This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.
It was a warm, early September evening, the Friday before the opening of the fall semester at Danielson House. Already the moon's scimitared quarter was dappling the fenced-in recreational grounds with its twilight luminosity. Framing the spacious grounds was a larger quadrangle of buildings which housed the four female and three male instructors of this selective boarding school, located on the outskirts of Arton, a drowsy little town in upstate New York, not far from the Canadian border. In those buildings, too, there were quartered some fifty-six young ladies between the ages of fourteen and twenty, and forty-two boys between the ages of twelve and eighteen, together with a domestic staff which included two cooks, two laundresses, a gardener who doubled in the role of janitor, and a resident woman doctor, the ash-blonde, willowy, thirty-year-old Penelope Fielding.
Lights already blazed in most of the window throughout the quadrangle where the young pupils were housed, for these were the main permanent boarders whose relatives found it much more convenient to dispense with their presence and thus be free to conduct their own lives as they chose.
But the lights in the private apartment of the directress herself, Helga Danielson, were extinguished, except for an indirect lamp beside her huge low bed. The muted glow from this tiny lamp sent eerie shadows over the inch-thick, black velvety carpeting, which muffled the sounds of any footsteps, over the tapestried walls garnished with several superb and original oils depicting erotic scenes. One showed a herculean Negro, his naked body gleaming with oil, gripping an African kur-bash between his hands as he stared gloatingly down at a naked golden-haired young woman who crouched at his feet and, her hands gripping his sinewy ankles, was in the act of humbly kissing them. Another depicted a French can-can girl in red leather highheeled pumps, gossamer black nylon hose, a matching black satin garterbelt and huge jade earring pendants clipped to her elegant lobes, reclining upon a pile of foam-rubber cushions, her slim hands gripping her kneehollows, her knees aloft and yawned apart to permit the oral homage of an enchanting, nubile and naked young girl who could not have been more than twelve and whose flaxen hair descended to her saucily rounded bottom cheeks.
Helga Danielson, five feet nine inches in glorious Amazonian height, her honey-colored hair tumbling down over one cheek to kiss and conceal a lush round tit, wearing only elbow-length black kid gloves and knee-length matching boots with spike heels, stared benignly down at Sally Eggars, a precocious fifteen-year-old brunette whom she had summoned for punishment only half an hour before.
Sally's parents had long since divorced and left their only child with a cranky, wealthy aunt who wanted no part of her and who had been only too happy to enroll her in Danielson House six months ago.
The slim, saucy-faced teenager had already been punished twice by her instructress, Jennifer Ad-dams, the slim, supercilious thirty-year-old coppery-haired female senior of Helga Danielson's teaching staff. This time, Sally's misdemeanor had been somewhat more serious, earning her a private session with the autocratic head of the school. She had stolen her roommate's compact, and it had just been discovered this morning by one of the laundresses whose other duties included not only preparing naughty pupils for punishment but also providing maid service for all the rooms in the quadrangle.
Sally was sniffling now, and as she lay flat on her belly with her wrists tied behind her back with a length of soft felt so as not to leave unaesthetic red marks, the milky skin of her compact, boyishly oval-shaped bottom was profusely striped with the darkening red marks of a whippy little cane which lay on the floor near the bed where the directress had flung it after punishment.
Sally was not quite naked like the young girl in the picture to her own left; she wore the obligatory open-necked white silk blouse and the knee-length black silk stockings held up by old-fashioned garters which all female pupils between the ages of fourteen and sixteen had to wear as part of their school costume. After a gentle and rather caressing spanking from Helga's gloved right hand, she was now doing her very best to beg herself off a supplement of a dozen strokes from a leather strap which she had earned for impertinence while Helga was lecturing her.
Her dainty little snug nose was buried in the luxuriant dark golden muff of Helga's cunt, and her soft, trembling, excessively ripe mouth was applying feverish kisses to the shell-pink outer lips of that exquisite orifice.
“Very gently now, dear,” Helga throatily murmured. Her gloved hands reached down to caress the bowed head, her fingers entwining in the thick pageboy curls of the atoning victim. “This isn't the first time you've had to beg off punishment, now, is it, sweetheart?”
“No, Miss Helga,” came a faint muffled voice as Sally remained exactly in position, not daring to commit the lese-majesti of removing her mouth from her directress' cunthole.
“Then show me what you've learned from Betsy and from Miss Addams,” Helga Danielson softly urged.
For at Danielson House, all pupils received an excellent education in the three R's, which included not only the usual scholastic curriculum, but what might be called Rulering, Rogering, and Rimming. Pert Sally Eggars had just experienced the first of these supplementary R's, and she was now proceeding to show her expertise in the third.
The superb Amazonian sat up now, arching up her knees and spreading them widely apart to make her teenaged charge adjust her humbled posture. With a whimper of anxiety, Sally squirmed forward a little and arched up her head so her mouth and tongue might find the tangy orifice. Helga smiled down at the charming culprit, relishing the sight of Sally's tightened neck cords and the widened, frightened eyes. A girl, she mused to herself, always got much more randy after a good spanking, and still more so with the threat of an extra dose hanging over her lovely bottom. Helga's gloved fingers tightened in the rumpled pageboy tresses as she urged, “Show me what you've learned, dear, and maybe I'll let you off the second part of your spanking. Find my button and make me come, and I won't spank that sweet bottom of yours any more tonight.”
With this, the honey-haired directress tugged Sally's curls as a reminder for the still sniffling girl to demonstrate her skill at gamahuching. It was an awkward position for the teenaged brunette, especially since her wrists were tied and since she had to lift her face, thanks to Helga's change of position. But then, Helga Danielson had done it just to aggravate her adorable victim's plight and to procure for herself even more intoxicating sensations. By the time a girl finished her first year at Danielson House, she became an accomplished gammer, or, as Helga preferred for its refined and foreign-sounding values, a gougnoutteuse sans pareille.
She could see Sally's slim little fingers twisting frantically as the girl thrust her tongue against her mount and prodded for the nodule of her clit. Helga's stifled gasp announced that Sally had found it at the very first try, and she shivered voluptuously as she shifted herself even closer to her prey, mashing her cunt right into Sally's mouth and nose while at the same time pressing her booted knees together to imprison the teenager.
“That's nice, darling, go on, but don't hurry!” she huskily drawled.
Sally needed no second encouragement. Her naked behind still throbbed disconcertingly, and there was always the reminder of a supplemental extra from the whippy cane whose acquaintance she had made a few minutes ago. Her tongue remained at the dainty bud of Helga's clit, rubbing it this way and that, then pressing it back into the protective cowl of soft pussy flesh. Helga, a dreamy expression coming over her autocratic face, shivered again, and her gloved fingers twisted even more convulsively in the girl's rumpled long pageboy curls. “That's it, dear, that's very nice! But mind you, not too fast! And I like to be kissed there too and on the insides of my thighs right near my pussy, Sally dear,” she instructed the quivering captive.
Sally could scarcely breathe, and against her cheeks and neck she could feel the warm satiny pressure of Helga's bare, beautifully muscled thighs. Her neck felt stiff from the awkward up-tilting of her face, but that was a minor annoyance compared to what the resumption with that cane would bring her tender flesh. So, closing her eyes and surrendering herself, she began to apply stinging little kisses to the twitching lips of the directress' cunt, varying these with more lingering osculations along the sensitive insides of Helga's lithe, springy thighs.
Then again her tongue returned to the charge, furrowing back into the niche to find the turgifying button of the clit, and drawing delighted gasps from the honey-haired Amazon. Helga grew so excited that she released the girl's hair and cupped Sally's flushed and still tear stained cheeks in her gloved palm as she forced the girl's face as far as it could go into her ardent, wakened lovecore.
Now all that could be heard in this darkened bedroom was the moist slushing and sucking and smacking of lingual and labial salutations, mingled with the gasps and sighs and excited little moans which emanated from the headmistress.
“Yes, you sweet little bitch, hurry now, faster, dig it into me like a prick, do it!” Helga Danielson urged, her voice growing thick with lust as she felt herself near the brink of come. Nearly suffocated, but not daring to slacken now, Sally Eggars crammed her tongue as hard as she could against the stiffened love-button, forcing it this way and that, up and down, back into its protective hiding place, then letting it spring forth only to flick at it again.
With a shrill cry of ecstasy, Helga Danielson palmed the back of Sally's head and forced the girl's mouth as deeply as it could go into her cunt-hole, then sank back on the bed, her tits heaving wildly, a beatific look coming over her exotic, haughty face.
Her thighs sprawled hugely, and Sally at last dared to raise her congested face, her eyes widening with questioning fear.
“Not too bad this time, darling, though you've a great deal to learn yet,” at last her formidable directress drawled, “Does your bottom still hurt?”
“Uh huh, a little,” Sally blushingly admitted.
“Well, to show you that I am fair as well as just, I'm going to do you the way you did me. Roll over onto your back and just relax, dear.”
Sally hastened to obey, and a moment later, moving over the half-naked teenager in reverse, Helga Danielson grasped Sally's knees with her gloved hands and lowered her mouth to brush her lips tantalizingly over the young girl's pussy, while at the same time lowering her own twitching, moistened cunt toward Sally's trembling lips. “Now then, dear,” she said with a soft, sensual little laugh, “I'm going to show you how you really ought to gam, so you'll know the next time. And while I'm doing you, you can just do me again and see if you can't do a better job this time!”
On the second floor of the north building, there was another bedroom in which only an indirect table lamp was lit beside a comfortable double bed. This was the bedroom of Jasper Maxon, the debonair thirty-seven-year-old male instructor who had charge of Danielson House boys between the age of seventeen and eighteen. He was wearing only his bathrobe and sandals, and an old briar pipe was gripped between strong white teeth as he stared maliciously at a blushing and extremely embarrassed auburn-haired girl, quite plump and well developed for her sixteen years, who faced him, head bowed, fingers twisting behind her back and staring unhappily down at the thick rug.
“You know perfectly well, Rowena,” Jasper Maxon smilingly remarked, “that sneaking into a boy's room is strictly forbidden. Mind you, Madame Helga has no objection to you young people learning the facts of life, but such things are done through the direct supervision of your instructors and instructresses. You understand me, I take it?”
“Y-yes sir,” Rowena Davidson sighed almost inaudibly. She was wearing yellow satin pajamas, slippers, and a bathrobe belted very tightly, but it did not hide the exuberant jut of big, closely spaced round tits as well as the invitingly spacious cheeks of her really magnificent ass. Her skin was quite pale and freckled, her face was heartshaped, and her eyes gray-green and very wide and blurred with tears now.
“I know that you are sweet on Ben Maxwell, but the proper thing to do is to apply to Madame Helga and see if she won't assign you to be his regular sweetheart. However, since you made no such application, and since I caught you just about to go into his room, you know that you are liable to punishment don't you, Rowena?”
“Y-yes sir,” her voice was fainter than ever now and she still continued to stare almost desperately at the thick rug.
Jasper Maxon chuckled softly. He moved forward, cupped the girl's chin in his right palm and lifted her flushed, anguished face. “I may, however,” he purred, “be inclined to spare you this evening if you will be a very good girl. Do you understand me, Rowena?”
“Ohh! Oh, s-sir!”
“No nonsense now,” he said sharply. “I'm within my rights to order a good sound thrashing for that big bottom of yours, my girl. However, truthfulness may save you a good deal of discomfort. Now then, are you a virgin?”
A fiery blush suffused Rowena Davidson's cheeks, sped to her forehead and even to her throat and the lobes of her dainty ears as she closed her eyes and faintly nodded.
Jasper Maxon frowned. He had started as a teacher in a rural school in New Jersey, found himself the unexpected heir to a distant uncle's legacy, and had gone to Europe on a grand tour to drink wine and enjoy pussy. Within three years he had squandered most of his fortune, and so he had accepted the post of tutor to the family of an important French diplomat stationed in Marseilles. Unfortunately, Jasper Maxon coveted not only the sixteen-year-old daughter, but also his employer's wife, and soon both mother and daughter were jealous rivals for his virile prick. When the husband came upon Jasper giving it to his blonde wife dog fashion, Jasper managed to escape lethal retribution and spent the next six months playing the piano in a little cabaret off the Place Pigalle and doing a little soliciting for the girls who worked on their backs upstairs until he had accumulated enough money to get back to the States. Helga Danielson had met him in a bar in New York, found him amusing and quite erudite, and promptly hired him for Danielson House.
However, he had a perversion to cherry, because as a rule it was messy and the girl herself got very little pleasure out of it. Nevertheless, he saw in Rowena the potential of a very delicious mistress. Tomorrow he would talk to Madame Helga and arrange for Rowena to be allowed an occasional visit to her boyfriend, who would do the tedious chore of breaking her cherry. Tonight, meanwhile, Rowena was going to give him some pleasure to save her big and very whippable bottom.
“Very well then, Rowena,” he at last decided. “I was going to give you thirty good strokes with the martinet across your bare behind...”
“Oh sir, oh please, oh I couldn't stand it, I'll do anything you want, only please don't whip me like that!” she suddenly burst out, clasping her hands in prayer and staring pathetically at him, tears running down her cheeks.
“I told you I will be lenient if you are a very good girl. I take it you don't care to taste the martinet?”
Rowena shook her head, continuing to stare at him imploringly.
“In that case, take off your bathrobe,” he directed, and was instantly obeyed. “Now your pajama tops,” was his next command.
“Oh... are you... are you going to... fuck me, sir?” Rowena quavered.
“Just keep your mouth shut and do what you are told, or you might get the whipping after all,” he said angrily. “Take off the tops, I said!”
Scarlet-faced, the submissive girl obeyed and let the pajama tops drop to the floor from nerveless fingers. Her tits were really splendid. Big and upstanding, without any need of a bra, with large aurolae the size of silver dollars, and nipples already deliriously pert and stiffened, as if ready for the fucking she had asked about. There wasn't any doubt that he wanted to get into that tight cunt of hers, but he wasn't in the mood to soil the sheets and make her unhappy and himself annoyed as well. His prick was already savagely rampant, and he now unbuttoned the bathrobe and let her see what a painful state the display of her naked tits had put him.”
“Ohhh, Mr. Maxon!” was her gulped-out reaction as her tear-blurred, widened eyes spied his bulging ramrod with its lean, spearpointlike head standing out terrifyingly from the shaft, thanks to the wide circumcisional groove which separated it.
“Get down on your knees, Rowena, cuddle my prick in your soft little hands, and start kissing it all over,” he directed.
“Ohhh... I... I haven't ever done anything like that, not even with Bob, sir!” she groaned, unable to take her eyes off his virile weapon.
“It's that or the thirty cuts on your bare behind, Rowena, so make up your mind and do it quickly,” was his irritated comment.
By this time, Rowena Davidson's face was as red as her tousled hair, as she slowly sank down on her knees, her big round tits jiggling as she did so. Awkwardly, she reached out both trembling little hands and put her palms up against the sides of his gnarled shaft. Then she stared up imploringly at him again, almost as if asking for a reprieve.
“You know what I told you to do. Or shall I have you get me the martinet and take off your pajama bottoms and bend over, Rowena?” he said coldly.
This decided the girl. With another gasp, she leaned forward and, closing her eyes, let her lips lightly brush over the taut glans of his aching prick.
“That's lovely,” he gasped. “Now do it slowly, and all over, down to my balls and back to the tip. It's your only chance to save your bottom, so go ahead!”
With a choking little sob Rowena Davidson bowed her head again and began to apply tiny and evidently hesitant kisses along the pointed tip of Jasper Maxon's bulging prick. He stood with an arrogant smile on his face, studying her. It was a deliciously servile position, one which made him feel like a harem master commanding a beautiful new slave girl to do something against her will. There was a savoring pleasure to the thought that if she refused, her plump, pale, white-skinned bottom would be very neatly striped with interesting red decor. In the olden days, if Jasper Maxon had been alive as a pasha or feudal lord, he would have derived exactly the same kind of enjoyment which he was now getting from watching the smooth, deeply hollowed, pale white back of the half-naked girl kneeling before him twitch and quiver in her growing embarrassment and shame.
However, standing here in the middle of the room, pasha-like though it might be, had its disadvantages. So, after a moment or two of feeling her soft moist palms squeeze against his aching ramrod and delighting in the moist trembling pressure of her soft red lips down to about the middle of his organ, the suave black-haired instructor admonished his virginal prey, “That's enough for the moment, Rowena! Now I want you to take off your pajama bottoms and you might as well take your slippers off too. I'm going to sit on the edge of the bed and then you're going to show me how you can perform with your lips and tongue if you want to save that very tempting big behind of yours from a sound thrashing. If you're a good girl, remember, I'll recommend to Madame Helga that you be given orientation so you can lose your maidenhead in a proper and reasonably painless way and perhaps even with the young man of your choice—unless, of course, she has other plans for you. But for the time being, my dear, your only recourse out of a very difficult situation is to please me completely—do I make myself clear?”
As Rowena stumbled to her feet, her face was red as her glossy auburn hair, which she wore in a very pretty Dutch-girl bob with eyebrow-hiding bangs, a raised crown, and tiny, pointed guiches on both cheeks. Tugging at the waistband cord of the pajama pants, she stooped a little, making her round full young tits dangle enticingly before his glittering eyes, and then very hastily began to tug the yellow satin sheath down till it crumpled about her slim ankles. Scuffing off her slippers, she stepped out of the final garment and was naked as the day she was born. His eyes at once fixed on the surprisingly thick dark red fleece of her pubic hair which almost hid the lips of her soft virgin cunt. The paleness of her bare skin was even more lasciviously set off by that vivid delta, and he noted with sensual perception the soft sprigs of private hair in her visibly moist armpits—a sure sign that poor little Rowena was undergoing an emotional stress which was certain to make her all the more docile.
Meanwhile, doffing his bathrobe completely, he seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bed and accommodatingly spread his sinewy, lean, hairy thighs. His prick majestically thrust up and out, rigid and dark-veined, the lips of the meatus tightening convulsively in anticipation of the oral joy it was about to be granted from such a sweet, virginal mouth and tongue. Blinking her tear-filled eyes, Rowena Davidson now approached and again sank down on her knees before the tyrannical instructor.
However, since it was at least a week since he had a really good fucking, Jasper Maxon halted the naked teenager just as she was about to dip her head again and apply her quivering lips to his turgid maleness. “Wait a minute, my dear. I want to take a closer look at you. Stand up and keep your arms at your sides. Then when I say so, you can turn around.”
“Ohh, sir, please, you don't know... you don't know how ashamed I am... oh this is just awful!” Rowena began to sniffle.
“What's this now, my girl? Maybe you'd rather have the thirty after all, and of course you are perfectly prepared to receive them,” he pretended to threaten.
Rowena Davidson needed no further encouragement. She scrambled to her feet and stood straight as an arrow, even holding her breath, her eyes wide and desperately glowing, her arms tight along her sides as she presented him with the dazzling close-up view of her unadorned nakedness.
Then, instinctively, her blushes deepening, she suddenly clapped a trembling hand over the furry niche of her pussy, but Jasper Maxon chuckled dryly and, putting out both hands to cup her lush round naked tits, commented, “Take your hand away at once if you expect to get off punishment, young lady!”
With a flurried little sob, the auburn-haired girl obeyed, clenching her fists and screwing her eyes tightly shut as she endured his prolonged and greedy stare. She was really delicious, Jasper Maxon thought. If it weren't for her cherry, he would be inclined to fling her down on the bed and get between those white, round, succulent thighs and plunge himself to the very depths of her tight cunthole. But as a voluptuary, he was quite content to make this ritualistic ceremony as trying and humiliating for her as possible, in order to obtain every possible iota of sexual gratification from the compensatory act of Frenching which she was going to be obliged to perform upon him.
In another ten years, unless Rowena followed a strict diet and got plenty of exercise (not only the horizontal, bedroom kind), she was going to be unprepossessingly fat. But right now, there was no doubt that she was at her most fuckably enticing, ripe and satiny soft, deliciously submissive and timid, both flesh and psyche in that malleable state which is most conducive to expert male passion.
Biting her lips and turning her face away, Rowena squirmed uneasily as his long sinewy fingers caressed and tweaked the generous curves of her erratically heaving tits, his thumbs pressing the pert dark nipple buds back into their haloed centers and then capriciously letting them pop out again with greater turgidity than before—an evidence that the girl was rapidly becoming sexually aroused, whether she knew it or not. He too, like Madame Helga, understood that when a girl had been whipped or was afraid of being whipped, her latent sensuality was wakened and she was thus easily guided towards those passionate exercises which either a male initiator or female initiatress might require of her. Just an inch below and to the left of her shallow, wide navel, he observed a tiny black mole, an adorable little beauty spot which fairly demanded more than nominal attention. Perhaps, for a return bout, he would content himself with rubbing his cockhead against that adorable place so as to let Rowena comprehend what it would be like, one day soon, when her soft cunt had to become the receptacle of a man's hot, bubbling seed.
Languidly dropping one hand, he put his forefinger on the mole, while continuing to massage each of her boobs in turn with the other hand. A heartfelt little groan told him the naked teenager was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain an impassive and impervious attitude before him, since they were both naked and he was handling her satiny flesh with doubtless greater liberty than anyone had taken until this moment.
His prick was throbbing madly, but as an expert and inveterate cocksmith he knew more than most men the intense pleasure of holding himself back, of prolonging every moment of foreplay until all his mind as well as his flesh fairly shrieked for gratification. It was a kind of challenge with Jasper Maxon, to see how long he could hold out against the blandishments of the most delicious naked female pupil in Madame Helga's establishment, just as he had always prided himself on doing with all the other females whom he had most enjoyably fucked. Besides, it was as much as conferring a real erotic education on this lucky little bitch; if she had not been enrolled in this school, she would doubtless be subjected to the uncouth maulings of untutored young males who had only their lusty appetites to recommend them and absolutely no science in giving and taking pleasure. She might even have gone on to marry some Babbitt who would fuck her three nights a week, religiously on schedule, roll over and go to sleep immediately after he had had consummation. Thus in more than one sense he was definitely doing Rowena Davidson a considerable favor for which she ought to thank him rather than stand here blushing and on the verge of tears, as if she was about to endure a barbarous martyrdom.
As he continued to fondle and caress her tits and especially her stiffening nipples, Rowena's nervousness grew apace. “Ohh... please!” she finally breathed, opening her eyes and beseeching him with their luminous green depths. At the same time, her hands clasped in an attitude of prayer. It was really a delicious gesture, one that he could especially savor because it gave him the feeling of total mastery over this naked virgin. In some ways, he lamented the fact that he had not been born centuries ago to have been the lord and master of a plentifully stocked harem so that he could attempt his many theories about fucking and other variations on the theme under countlessly different circumstances and emotional crisis. But for the moment, Rowena Davidson was going to have to do—and, judging by the now intolerable aching in his balls, she was going to have to do damn well if she wanted to save that plump white bottom of hers.
“Now turn around, put your hands on the back of your neck, tilt your head back and don't move until I tell you to,” his voice had hoarsened with mounting lust.
With a little whimper, the auburn-haired teenager obeyed. Now his eyes hungrily laved the wonderfully deep hollowed back, observing how the bone ended the marvelous symmetry of the spinal column, set off the tightly spaced, upstandingly rounded asscheeks, and yet not so much that he could not observe the shadowy groove leading to the rosebud of her asshole and, below, the saucy dark red curls which fringed the pink maw of her appetizing young cunthole.
She uttered a sigh, almost of relief, because at least she was not showing him her pussy and tits and was also hiding her face from him—by now, it was a fiery red with supreme embarrassment. She had resigned herself to Frenching him when he had first told her to kneel down and kiss his cock, but this sudden reprieve and the dalliance he was demanding of her had begun to enervate her to the point of anxiety. Her only thought, of course, was to propitiate him so he would let her off any whipping, for the man was known to be much more severe with the girls than even Madame Helga. She had not yet had the privilege of a private seance with the formidable directress of this school, but some of her girlfriends had whispered of the mingled pain and pleasure which was a naughty girl's lot when she was called to the bedroom of Madame Helga.
Nevertheless, the pose she took—which thrust her round boobs out till they were as taut as marble—emphasized the superb roundness of her pale sheened ass, and Jasper Maxon reached out and exultantly let his fingers roam at will over the warm, twitching globes. Squeezing and pinching here and there, he made poor Rowena gasp and squirm in consternation at the audacity and luxurious license which he allowed himself with her virgin flesh. She had never dreamed, even in her stealthy and of course aborted meetings with Ben Maxwell that a male would take so long in coming to the point. Ben had already put his hand into her panties and tickled her pussy, and breathed into her ear that he wanted to fuck her the worst way, but of course there hadn't been time. She had brought herself to a pitch of courage tonight, right after dinner, by trying to sneak into his room (his roommate happened to be off on an excursion in New York City with an affluent uncle) so that once and for all she could find out what it really would be like to be fucked. And of course Jasper Maxon, going to his room at the time, had caught her just as she was tiptoeing into Ben's room and brought her directly to his.
“Will you hold still!” Jasper Maxon angrily snapped as Rowena squirmed away after a particularly naughty pinch of the base of her left buttock. “It seems to me, my girl, that you prefer a whipping after all.”
“Oh no sir, oh no, I don't, oh please, I'll do what you want, only this is just awful!” poor Rowena groaned.
“And is this awful too?” was his sarcastic rejoinder as he adroitly slipped his left hand round to her belly, caressed it gently for a moment and then glided it down until he had palmed her hairy young cunthole. Now, his right hand patting her bottom cheeks, he inserted his left forefinger between the labia majora and began to tickle the rims of her slit.
Rowena uttered a frantic little squeal, clenching her thighs, and then committed the blunder of grabbing at his intruding hand.
“What's this now? Is that the way you show your gratitude for my letting you off the martinet, young lady?”
“Oh, I... I didn't mean it... honestly I didn't, Mr. Maxon. Please... please don't whip me, it's only... I never have... I've never been naked like this before... and I... I'm ashamed...”
“But you wouldn't have been if Ben Maxwell had been doing this to you, I suppose?”
“Oh no, I mean, oh dear!” Poor Rowena broke down and, covering her face in her hands, began to sob.
Feminine tears have an exquisite effect upon a sadistic voluptuary, and Jasper Maxon was far from being really sadistic. For a moment, he almost forgot his vow of not taking her cherry, and it was only with a supreme effort of self-control that he was able to keep himself from flinging her on the bed, and getting on her and ploughing deeply into that tight little pussy she was trying so ingenuously to protect.
Instead, gripping her by the waist, he turned her sideways to the left, bent her over his knee with his left arm pinning her down so her tits mashed against the edge of the bed, and then he began to apply a flurry of quick, stinging little slaps all over her upturned, plump asscheeks, which at once began to turn from a delicious pale white to an even more exciting rose hue.
Rowena squealed and sobbed, tried to put her hands behind her to cover up, but he quickly avoided this protective maneuver and continued to spank her until at last she abandoned herself and wailed, “Oh please don't... ohhhooo, oh it hurts, I'll be good, I'll do anything in the world, I promise I will, oh please don't spank me any more, please sir!”
“Very well. Now suppose—and this time I meant it, Rowena—you get down on your knees and take care of me the way I want you to. The next hesitation you show will cost you not thirty but forty strokes of that martinet, and your tender bottom will feel them even more now that you've had a little warm-up,” he ordered.
Her hands plunged behind her to rub and soothe her flaming bottom as she sank quickly down on her knees. This time, without any reluctance whatsoever, at his order, she opened her mouth and accepted the tip of his prick, and then closed her lips and began very noisily to suck.
Jasper Maxon, digging his fingernails into the sheets, gave her explicit orders. From time to time he made her disgorge his gleaming, throbbing ramrod, only to attack it with the tip of her tongue down towards the scrotum and back, pausing at times to lave his hairy balls with submissive fervor.
Finally he could no longer hold out, and ordered her once again, “Now open your mouth and take all you can, and get ready!”
A few moments later, with a bellow of delight, Jasper Maxon felt himself explode into the panting, choking mouth of the lovely, naked, redheaded virgin. Rowena gagged and choked, but managed with heroic effort to swallow his seed, somehow understanding that rejection of it would mean punishment.
But because Jasper Maxon was a perfectly fair-minded man, he now ordered her to he on the bed, and then he regaled her by crouching between her trembling naked thighs and gamahuching her so expertly that she arched and twisted and squealed and nearly fainted with bliss as she felt his tongue goad her clit until she was drawn to her first real come.
Much later, her face red with blushes and her eyes downcast, but with a secret little smile of pleasure on her lips, Rowena Davidson put on her pajamas, slippers and bathrobe and crept out of Jasper Maxon's room back to her own. She was, if still technically a virgin, remarkably enlightened. After he had gammed her, he had obliged her to lie beside him and play with his cock till it was once again satisfactorily erect. Then, after tonguing and kissing the exquisite little mole below her navel, he had explained to her what a real fucking would be like, demonstrating by rubbing his cock against the mole till he came, while at the same time frigging her pussy and clit till she again had experienced a furiously ecstatic climax.