Surely it was?
The thought of such obscenity, of her naked body on full display for Mr. Blackstone as she bent at the waist and obeyed him, again caused the finger of pleasurable humiliation to snake through her naughtiest places. Deep and low in her belly, almost to—that place—an ache, much like the craving to be touched that still held her nipples in tight balls, cried out and pulsed as if an animal lived inside of her.
It only grew as she placed her hands on the bed, obeying, and the cool leather grazed her nipples. Her breath was coming in ragged, shallow gulps, and Mr. Blackstone did nothing for several moments, only intensifying her fear, pleasure—and though she was loathe to admit it to herself—her curiosity.
She jumped when his fingers touched her ear and then raked through her hair, pulling her face to one side. Gently, he applied pressure to her head until her cheek was against the leather. Propped this way, her bare chest and head were against the mattress, but her bottom was elevated slightly.
The warm liquid that had welled up between her legs the night before was returning. She could feel it as she shifted her weight, making her thighs slippery, and the place between them even slipperier. She could not understand why this happened, and her cheeks burned with humiliation. What might Mr. Blackstone think?
She waited, her stomach coiling into knots, in the silence that followed. It seemed eternally long, though she knew it was not. It was long enough for her to think of the sensation of his hand smacking against the skin of her bottom, and with that thought, for a feverish shiver to travel through her.
She could not help the gasp that escaped her when the next unexpected sensation reached her mind: a tickling, slightly rough, limpsomething,like a many-fingered animal, or the tassels of a pillow, grazed her backside. It moved over the lowest part of her back, tickling, from side to side, several times. She strained her eyes to see what it was without disobeying Mr. Blackstone, but this only caused her a headache, and she could see only that he was behind her, dangling something over her bottom.
The something, then, dippedbetweenher legs, where its many limp fingers slid through the strange wetness there, and some of them grazed her most intimate places, places that screamed to be touched, all while her mind told her how very naughty it was to even think about those places. The fingers traveled up, between her buttocks, across her other hole, and she squeezed her eyes closed against the pleasure and the humiliation.
“I am going to whip you soundly with this device, Miss Blanchet, to discipline you for your disobedience earlier. When you feel the pain of each stroke, you are to meditate deeply upon your disobedience, and the pleasure it gives you to be punished. You will then thank me for your discipline and beg me to give you another.”
As he spoke, the “device” made circles over her skin, driving her insides to wild convulsions she did not understand. “You will practice the words and actions of submission, and also the thoughts, until such time as they become your reality. We begin.”
The heat of the strap, and its many, many fingers, flashed over her right buttock not a breath after this utterance, and so quite unexpectedly. She cried out, more in surprise than in pain; for while it stung, and radiated in many directions, biting into her flesh in smaller and more concentrated strips than the flogger had, the pain was secondary to something else inside of her. The naughty feeling roared between her legs.
She exhaled all of the air in her chest and stared at her hand. As the wave of heat rolled across her skin, she forgot all else, including Mr. Blackstone’s instructions.
“Miss Blanchet.”
“Sir,” she said quickly. “I... I... I... I have quite forgotten what...wh...wh...what I am to do...” she stuttered.
The pain preceded the sound of the strap, that of limp noodles slapped on a table, this time across her other buttock. “You are to do nothing. You are to think of the pleasure of your discipline, and the pleasure of your submission. And then, you are to thank me, and beg me to give you more of it.”
She could not suffocate the whimper that trembled in her voice as she scrambled to speak: “Thank you, sir. Th...tha...thank you. I... I... ask that you... discipline me again.”
The very pronouncement of the words struck her almost as forcefully as the next strap across her bottom. The ache in her knotted stomach spread to her chest. “Thank you, sir... m...master... I... please, will you discipline me again...” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Tears overflowed in her already wet eyes as Mr. Blackstone whipped her again, and her voice was a whisper as she begged him again for more. Her skin was burning now, like it had the night before, and the wetness from between her thighs was making its way, in a cooling trickle, down her left leg.
That was five, and as she whispered her gratefulness, she wondered if she should ask him for more: did he intend to ever stop, or would he flog her all morning until she could not walk?
But her lips formed the words as he had instructed her, for she knew that it was not her place to tell him that he had numbered her whipping at five, no more.
Instead of another smack of the whip, however, he placed a hand on her bottom, pressing the sharp heat deeper into her skin. “I suspect you will require a great deal more discipline, Miss Blanchet,” he said. “And we have much to accomplish today. Now,” his voice was slightly more distant, and she realized that he was returning to the wall of objects. “Leave your hands and your head as they are and place your knees on the edge of the bed.”
Lina tried to look back at him and was grateful that he was turned away and did not see her. “Sss...sir...?”
“Do as I say, Miss Blanchet. Lift one knee to the edge of the bed, and then the other. You are correct if you have concluded that this will place you in a most submissive, sexual position. But it is not your place to wonder, only to obey. It is I who mandates.”
Lina could scarcely believe her ears, but she slowly placed a knee on the edge of the bed, which forced her to push her bottom up into the air.
“Very good, Miss Blanchet. I am very pleased. Now the other leg. But you will part your legs wide, so that I may have access to your cunny and your bottom.”
It was far too much for Lina, who put her lifted leg down on the ground again. She remained with her face to the mattress but pulled her legs together closely. “Mr. Blackstone, sir, please,” she said. “I... I... I cannot—”
“You can, Miss Blanchet, and you will. You will lift your bottom, and spread your legs, and I shall have access to your cunny to do with as I see fit. You shall be trained to obey and submit to the will of your master. You have earned ten lashes with this display, and should you continue to disobey me, you shall find that there are other ways to punish disobedient girls. Now. Place your knees on the bed or you shall find out what they are.”
Lina obeyed, clumsily, and her face burned again as she pictured herself, what she must look like, her bottom thrust into the air and her legs apart as she had been told time and again to never, ever do.
Another long pause preceded Mr. Blackstone’s next step in her education, and it was more torturous than the previous one, for she had no idea what to expect next, or any way of imagining what it might be.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, and pushed herself up a few inches in surprise when she felt something cool against her wetplace,what had he called it? “Cunny?” Was that the name for this part, a part that she knew only as “womanhood,” if this was in fact what it was?
