she could see the waiting tawse lying lax upon the bed, she felt his hands glide around her hips. The heel of his right hand then brushed her bush, making her jerk, but at that he placed the left one against the back of her neck and slipped seeking fingers under her plump, hairy slit.
'You will come on heat a little even before I strap this magnificent arse of yours. It is as well you should', the Vicar murmured thickly. Finding the rolled lips beneath her Venus mount, he parted them, felt the nub of Vanessa's clitoris and the emergent oiliness that he most sought in an unclothed female.
'Please, no!' Vanessa whimpered, though rather to herself, as it seemed, than to him.
'A dozen good strokes to start you off, my dear, and then we shall see. Obedience well becomes a young woman of your stature and figure, as you will surely come to understand'.
His fingers worked still, slowly but surely, bringing a choked-back moan from her that told him well her condition, for such fragrant moisture as normally exuded from her cunt on having it caressed had now begun to increase, and a distinct grinding of her teeth was heard.
'Come… bend… bend… legs apart'.
Vanessa heard the scattered words, though not those in-between-rather as one hears fragments of conversation through a door. Her legs were tottering and her cunnylips were already ridged with desire as the bed seemed to come to her rather than she to it. Hands guided her and her hands flopped forward to support herself. And had she known- could she but have known-what she was to learn from this bizarre event, Vanessa might well have offered a better posture than she did: 'Your legs straight and apart, your bottom out-thrust and your back dipped, Miss Markham', the Vicar had need several times to instruct her.
'How-wer!' Vanessa gasped as the first stroke of the leather came, coursing fierily across her lustrous bumcheeks and causing her hips to roll so voluptuously that the Vicar deftly and quickly unbuttoned his trouser flap and-unseen by her-brought his monstrous tool to light and to a state of perfect readiness.
'Bottom-out!' he repeated, underlining the words with a second searing sweep that caused Vanessa's head to jerk up and then fall again while a shrill cry broke from her and was immediately and shamefully muffled by the pressing of her flushed face into the bedcover.
'It is as well to be as quiet as you can, Miss Markham. Bedrooms are a place of discipline, training and-yes, my dear-sperming. legs! Legs apart now or I shall afford you many more than I intended to. Have you not sinned? Have you not?' cra-aaaaack!
'Wah-haaaar! Yeh-esss!' Vanessa sobbed as her derriere, plump and rich as it was and ennobled by the deep furrow between the ardent cheeks, was again invaded by seeking flames. Hissing through her nose as she endeavoured to contain the fiery tongues that seeped through her glorious globe and sought her every crevice, Vanessa cupped her face in her hands, feeling the thickly-sprouting hairs of her love-pouch brushing against the edge of the quilt with every succeeding stroke that caused her hips to jerk.
'No! I can't, I can't!' she blubbered wildly, though in answer to nothing.
'But you have, Miss Markham, and shall again', opined the Vicar, causing the tawse to slap-smack smartly into her burning orb, for though nothing explicit had been stated in that brief exchange, he knew well enough what Vanessa meant and knew, too, that
'Yow-wer! Doh-on't!' came piteously and pleadingly from her, fingertips pressed against her forehead as the relentless leather again took its toll of her hitherto almost unstriped bottom.
'You will say YES, Miss Markham-yes! — for that is what I wish to hear from you. Let me hear you say it now, girl!'
'Cah-ha-an't-I can't-I mustn't! yee-eee-eeek! Oh, please no, I can't bear it!'
'You will indeed be saying that, my dear, if I continue this much longer, and that I intend to do'. sra-aaaack! cra-aaaack! SPLATT!
By then, as might well be imagined, Vanessa's bottom had assumed a hue of deep pink-verging indeed towards red. But her piteous sobs, her wails, her beseeching cries were utterly unavailing in that moment, as she was to learn. Twice she had been urged-almost by Mary as much as by her own sudden desires-to push through one barrier, and now the lewd cleric was pressing her to break another. Stubborn as Vanessa was and always had been when the Priapus threatened her, she tried now to continue to be,
tears pearling down her cheeks, and grimacing into her cupped hands while her hips rotated and swirled to the implacable urging of the tawse and the invasive heat it produced in her bottom and loins.
Accustomed as he was to such, the Vicar waited with rearing and exposed prick for that breaking point which he knew must come. The tawse swept slowly-once, twice, thrice more, imposing its sharp slap-smacking authority into Vanessa's rich buttocks until at last came her pleading, sobbing, half-shamed and yet equally half-excited cry of 'Yes!'
Chapter Five
Upon the fading of her cry there came to Vanessa's ears two sounds. The first was that of the tawse flopping to the carpet. The other was the equally unmistakable one of the Vicar thrusting down his trousers.
'No, please, don't', came her whimper thereupon, but that was as equally expected by the Vicar as was her surrender. In such circumstances the lecherous gentleman knew that there could be no sensuous preliminaries other than those he had afforded her and that the smooth effecting of his immediate desires was imperative.
'Legs-bottom', he uttered tonelessly just as he had done before and therewith clamped Vanessa's hips firmly on either side with his broad hands and nubbed the glowing crest of his charger up beneath the seared orb of her bottom to brush against the curls and the rolled lips of her quim.
A choking sound escaped Vanessa at that first contact and her hips would have proved evasive had he not held them still. The bulb of his cock feeling so swollen and warm, an eagerness for it seized her as much as did a sense of apprehension.
'Be still, girl! Hold your bottom up!' growled the Vicar who took an insensate pleasure in ploughing a female for the first time when her bottom felt nigh-bursting with heat.
'Whoooo!' came then Vanessa's moan, for with that the ruddy, purple-headed shaft commenced sleeking a path between the clinging walls of her nest, probing within inch by inch and-as it gained entry-causing Vanessa to wriggle madly against the steadying of his strong hands, albeit in vain. Having sheathed four inches of his throbbing prick and finding her love cavern juicy and receptive, the Vicar had no difficulty in stirring his pestle while he now leaned his weight more over her back and transferred his grasp from the superbly-curved hips to the pendant gourds of her tits whose hardened nipples bespoke well for Vanessa's otherwise hidden state of excitement.
Torrid words of desire flooded the mind of the Vicar in those moments of sensual ecstasy. Uttering a few uncontrollable groans, he tensed himself for a moment that was as self-teasing as it was satisfying for both, and then with a grunt sheathed his stiff pego to the full within Vanessa's lusciously-enfolding sheath.
Even so, the Reverend Percival Jubstone knew better than to be too crudely expressive in speech in the first fucking of a young woman, or indeed an even younger girl, after attending to her bottom. Erotic discipline, as he understood it, was best applied in commanding silence which the female would do well to learn when she was being mastered as Vanessa then was.
Nor did Vanessa thereafter struggle. Such squirmings of her seared bottom as made of it a hot ball of flesh into his belly offered signs of oncoming pleasure rather than resistance. Her head still being bowed and her face hidden, the Vicar then continued caressing her brown stiff nipples with one hand while passing the other tightly under her chin and forcing her to look up bleary-eyed at the flowered paper on her bedroom wall while his pulsing cock began easing a passage back and forth in her quim.
The Vicar prided himself on the fact that he never forgot the essentials of a disciplinary posture for a young woman whose bottom has been surrendered to the fire of birch or strap or cane. The posture of the supplicant must be correct and, if necessary, she must be correctly held. Above all, the face must not be buried in seeming dire shame or embarrassment but must be made to face forward, mouth open as it often was in expressive wonder of mingling surprise and desire.
As for Vanessa herself, the fires of lust had already begun to blaze in her despite her previous uncertainties and apprehensions. Hissing through her finely-curved nostrils, she felt herself spraying deliriously as the implacable
