet somehow managed to swallow most of the small, explosive utterance as a fingertip insinuated itself between her hot bumcheeks, tasted the ridged rim of her rosehole and then idled down until it was able to caress the pouting lovelips amid her nest of curls. Legs quivering and constraining herself not to close them, Mabel clenched her teeth and felt her belly swirl. A slow, deep breathing sounded above her as her oily crevice slowly received the enquiring digit which finally nestled within and between the silken walls of her nest.
'You desire the crop again, Mabel?'
'Whooo! N… no, Papa, but dear Papa, your finger…'
'Is where it should have been long before, Mabel, and will often now intrude. I gather that you have been exercised before. I wish to know the merit of your movements. The crop is ready to my other hand, my pet- remember that. I shall not hesitate if you are disobedient. Rise now and turn, slowly, holding your dress up above your waist and come to me. I shall brook no hesitations now'.
So saying, he retreated six or seven steps backwards and waited, admiring the luscious roseate glow on Mabel's plump derriere as she almost unwillingly bent and, slithering her feet about, turned until her eyes met the shadowy form of her sire, his trousers opened and his penis sticking out, so big, so big, much bigger than the dildo she had had.
'Ow-wer!' Mabel stumbled at the sight and did indeed stumble as well over her ankle-binding drawers.
'Take them, off, Mabel-I said take them off. Quickly now! Dress up and come to me, your belly bared, your muff on view'.
Insisting to herself that she could not see the Priapic monster he was displaying to her, and insisting to herself as well that her fond parent could not really see more of her plump Venus mound as she raised one leg and
