“Is there anything more your ladyship wants?” flashed Marcia, a vestige of her overweening arrogance escaping her compressed lips. “Greg!” called Marie.
“No… no… I was only joking… I’ll behave,” said Marcia hurriedly, glancing fearfully toward the bedroom.
“What is it, honey?” he called, sitting, up on the bed and watching the. delectable scene before his eager eyes.
“Just be ready, darling… she may give me a little trouble.”
“Want me to come now and strip her?” he called and Marcia groaned in terror.
Glancing at her triumphantly, Marie called back, “Not this time, honey. Just be ready when I call you again. Now then, Miss High and Mighty, your stockings-take them off those insolent long legs of yours!”
Marcia, white with frustrated rage, complied; with fingers that trembled with anger, she descended the diaphanous sheaths from her svelte, sculptured legs and let them drop to the floor.
“That’s more like it… Now, your brassiere!”
“Marie… I… I-”
“Shall I call Greg, Marcia? And this time, he’ll bring a whip with him!” threatened Marie.
“No… no… I’ll obey you.”
“Then be quick about it. Remember, in Russia they knout maids for being slow in undressing when the master wants to fuck them!” jested Marie insolently.
Marcia’s flushing face revealed, how extreme was her chagrin at this dominating tone, this insufferable insolence of her own maid.
But her fingers loosened the unclasping sheath, allowed it to flutter to the floor and her naked breasts, heaving with chagrin and shame, thrust up their insolent turrets to Marie’s enchanted gaze.
Firm, ripe pears of woman-flesh, with dark coral aureoles and pert buds of rosy hue, offered themselves, rising and falling in the cadence of Marcia’s anguish, to the ravishing eyes of her maid-ivory globes whose firm, resilient flesh, whose contours of sensual provocation, whose delectable nipples made of them a veritable feast for lovers lips and tongues and ambient hands breasts which were virgin, induced to heave only in fastidious indignation or supercilious emotion-never in the duress of passion’s thrilling constraint! “Now your panties last of all… and you’ll be naked!” said Marie.
“Oh! This… this is too much!”
“Would a whipping be too much on your naked skin? With Gregory’s arm to apply it and me to hold you while you got your big bottom reddened as you so richly merit?” asked Marie menacingly.
Raging with the fury of a woman shamed and thwarted in her egotism, Marcia slipped her hands behind her, groped for the fasteners of the panty-sheath and loosened the mother-of-pearl hooks and eyelets.
“Unfastening isn’t enough. You must pull them down-the way you do when you have to go!” mocked Marie, relishing Marcia’s white, furious face, the agitation of her delicious naked breasts.
“Oh!”
“Hurry, your first customer will be here before very long and you aren’t even dressed! I’ll have Greg take them down for you and turn you over his knee if you don’t drag them off your big legs before I count fi’~7e. One!… Two!
Three!-”
Panting, maddened by her torment but not daring to reveal the full hatred of her soul, Marcia complied. The panties descended slowly down her buttocks… her thighs… slipped over her rounded knees… and came to rest about her ankles. Mechanically, passively, she stepped out of them.
She was naked.
A statue of ivory-cold, bereft of the warm glow of sensual compliance and ecstatic self-surrender which Marie’s less provocatively carnal charms possessed to a heart-stirring degree… with svelte hips that bespoke a passionate yielding that was a lie, with breasts that flaunted the invitation to amorous sucking and plucking of nectared flesh, with sleek, smooth belly that offered the untrue enticement of a cushion whereon a crushing lover would sink and plunder madly his desires of her… the alluring downy, raven-tendriled triangle surmounting that grotto of sterile virginity… a face that was sensual and yet cold and wantonly selfish-this was Marcia Thomaston, the naked debutante, prisoner in the brothel owned by her own maid! “Now then, Marcia. First, the pumps I’ve set before you-put them on!”
Marcia took one of the pumps and examined it. It was of black suede, with extremely narrow, pointed toe, rising arch and clasping, rounded back that would rise high on her foot; the heel was tapering, exaggerated in its contour-and of a height of four and one half inches.
“I can’t wear these… they’ll be too tight and too high on my feet. I shan’t be able to walk!” she protested.
“You’ll only have to walk as far as the bedroom! Now, put them on and don’t let me hear any more whining!” menaced Marie.
Grudgingly, Marcia obeyed. She stooped, raised one pretty, graceful foot, placed her heel inside the shoe, then slid her toes apprehensively into the front of the pump, as if fearful that she would find it much too tight. It fitted her perfectly, with not a little constriction; but suddenly she was seized with an anxiety and, turning to Marie, asked nervously, “Am I not to wear stockings?”
“Not the first time… after all, you’re a virgin and you’re not to show too much voluptuousness for your first fuck. Later on, when you’ve had a little experience, we’ll add frills,” Marie told her insolently.
The fastidious debutante, puritanical, shuddered to hear the degrading Anglo-Saxon words of carnal intercourse; but she had no choice than to obey.
She obeyed.
The high heels added to her svelte grace and lissome perfection; poised on them, she began to become intrigued by their pedestaling effect, by the accentuation of her chiseled ankles and her sinuous calves.
“There’s no time to admire yourself. Your boy friends will take care of that.
Hurry up, now and put on these panties!” said Marie.
Marcia stooped and was delicious n her tensing flexions of thighs, of firm buttocks that jutted temptingly forth to Marie’s eyes… a flagellant would not have waited longer for attainment upon this statuesque beauty’s nakedness!
But, though Marie had every intention of paying back her mistress for the many slaps and insults bestowed on her in Marcia’s service, she preferred to savor her future conquests and Gregory’s pleasure in them and it sufficed her to watch Marcia flush and. quiver with nervous chagrin as she prepared her own body, without the ministrations of her maid, for the downfall to which that pampered and jealously inviolate flesh was to be subjugated.
The panties chosen by Marie were of black satin, more like tights than panties, extremely tight and binding at the crotch. An elastic band, fastening at the back, secured them; but, to add to the provocative effect, a row of dainty red shell buttons appeared coquettishly along and down the front surface… right over the guarded chalice of Marcia’s virgin pussytemple!
Moreover, they were extremely daring in their cut: the legs ended very high on the white, ivory thighs of the debutante and were patterned at the back so as to reveal the briefest,but most stimulating glimpse of the commencement of Marcia’s bottom cheeks, that delectable base which began to rise and swell into the wonderfully oval and sensually firm summits of her hind quarters.
“Be sure to fasten every button-a virgin shouldn’t give her first lover the idea that she wants her quim well oiled!” instructed Marie with an insolent smile.
And when the panties were tautly and lasciviously in their molding place Over those callipygian glories of the debutante, the next order came at once: “Put on your brassiere next!”
The brassiere was-also of black satin, patterned to reveal as much of the valley of Marcia’s ripe pear globes as her velvet gown had showed, but there was a highly suggestive feature which the gown certainly did not envisage! For, as the debutante shamefacedly fitted the lustrous sheath over her palpitating breasts, she found, to her utter horror, that tiny slits in the fabric permitted her pert nipple-buds to emerge, alluring, naked in their sensitive flowering of rosy coral, from the shining, smooth black satin! “Oh, Marie! I… I won’t wear anything like this… it’s too shameful!” she exclaimed, stamping her foot in vexation and humiliation.
“Won’t you, now? I wonder. Greg-bring the whip this time!” called Marie, turning her golden head toward the bedroom, where her lover was calmly finishing his cigarette.
“Which one, darling? The one with the plaited lash or the three-thonged French whip?”
“The plaited lash will do this time, sweetheart!”
Marcia went white, trembling piteously.
“No… oh my God… you wouldn’t whip me! Marie… I… I… swear I’ll not complain “any more… oh… oh… my God… no, Greg, please… for God’s sake, don’t!”
For, as her eyes grew wide with terror, she saw the naked suitor approach, in his right hand a black leather thong with tapering lash whose end was insidiously plaited, flexible, deadly-the more so, since she was all but naked.
He approached her slowly, impassively.