lovely still in doing that.
“What do you mean, Clara?” she spat but all was then bravado. I shrugged.
“Mama will say, I am sure, that she kissed you afterwards and all was well.”
“Oh!” exploded Sarah and stamped her foot. Facing me then as she was and naked, her tits bouncing a little in her anger and her bush well fluffed out from the drying towel, a sudden wicked fantasy came to me that I would like to have Stepmama or Bertha hold her arms the while I knelt between her thighs and tongued her cunt. Perhaps this very thought drove me a full measure beyond what I had already learned, been taught, and had instilled into me. I wanted her cunny to sparkle on my tongue, to bring myself pleasure in doing it and hear her wild cries as she was forced to surrender.
“Let us not fret too much for I did not mind it really. I, too, have been caned, you know,” I said proudly.
“You? Oh, you have not! What a story you are!”
“Oh, Miss Clevercuts, so you believe you know everything, do you? She took my drawers down and caned me stingingly upon my bottom-so there-and then she kissed me all about as she did you and it was nice,” I said rather breathlessly.
That she believed me I did not doubt.
“I don’t want to hear about it,” she said crossly. “I think she is so awful for she will not allow me to wear drawers now.”
I laughed. “Well, you can scarce tell Papa that, or shall you run to him and say, ‘Look, Papa, I have no drawers on.’”
“Bah! you are as horrid as she sometimes, Clara,” was her response, and gathering up her clothes got into them as quickly as she could, for my last words had clearly flustered her and she must have felt trapped. Well-she was trapped for a purpose and that to bring her pleasure, I told myself and found myself surprised by my own thought. Yet even then a sense of resolution was invading me and taking hold of me. I was conscious of our stepmother’s aura and personality as though from a distance. It is said that now, in my twenty-fifth year, I also possess such. “I could feel you coming even though you had not then entered the house,” a girl has said to me in midway or advanced passage of her training, and I have sensed it to be true, for I know the spell that my stepmama can still at times cast over me.
So perhaps one counts the steps of one’s progress. Had I not had that conversation with Sarah in the bathroom I might have been left in limbo with her, wondering how to converse with her and what to do. As I dried myself, however, I was no longer in doubt. Robert’s prick was quite adorable and I dreamed of the heavenly sensation of having it spout within me. Therefore, I decided, Sarah must also. It would be for her good. Her bottom and her cunt would be nourished by his libations, as would my own.
I, of course, was powerless to hasten matters. All lay in our stepmother’s hands. For three days nothing further happened that was untoward. Sarah appeared wary; Robert was quiet, though his eyes frequently fell adoringly on her. Upon the third day after she had tongued Sarah and milked Robert, she took us upon a picnic. Knowing how to beguile, she even drew Sarah out of herself and once or twice made her laugh.
I alone perhaps sensed or knew that the female spider was still weaving her intricate web.
CHAPTER FIVE
Upon our return that afternoon we learned that Papa was to absent himself for a week. He was to Paris, it seemed, upon business, and privately I had no doubt he was being dispatched there. So perhaps did Sarah for she looked querulous. Little as we saw of him, yet she looked upon him in some way as her protector and thus asked him what he was to do there.
Being all seated in the drawing room and drinking tea, we were at ease. Papa looked very smart, I thought, in a white ruffled shirt and cravat and black trousers that had a broad silk seam down each side in the military fashion.
“Why, Paris is a city of wicked ladies,” our stepmother laughed and looking at him asked, “Is it not true?”
He blushed faintly and looked, I thought, disturbed. Sarah bit her lip and clearly considered that such a remark should not have been made, but nothing missed our stepmother’s ever watchful eye. Having finished her tea she plucked a peach from a cutglass bowl that stood upon a table at the side of her chair and rolled it in her hand, so drawing our attention to it in the silence that followed. As many peaches do it had a cleft in it which her thumb gently rubbed.
“How smooth it is and how round,” she murmured. I held my breath. Sarah shifted in her chair. Women have a fine intuition of things not said or perhaps about to be said. Robert appeared uneasy, got up and with a mumbled excuse went out, more I believe to the relief of Sarah than myself. “Do you know what it reminds me of?” was asked and our stepmother extended her palm so that the peach stood as if in waiting upon it with the cleft-which I must say looked wickedly naughty and symbolic-pointing towards us.
No one answered. It was as though we were on a pinpoint of Time and the room very hushed. Papa opened a silver casket, rustled within and drew out a cigarette, though he smoked rarely. As if by deliberation she waited until he had struck a lucifer and lit it. The blue smoke coiled up silently.
“Do you not know?” she teased, and Sarah clenched her hands. “Why, it is like your bottom, Sarah, so perfectly rounded, so smooth, so prettily the cheeks parted and yet not.”
“AH-OH!” exclaimed Sarah almost as if she had been bitten and jumped up and ran out as fast as a cat might when disturbed by a sudden loud noise.
“My dear!” Papa quavered.
“Why? What have I said?” Stepmama taunted. “William, you have not seen…” And then she paused. I knew the meaning of her pause.
“I must see to my crochet work,” I blurted and followed Sarah out, but she having gone upstairs all in a flash I loitered by the door.
“The poor girl, you have dismayed her terribly,” I heard Papa say, though weakly I thought.
“Oh tush, as I was about to say, my pet, you have not seen her bottom. Perhaps a peach is not a good comparison-a polished apple might be better, the skin polished and smooth.”
“I say, really!”
“The boldness of its protruberance! What a pert thrust it has, though perhaps no less than Clara’s. Why, that dear child’s embonpoint is perfectly exquisite-a mere tickle of it and she jerks and laughs, so merry is her pleasure to be fondled there. As to Sarah, her silly pride disdains an affectionate fingering round her nether globe and yet she trembles not a little when…”
“P… p… perfectly improper,” I heard Papa declare and then he uttered a little gasp.
“Like silk, my pet, or velvet. Her thighs are warm and fulsome, and such a bush between as springs against the hand and tickles up the palm as does a tuft of grass.”
“J… J… Julia, I beg you…”
“Is it not nice when I tease it so, William? How stiff you have become and that is very naughty of you. I trust you will not disport yourself so in Paris, for you know my wrath in such matters. I can be very cold to you, my love, if I choose. You are keeping these dear receptacles full for me, are you not, when next I choose to empty them.”
“Ah dear God, how you taunt me so!”
“She wears garters of pink today, William. Very tight about her thighs they are. The frill of her chemise barely covers her tuft. Ah, do I make it quiver thus or is it the thought of it?”
“We sh… should not t… t… talk thus, my dear.”
“Your foreskin is so taut by now I can barely move it! Hand me your kerchief. Shall I make it bubble? Restless she lies in bed at nights, her nightdress full drawn up about her hips, her legs atwist and bottom bumping. By morn her sheet is creased and moist. Do you not think that the effluvia which emanates from a proud young girl on heat is quite delicious? Stop it, you bad thing, you must not come. You know I forbid it.”
“J… J… J… Julia!”
“Why, my pet, you are stuttering! What agitations!”
