“Oh, Clara, I was wh… wh… whipped!” she burst out.
“What? Oh, you could not have been! Who would dare do such a thing?”
“Why, Stepmama, of course. Oh, and Bertha was there and she held me over! My poor bottom, and I had done nothing, Clara, nothing, I swear!”
The strain of hysteria in her voice aroused me and I moved her so that she lay full upon her back, a perfect cascade of shining tears rolling down upon her cheeks. Her bottom moved fretfully. Her whole posture demanded comfort and attention. I cast myself upon her as though to restrain her in her movements, making to affect great agitation at her news. She had not mentioned Robert, though. I thought that strange and yet could understand her motive.
“Of course you have done nothing,” I soothed. “Come, let us have off with your dusty dress and make you pretty again.”
“I hate her, I hate her!”
“Yes, darling, yes.”
“Don’t undress me.”
Her plea was all too late. She was willing, it seemed to me, to be bundled about a little. Females in a certain state of excited distress are often so, as I was since to learn. I had to rumple her much in removing her dress and then her chemise, my exclamation of apparent surprise bursting out when I pretended to discover that she wore no drawers.
“Oh, you poor thing, she took them off!” I burst.
“St… st… stop it!” Sarah jerked. Her garters were white and pink, most pretty in appearance and matching well with the creamy shade of her stockings. Her legs, being long, were finely tapered, though swelling voluptuously at their junction where a proud and well-furred bush flourished its dark brown curls.
“Show me,” I urged and rolled her over on to her tummy. The sparkling pink of her bottom was still evident. It bumped a little as I touched it with my fingers and a mewing sound came from her while her fingers clawed into the quilt. Since she was clearly in no great physical discomfort, I divined instinctively a sense of excitement in her that she would have preferred to hide yet could not help but let seep forth. Murmuring my condolences, as it were, I bent over beside her on the bed and applied my lips to her quivering halfmoons which had all the appearance of strawberries and cream.
“Don’t, Clara,” she whispered, but I knew her frailty now for she did not kick nor endeavour to roll over.
“Shush-let me comfort my poor baby,” I murmured and in so doing put on a greater maturity than my years indicated. Soothing my lips all about, I slyly observed the relaxing of her shoulders and a shy hiding of her face which she effected by crooking up one arm and burying her head in the fold of her elbow. “Now it feels better, now it feels better,” I intoned. The warm silky surface of her well-cleft moon enchanted me. The taut smooth skin seemed to stir willingly under the moist blessing of my mouth. “Is it nice?” I asked a little daringly. Her cheeks contracted and then relaxed.
“No,” she answered pettishly, but I knew it not to be true.
“I will make it nice, truly I will,” I whispered and began to stroke her naked back which rippled agreeably to my touch. My other hand I cupped gently beneath the lower bulge of her firm bottom so that she might not move and then with a rising thrill of sensuousness dipped my tongue into her cleft and wisped it up and down.
“C… C… Clara!” she uttered in pretended shock, “wh… wh… what are you doing?”
There was no strength nor rising reprimand in her voice and then came to me such words as our stepmother might have uttered.
“Be quiet-it is for your good,” I said. The die was cast. I was tasting her and finding the sensation wickedly exciting. Without further ado I parted the springy cheeks of her bottom with both hands and twirled the tip of my tongue all around her puckered rosette.
“N… n… no!” she blathered, yet her bottom gave such a little jerk as betrayed and denied the refusal of her cry.
Such being my arising nature, I suppose, I pressed my fingertips tighter into her and thereby exposed her nether aperture more fully. Indeed, it opened a little, which permitted me to flick the tip of my tongue within. A frantic moan came from Sarah and she kicked, though not viciously. It was rather as though she were endeavouring to avoid something that she found pleasurable. So very much indeed can be read by such febrile movements of the body. I was determined as it seemed to me then to conquer her now and held her bottom cheeks ever further apart. As I did so she made to rise by pressing up with her hands, but in that moment the bedroom door opened and a voice sounded above us.
“It is called feuille de rose,” I heard my stepmother declare. So quick was she in response to the revealed situation that her words were immediately followed by the snapped command, “Hold her!”
I shrieked in apparent alarm as did Sarah, but prevented her from rising and indeed pressed her tightly down once more by appearing to collapse upon her. With great presence of mind, however, our stepmother made it seem that I would escape for she then spat, “Hold her, I say, Clara, or I shall whip you in turn!”
“Oh!” I quavered for good effect while Sarah drummed with her hands upon the quilt in dismay.
Then with the swiftest of steps we were joined at the bedside. Bending and taking hold of Sarah’s knees while I slyly relaxed my weight upon her for a moment, our stepmother deftly swung her over on to her back wherewith I fell across Sarah with a well-considered shriek. Thus having my face hid and my back turned upon our intruder, I felt only a flurry of limbs and then a soulful cry from Sarah.
“Ah-oooh! Don’t let her!” she cried, but already our stepmother had knelt and-thrusting back Sarah’s legs until her knees all but touched her tummy-applied her lips and tongue to her moist honeypot. “Noo-nooo-noooo!” hummed Sarah. Her wild face was jerked from side to side, the tendons on her neck straining.
A soft lapping sound came to my ears. I held my arms around my sister’s neck as though in bewilderment, my grasp restraining her head from twisting so much and my cheek finally coming against her own velvety one. She snuffled and gasped. I felt the jerking of her hips and heard the steady, succulent sound of our stepmother’s tongue all about her cunny.
“Da-da-dah!” Sarah moaned. I appeared as one dazed and yet at the same time a little excited at what was happening.
“Oh, darling,” I whispered. Her eyes glazed, her movements becoming less frenetic. I felt a quivering throughout her entire body. Her back arched and strained. Had I but known it, her bottom was now firmly cupped and her cunny already spurting its juices.
“Oh-woh-woh!” she whimpered and then as if by some divine chance our mouths came together. I sought her tongue. Shy as it was at first it came at last to meet mine. Violent tremors shot through her. I stroked her breasts and found her nipples hard, passing my thumb sensuously back and forth across the quivering tips. She was utterly lost. Her moans wafted into my mouth. A gurgling cry and she came again, quite flooding the lips and tongue that were assuaging her. Then as if in a swoon she loosed her mouth from mine, sank down and lay still whereupon our stepmother rose, delicately wiping her mouth.
“Draw her full on to the bed,” she murmured.
“Oh, what is to do?” I asked, playing my role well.
“Be quiet, child, for you too will learn soon enough,” she replied in skilful complicity and in a trice Sarah lay naked to her stockings between us while our stepmother dealt with her most lovingly, stroking her hot face, kissing away her little sparkling tears and passing her lips over her own.
“You know how I have longed to kiss you, Sarah,” she whispered, bringing my sister’s eyes beneath her own. Truly Sarah looked most beautiful in that moment, her inner thighs glistening with her spendings, her breasts swollen and her nipples erect. Laughing softly, our stepmother traced the curves of my sister’s lips with her fingertip and caused them to part in peachlike sweetness. “You will keep your mouth open when I tell you and you will keep your legs open, Sarah, when I tell you. Do you understand now?”