Chapter Two

Mrs Davidson opened the door and looked Taylor up and down. “Pretty,” she said, with a smile. “Do come in. I’m just in the mood.”

She didn’t say in the mood for what exactly, but Taylor was sure she would find out soon enough. Miss Bridget had been a bit vague. “It’s her first time as a client,” she said. “All she specified was that she wanted a pretty girl to have sex with. It seems her husband is away on business a lot and she’s lonely and horny.”

“And likes girls,’ Taylor added.

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Miss Bridget added with a grin.

Mrs Davidson took Taylor into her sitting room. She was wearing a smart silk dress which suited her shapely body. Taylor thought perhaps the skirt was just a shade too short for someone of Mrs Davidson’s age, but she was in her own home and could doubtless wear what she liked. She sat down and beckoned Taylor towards her. Taylor had dressed up, in a tight sweater (she’d been told her breasts were among her best features) and a short, tight skirt, with some brief but pretty pink underwear. Taylor walked towards Mrs Davidson and stood a couple of feet away, waiting.

“Let’s get to it,” Mrs Davidson said. “Pull your skirt up and take your knickers down as far as your knees.”

Taylor followed her instructions. It was only a couple of weeks ago that Miss Flora had shaved her cunt (which at that time she still called her pussy). Taylor had been brought up in a household where sex was never discussed and her experience of what girls did with each other was limited. So she was still a little shy about people seeing her cunt completely bare. She hadn’t quite settled in her mind whether it looked good now that her thick black bush had been removed. Though Alberta, a girl who had introduced her to some of the things that girls did, had told her it was lovely, and proceeded to demonstrate her approval by spending part of an afternoon kissing and fondling her there, making her come several times.

“Open your legs as far as you can and push your pelvis forward so I can get a good look at your cunt,” Mrs Davidson said. Taylor thrust forward. The pink lips of her cunt parted slightly. Taylor blushed prettily as Mrs Davidson stared between her legs. “Come closer,” she said. Taylor advanced to within touching distance. Mrs Davidson reached out and began to finger Taylor between her legs. Taylor made some noises as Mrs Davidson’s fingers prodded and probed, pulled and twisted, and then penetrated, two fingers going right up inside her cunt. Taylor groaned.

Mrs Davidson took her fingers away, somewhat to Taylor’s disappointment, and because they were wet she wiped them on Taylor’s bare thigh, a rather arrogant gesture, Taylor thought. But then, she told herself, she’s paid to use me. She’s going to do exactly what she likes.

“Turn around,” Mrs Davidson said.

For a few moments she was silent, doubtless contemplating Taylor’s ass. She reached out and stroked it, then squeezed one cheek.

“Young girls have such delicious asses,” she said. Perhaps Mrs Davidson, whom Taylor judged to be about forty, felt that her own ass was past its best, although as Taylor was soon to discover she had taken good care of her body.

Mrs Davidson stuck her finger in her mouth, pulled one of the cheeks of Taylor’s ass to one side and pushed the finger right in. Taylor gasped. Anal things were still new to her. True she had had an afternoon’s instruction from Miss Bridget, which had progressed from being obliged to lick Miss Bridget’s ass to having her own similarly treated by Miss Flora, and then buggered by Miss Flora with her strap-on. But Taylor’s ass was still tight, very tight, and the experience had been both revelatory and just a little painful. “A little pain is a good thing for you cunts,” Miss Bridget had said. “In fact you’ll get a lot of it sooner or later, so you may as well learn to like it.”

Mrs Davidson moved her finger around in Taylor’s ass for a while before removing it. “Are you an anal virgin?” she asked.

“No, Mrs Davidson. But I’ve only been fucked there once.”

“Time to improve on that, I think,” said Mrs Davidson. She told Taylor to turn around again and show her tits. Taylor peeled off her sweater and unhooked her bra and stood with breasts bared while Mrs Davidson looked at them.

“Closer,” she said. She stood up and took hold of Taylor’s nipples, which were large and brown, and twisted them. Taylor gasped. Her nipples instantly sprang up erect. Mrs Davidson slapped Taylor’s tits several times. It hurt just a little, but it was exciting and Taylor began to feel a tingle in her cunt.

“I think,” said Mrs Davidson, “that my aim this afternoon will be to ruin your cute little ass. But first I’ll have some fun with your tits. Of course it might not be fun for you, but that’s why I’m paying, isn’t it?”

Mrs Davidson took hold of one of Taylor’s nipples again and led her out to the kitchen. She made her stand up against the sink while she looked in one of the drawers, then pulled out a wooden spoon. She began to smack Taylor’s nipples with the back of the spoon, left, right, left, right. It hurt and Taylor gave a little squeal each time. Mrs Davidson was smiling. She reached in the drawer again and found a wooden spatula. She used this to smack Taylor’s nipples some more. This went on for quite a while, until Taylor’s nipples were sore. When she looked down she saw her tits were red.

Mrs Davidson opened another drawer, which contained cutlery. She took out a fork and held it up to Taylor’s left nipple. She poked at the nipple, gently at first, then harder.

“Hmm” she said. “Maybe two.”

She took another fork from the drawer. Holding one in each hand, she pressed them into Taylor’s nipple, from both sides. This was getting really uncomfortable. Taylor caught her breath. Mrs Davidson pressed the forks against Taylor’s right nipple instead. Taylor grunted. Mrs Davidson pressed them harder. Taylor gasped. Mrs Davidson pushed the forks viciously into Taylor’s nipple. She squealed and backed away.

Mrs Davidson went to the freezer and took out the ice tray. She shook a couple of ice-cubes out and put them to Taylor’s nipples. It was good to feel the cold ice against the sore nipples. Melted water dripped onto the floor. Mrs Davidson put one of the ice cubes between Taylor’s legs, and pressed it right up against her clit. Taylor gasped.

In one kitchen drawer there were some brightly coloured plastic clothes pegs. Mrs Davidson took two of them and showed them to Taylor. “These have rather a fierce grip,” she said. “I tried them on myself once. But not for long.”

She put them carefully on Taylor’s nipples, one by one. Taylor cried out. The pegs were vicious. Mrs Davidson smiled to see Taylor’s reaction. She took hold of the pegs and twisted them, violently. Taylor squealed and moved away.

“I fear we shall have to tie you up when things get really bad,” Mrs Davidson said. “As they will.” Taylor thought they were getting really bad already; she was beginning to dread what might come next. She wanted desperately to please Miss Bridget by her behaviour, but her experience of pain was limited. If Mrs Davidson was intent on hurting her badly, she didn’t know how well she would be able to endure it.

Mrs Davidson put her hands up to the pegs again. Taylor flinched. “Keep still,” said Mrs Davidson sharply. “I’m paying for this, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Mrs Davidson,” Taylor said meekly. It was true. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying it. It was a service she provided, for the prestige and honour of the Circle, but more especially because Miss Bridget demanded it of her. Had she not been trained to serve? Did she not want to serve Miss Bridget with all her heart? She gritted her teeth.

This time Mrs Davidson twisted the pegs slowly. The pain grew till it filled Taylor’s head; she could think of nothing else. She looked down at Mrs Davidson’s fingers twisting the pegs inexorably. Mrs Davidson looked at her and smiled. “Good girl,” she said, and let the pegs go. But they were still gripping Taylor’s nipples, a sharp, stabbing sensation. Taylor could not prevent a whimper emerging from her lips.

Mrs Davidson took the pegs away, which gave Taylor a short, sharp stab of excruciating pain before it was replaced with an ache. “Poor girl,” Mrs Davidson said. “However, when I move to your ass it will be a different kind of pain, perhaps more to your liking, a percussive pain as I strike those cute little buttocks of yours. We’ll see if we can’t give you some pretty bruises. Now get the rest of your clothes off and let’s go upstairs.”

Taylor, naked now, preceded Mrs Davidson up the stairs. She could feel Mrs Davidson’s eyes feasting on her bottom as it swayed gracefully from side to side. They went into a small room at the end of the passage. It was sparsely furnished, with a small wooden table, a wooden chair and at one side a chest of drawers. There was no window. Mrs Davidson positioned the table in the middle of the room. She laid Taylor down over it, on her back, then fetched several pieces of rope from a drawer and deftly began to tie Taylor down. First, her hands were pulled down by her sides and roped to the legs at one end of the table, then Taylor’s legs were pulled right back over her head and her ankles bound to the tops of the other two table legs. Taylor had heard this referred to as the diaper position. It was evident from the efficiency of this that Mrs Davidson had done it before. Taylor’s bottom was lifted up, presented, as it were, and made the focus of attention, while her anus and her cunt were made available for any intrusive touching or manipulating. Her knees were pressing down onto her face, so that she could see very little. Altogether it was very undignified.

From another drawer Mrs Davidson fetched a heavy leather strap. “I always find this a good starting point for an ass-beating,” she said. “It gets the bottom nicely warmed up and gives it a bit of colour. Plus it does rather sting a lot.”

Taylor had never felt more defenceless. She couldn’t move an inch in any direction, only lie and wait for what was to come. Mrs Davidson swished the strap a few times, then raised her arm and brought it down swiftly, the strap landing on Taylor’s bottom with a loud crack.

“Such a satisfying sound, don’t you think?’ Mrs Davidson said cheerfully.

She swung the strap again, then again. Taylor squealed each time. It wasn’t very dignified, but she was past caring about that. The belt stung like crazy. Taylor desperately wanted to rub her bottom, anything to ease the pain, but she was trapped, having no choice but to submit. The pain was cumulative, her bottom smarting badly now. Taylor wondered how long this would go on. She wanted to be a good girl for Miss Bridget, but there were limits, surely.

At last Mrs Davidson lowered her arm. Taylor’s bottom was stroked instead of beaten; Mrs Davidson’s hands were surprisingly tender as they caressed her.

“My, look how red you are!” Mrs Davidson exclaimed. “And how hot your bottom feels. A good solid basis for a proper beating.”

What could a proper beating be? Wasn’t this it? Taylor thought it surely was.

“After a strapping, I like to follow with a paddling,” Mrs Davidson said. “It deepens the colour and makes the bottom so sensitive to what is to follow.”

What is to follow? Taylor felt that a paddling would be quite sufficient in itself. Mrs Davidson produced a large wooden paddle, heavy and menacing. She patted it against Taylor two or three times, then raised it and brought it down hard, right across the centre of Taylor’s ass with a heavy thud. She howled. The pain seemed to go right through her, shaking her to the core. The paddle rose and fell. Taylor trembled, her legs went weak, had she not been tied she would have dropped to her knees. As it was, she could do nothing but absorb the pain.

Mrs Davidson stopped and rubbed Taylor’s bottom again. “One thing I do like about a paddle,” she said, “is that if you do it hard enough and accurately, then at the centre of each buttock, in the middle of the dark red skin going purple already, is a little patch of lighter colour. Perhaps the paddle chases all the blood out. I don’t know, but it looks very satisfying. A good bruise will form there later.”

There was something almost hypnotic about Mrs Davison’s voice. It was low and musical, and its even tones, so matter of fact, offered a deceitful promise of solicitude, whereas in fact they presaged only more pain.

“I like to finish with a cane, my dear,” she went on. “I try to lay a few strokes in a neat grouping right across the centre of the bottom, where they will be visible for several days to come. Depending on the girl of course; it’s so interesting how different girls bruise in different ways. Some are hardly marked at all even after a severe caning, while others have bruises so deep you think they will stay for ever. In your case, my dear,” Mrs Davidson went on. “I think, from what I can see already, that they should last a good week. Let’s hope so.”

With that she picked up the cane, took aim for a moment and slashed it right across Taylor’s rump. Taylor shrieked.

“My goodness, you do make rather a fuss,” said Mrs Davidson. “Well, you can scream all you like. You’re tied up nice and tight, and no one can hear you here. I’ve had this room sound-proofed for just such occasions as this.”

She struck Taylor again, the cane landing in an almost identical spot. The pain was burning, searing, as though she was being struck with a rod of fire. The caning went on. Taylor wished for the relief of subspace; just sink into it and let the pain wash over her. But it didn’t happen. There was only pain, nothing more, nothing less, except that every stroke hurt worse than the one before.

When Mrs Davidson finally set the cane down, Taylor was sure that, finally, was the last of it. But she was mistaken. Mrs Davidson went back to the chest of drawers. This time she drew out something that looked like a policeman’s truncheon, made of heavy black rubber.

“This is my new acquisition,” Mrs Davidson said. “It’s very nasty indeed. I’ve only tried it once, and the girl just screamed and ran away. Fortunately, you are tied up nice and tight. Resign yourself to the pain, my dear, which will be of a different order from anything you have known. But it’s only a few strokes; I don’t think a little girl like you could stand any more.”

Taylor wanted to say, I can’t stand any more as it is. But she knew it would be useless. There was that in Mrs Davidson’s voice indicating that protest would be in vain. Taylor took several deep breaths as Mrs Davidson took aim. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the arm raised, then the truncheon hit her. It was true; it was a pain like no other, a deep, excruciating agony that went right through her, that shook her whole body as if she were a rag doll. Taylor was still shaking when the second stroke fell. She’ll kill me, she thought, and then she partly lost consciousness, only dimly away of four more strokes, and then it stopped.

“There, there,” said Mrs Davidson encouragingly. “It’s all over now, dear. I’ll untie you and then we’ll go and have a nice drink, shall we?”

Taylor’s knees felt weak as she staggered down the stairs, holding the rail carefully. Once more Mrs Davidson was behind her, greatly enjoying the sight of Taylor’s bottom, black and blue already.

Mrs Davidson thrust a tumbler half full of whiskey into Taylor’s hand. “Get that down you, girl, and you’ll soon feel better,” she said.

Mrs Davidson engaged her in small talk for a while. Taylor wondered if that would be it. Had Mrs Davidson exhausted her sadistic desires? Surely she would want to have some sort of closure. Taylor had rather assumed that because Mrs Davidson was so anally fixated she might want to fuck Taylor in the ass with a dildo, or something like that. Though feeling a little the worst for wear, Taylor thought she would find that agreeable enough.

Taylor was still naked, but she didn’t feel self-conscious. After all, Mrs Davidson had got a good look at her by now. But then, a little to her surprise, Mrs Davidson began to pull up the skirt of her dress. Underneath she wore black stockings and suspenders, and a matching pair of black satin knickers. She put a hand inside them.

“I’m going to masturbate now,” she said. She seemed to have no shame about this, merely getting herself comfortable. Taylor watched Mrs Davidson’s hand moving slowly.

“While I’m pleasuring myself,” Mrs Davidson said, “I want you to kneel at your end of the sofa, with your bottom towards me, so I can get a good look at my handiwork while I make myself come.”

Taylor got into position. There’s no accounting for tastes, she thought. She’d certainly never had an older woman jerk off in front of her. Or behind her, to be correct. But after all, Mrs Davidson was paying, and so she was entitled to do as she wished. And it wasn’t hard to understand why a woman such as her, with her strong desire for marking a girl’s ass, should like to get a good look at the results.

It didn’t take Mrs Davidson long to get satisfaction. She pulled her skirts back down. “You did well, my dear,” she said. “I shall commend you to Miss Bridget. She trained you well. A few squeaks and squaws were only to be expected. You are a brave girl. Perhaps you’ll come back soon, when your marks are gone. I like the feel of that truncheon in my hand. We’ll have a nice long session with it.”

Taylor nodded gracefully. In truth any session at all with that nasty thing would be more than she could wish for, but girls who wanted to please Miss Bridget couldn’t hope to please themselves.