The milky whiteness was starting to return to the lady’s buttocks, Adams noted. The ruler would be the next instrument of humiliation.
For her part, the pain Lady Eleanor Kavanagh felt was more in the head than on her sumptuous rump.
She had endured the hand spanking, almost wincing more when she felt Adams erection on her lower tummy when she was draped across his knees than she had from the smacks from his right hand. She had almost cried out in indignation when the bastard had removed her panties totally, after initially leaving them at knee level during the first part of the hand spanking.
Being draped across the legs of one of her servants, bottom higher than her head, bare ass on display to the prying eyes of her chauffeur wasn’t an ordinary day in the life of Lady Kavanagh and even though she had had around 24 hours to prepare for the moment, it was still awfully humiliating she realised; even after the semi nudity display the day previous.
Now, draped over the lush sofa with the blood rushing to her head, unable to see because her black dress had fallen over her shoulders, conscious of the sight her bare buttocks were presenting to her chauffer, she was praying for an end to this ordeal.
“The ruler is next Eleanor,” intoned Adams. “I expect you to count each stroke. The only way the number goes up is if you count it up. Do you understand?”
“I understand what you said. What I don’t understand is why I have to count!”
“I can’t hear you, M’Lady, speak up.”
“Speak up! Speak up! My dress is over my head! That’s why you cannot here me,” she screamed at her servant. This man was truly an imbecile, she believed.
Adams was grateful for his foresight. He walked from behind the spacious sofa to the front, standing directly in front of his mistress. In a matter of milliseconds he had wrenched the woman’s hands downwards whilst simultaneously pushing the dress zipper at the back of her neck upwards, towards the back of the sofa. Pulling the dress towards him, over her head was all that remained.
“Is that better?”
“I heard it rip,” she whined. “How am going to explain that?”
“That, Eleanor, is your problem.”
She realised that she had heard correctly the first time, some moments ago. This was the second time this jumped up serf had called her by her Christian name. She was so angry at her servant’s temerity she almost forgot her predicament.
For his part, the chauffeur was admiring the view from a new angle, standing in front of her: buttock cleavage, full rounded hips, slightly more than ample: hourglass if you will. A narrower waist, small would be an exaggeration, top class skin, darker than her buttocks due to the effects of the sun, interrupted, although emphasised by her white bra strap.
The driver smirked when he saw the white brassiere strap. He had instructed she wore all black, including underwear. Ok, he might have said panties instead of underwear; however, that didn’t give the rich bitch the right to wear a white bra, he reasoned.
If she tried to argue that he hadn’t stipulated the colour of the bra he could respond by saying it was because she wasn’t supposed to even be wearing any knocker stoppers at all.
“Mmm, your arse looks very white when I compare it to your tanned back. Perhaps it’s time to tan your arse some more, Eleanor. Now you can hear me, tell me, did you understand my instruction.”
“What was it”
“I am to count the strokes. I presume you mean out loud, although you failed to stipulate that,” she indignantly mocked She wasn’t totally beaten, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise her head to him. She remained staring firmly at both the carpet and the driver’s brogues. Not as polished as normal, she noted. Would they ever be again, she wondered.
“Ok, let’s practice, shall we? When I raise the ruler and bring it down as hard as I can across your bare bottom for the first time, what do you say?”
She thought back to the scene by the Rolls Royce, where he had tried, nay, succeeded in humiliating her the day before. She would be stronger this time, she determined. After all, what were mere words. What the fuck, fuck, fuck, were words. Mere fucking words. She could feel her face going beetroot, betraying the flaw in her thought pattern, and was glad he could only see the top of her head.
“One Sir, thank you Sir. May I have another,” she said to the plush carpet. She had no idea at all where the words, ‘may I have another’ came from. She was almost distraught. Surely not from within her?
Adams was impressed with both her natural feistiness and her ability to try and maintain some sort of control of her dignity, no matter what the circumstances. It was this that unnerved him. This that stopped him from claiming the complete prize: to fuck this rich bitch senseless, using every one of the delightful orifices God had provided her with. He couldn’t bear the thought of her walking away, to await her fate with the old codger of a Lord. But would she walk away? Perhaps she would give in to him. Perhaps she would do as he commanded, no matter what the order. He wished he could be more certain.
Not for the first time he imagined her on her knees, his throbbing phallus deep within her mouth, her eyes looking at him, pleading for him not to hold her hair quite so tight, as he rhythmically mouth fucked her. If only!
If she refused to remove the bra before he spanked her the whole episode might go tits up, he thought. Better to spank her snobbish posterior first.
On his return journey to the back of the sofa he picked up the ruler and the satin trophy that, along with the thong keepsake from yesterday, he would keep till the day he died. He might even wear them, he idly thought, although probably not both at the same time! He smirked at the thought.
He stood again directly behind the his employer’s wife, amazed that the sight of her bare arse could still excite him so. It was, he thought, truly magnificent. Truly, truly magnificent.
He positioned himself correctly, so he would have a full swing, then lightly touched the lady’s buttocks twice with the ruler, in order to find his range. He paused for several seconds, savouring the moment.
“Will you get on with it, you horrid, horrid man,” the lady literally screamed.
He had heard the same scream from the same voice, indeed the self same words only the day before, outside the front of the house, when Lady Eleanor Kavanagh, 5 th Duchess of Romney, realised her wares were totally on display to her two serfs.
Adams’s eyes glazed over, as he remembered the scene from the day before.
“Will you get on with it, you horrid, horrid man!”
Adams glanced at Peters, hardly able to take his eyes away from the pinkness he had been staring at. Peters, for his part, was leering at his Ladyship’s puckered anus. Adams, keeping his finger, therefore the string where it was, ensured both of the lady’s treasures remained comfortably on view.
“I informed you earlier, Lady Kavanagh, how you conduct yourself these next few minutes will shape your immediate future. I will get on with it, as you put it, when I feel like getting on with it. I will spank you tomorrow afternoon, in, as you suggested earlier, the drawing room, at 16:00 hours. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” she sniffed. Tears were welling.
“Good. I have further instructions and, provided you repeat them back to me correctly, I will allow you to stand upright. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes I do,” she retorted; far too quickly. Standing upright was something she dearly wanted to do. And quickly!
Adams smirked at Peters. He knew she was desperate to get up. He would speak slowly.
“From midday tomorrow, you will seek me out to remind me that you have asked for a spanking. You will repeat the process at 13:00, and 14:00. At 15:00 you will enter the drawing room and stand in the corner nearest the window, facing the wall, where you will remain until 15:45 hours. You will carry an 18” ruler with you and you will hold it in your left hand. At 15:45 you will put your hands on your head and keep them there, holding the ruler on top of your head, until instructed otherwise. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she replied, too loudly. Her brain was screaming! This arsehole was giving her instructions, endless instructions it seemed. All the while he and that other lowlife were, to her immense embarrassment and shame, staring at her private parts, she was absolutely certain. Her ever so, ever so, deliciously private delights, as her husband called them. The humiliation was almost overwhelming!
“What do you think she should wear for her spanking?” Adams asked the gardener.
“High heels for sure. Black stockings, naturally, and a black dress. The one she wore when that junior royalty fellah visited here last year. By God she was smug that day. Make her wear that for her punishment,” Peters suggested.
Adams grinned at his elders imagination. “What about the upper class arse? You have it bare at the moment.”
“I like it bare!” Peters sniggered.
Lady Kavanagh tightened her eyes even more.
“I will be more sympathetic Ma’am. Black panties. Yes, you may also wear black panties, over your suspender belt, mind. Now, if you can give me an accurate summary of your instructions for tomorrow, I will allow you to stand upright.”
To their chagrin, the lady gave a good account of her duties for the next day. It would, he realised, be churlish to keep her down there any longer.
Adams moved his left thumb and forefinger to the right, pulled the string of the thong further away from the lady’s buttocks and then pinged it back into place between her arse cheeks.
“You may stand up,” he intoned. “You may also stand with your legs together.”
Lady Kavanagh stood upright and reflected about relativity.
Here she was, standing outside her mansion, along with her two servants, wearing a white blouse, fastened around the tummy, and a black thong. Nothing else from the waist down. Yet, because her plight had been so much worse only moments ago, when her sex and arsehole had been exposed for the pleasure of the two males, she felt relatively comfortable.
She also, fleetingly, remembered how sucking her brother in law’s cock had got easier the more times she had had to do it. At least he had been honourable in as much as that when she had paid off her debt he had no longer blackmailed her.
“Lady Kavanagh, I have decided to keep your thong. I want you to hook the string, both sides, with your thumbs, and slowly, slowly, bend from the waist and touch your toes. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, temporarily devoid of emotion. She was beaten. She knew these two pheasants would never forget this day. Whenever they looked at her in future, whenever she gave them an order, even in front of her husband, they could easily recall the vision of her most private parts, that only a husband should ever set eyes upon. Those intimacies were, she was certain, burned indelibly in their memories.
What the good lady didn’t realise, whether through naivety, or more probably because events had occurred too quickly and were somewhat beyond her control, and by God this woman was a control freak, was that the delicacies in question were in glorious colour on Peters mobile, or, more accurately, her ladyship’s mobile, which was loaned to Peters whilst an employee.
Peters, for his part, was content to bide his time. Let Adams have his way, he reasoned. There would be plenty left for him afterwards. By God he would be popular down his local hostelry. He could sell tickets, he imagined. £50 to fuck the local upper class rich bitch. Peters grinned inwardly. Blackmail was a recreational activity he would enjoy to the full.
Slowly, Lady Kavanagh did as instructed, the relativity pendulum swinging back to red faced tearful, highly embarrassed mode. The two servant leered as the thong moved from its orifice hiding position and slid down the lady’s legs until, finally, she was touching her toes again. Adams, still not in any way uninterested in this wonderful, albeit increasingly familiar sight, once again admired the heavy buttocks that kept her anus from view. Not so her sex, though.
Adams was tempted to part her buttock cheeks and have another peep at her rectum, but thought better of it. A far better idea flashed into his brain.
“Lady Kavanagh, your ordeal is almost complete. You have been very good. You have been a very good Ladyship; however, for your tribulations to be completed, you must do one final thing: I order you to release that flimsy piece of equipment you call underwear and I instruct you to reach back with both your hands and I command you to pull your buttock cheeks apart so that Mr Peters and I may once again view your anus. You will then count out loud, slowly mind, to 100. When you reach that figure you can let go of your bottom. Do it now!”
The lady did exactly as she was told. Her embarrassment, shame and humiliation was returning, pronto! How close was he? She swore she could feel his breath rushing up her back passage. Her humiliation was desperate. Two good for nothing lowlifes looking up her rectum was too much for any decent lady to suffer, she considered.
For their part, the two men’s erections had returned with a vengeance. Peters was openly rubbing himself. He contemplated getting the damned thing out and wanking over her arse, better still plunging it deep inside her. He would make her scream! Was that moisture forming on his Ladyship’s pink lips? Eeny meeny miny moe, the pink or the brown, he idly wondered, rubbing his cock even harder.
Due to the insurance policy in the phone, he would fuck her later, when he was on his own, he decided. He wasn’t about to risk premature ejaculation in front of his whippersnapper peer. It wasn’t normal for him, he knew, but he really couldn’t remember the last time he had a raging hard on as stiff as the one in his trousers now. He was, he knew, hornier than he had been in years.
“98, 99, 100,” Lady Kavanagh counted, before finally, finally, relaxing her grip.
Adams too, was dying for a wank.
“Your final instructions for today, your Ladyship. Stand up, leave your knickers and the rest of your attire where they are and walk back to the house. Slowly. I want to watch your buttocks roll as you walk.”
The lady did as she was told, very self conscious of her bottom undulating as she slowly made her way to the house. Another image those two fuckers will be able to recall at will, whenever the fancy took either of them, she knew.
Lady Kavanagh, complaining of light headedness, brought Adams from his reverie.
“Stay in position! Your spanking is about to start!” He barked
Adams drew back his right hand and, with a sharp swish, brought the ruler forward across Lady Eleanor Kavanagh’s bare buttocks. The stroke wasn’t overly hard, he was far more interested in humiliating the woman rather than inflicting real physical pain.
Lady Kavanagh, playing her part in the spectacle with nothing short of sheer dread, uttered the words she knew she needed to say; every word bringing more and more shame to the extent that, she was sure, her burden was almost intolerable. Her face cheeks were, she was certain, hotter and redder than her bottom cheeks were ever likely to be.
“One Sir. Thank you Sir. May I have another?”
Adams was euphoric. The feeling of power washed over him. He drew back his hand again and admired the pink stripe across the very centre of Lord Romney’s spouse’s bare, full peachy buttocks. She had asked for another and by golly she would get one, but, the secret to increase the humiliation, he realised, was to pause for several seconds. Let her contemplate what was to come.
After an appropriate amount of time, the ruler again whizzed through the air in search of its target and landed, slightly lower than the first collision of wood against flesh. Thwack!
Lady Kavanagh yelped. More in surprise than in pain. He had taken so long between strokes that she had started to think he might spare her further punishment and humiliation.
“Two Sir. Thank you Sir. May I have another?” She whimpered.
Again Adams pulled the ruler away, only this time not as far. A couple of sharp range finding taps when she was expecting something more severe was his next course of action. He was determined to fuck her mind; almost, he realised, as much as he wanted to fuck her up the ass. For now, though, he concentrated in fucking her brain.
He tapped her buttocks with the ruler and smiled at the way she tensed her bottom, expecting the full force of the ruler.
“Another thing, Eleanor, I don’t expect you to tense your bottom. If I see you clench your buttocks in expectation, I till retract the stroke. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She unclenched her buttocks, willing that he get on with it so that her ordeal might be over.
Adams brought the ruler to bear once more, relishing the sound it made as it found flesh.
“Three Sir. Thank you Sir. May I have another?”
“Mmm, I think Peters was wrong,” Adams remarked. “You have got three wonderful stripes across your bare ass, but, I have to be honest, they might not be gone by Tuesday.”
It was as if someone had taken a hammer to her heart. She was apoplectic! If her husband saw the stripes on her rear end all this humiliation would be for diddly-squat. If the old bastard was true to form, he would have his young hourglass figured wife across the 17 th century chair in the drawing room, back scuttling her for all he was worth, within minutes of his arrival. She knew he would see the stripes if they were still there, glasses or no glasses.
“You promised, you promised,” she shrieked. “Please, please, no more! If he sees the marks there’s no telling what he might do. Adams, I implore you, please, please, you’ve had your fun. Adams, Adams, anything, anything, I beseech you!”
Her heart stopped. What had she said? Was this the end? Was this where she finally lost all control? Damn him! Damn him! Damn this insignificant turd! He didn’t even know how to hold a spoon properly. He was of lower class: in his case she wasn’t even certain he qualified for the lowest of all classes. Fucking cretin!
“Anything within reason,” she ventured, sobbing almost uncontrollably.
“Anything within reason?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I have a sense of déjà vu, M’Lady. I will not allow you to negotiate. You tried that tactic yesterday. I am a man of my word,” Adams lied, “What do you suggest? We agreed 12 to 24 strokes of the ruler, depending on how your bottom took them.
“You have only had three strokes and that doesn’t even begin to constitute worthy punishment. Remind me, Lady Kavanagh, exactly why did we decide you needed to be punished?”
Lady Kavanagh sighed. Would she be in the grip of this lowlife for ever? Was there no end to his relentless thirst for her total humiliation?
“You photographed me performing fellatio on Lord Mulberry’s elder brother,” she admitted, for, it seemed, the umpteenth time.
“If your bottom is too soft to take the punishment properly and I admit I did promise you the marks would be gone by Tuesday, what are we to do?
“I have already said, you have had your...”
“The question was rhetorical, Eleanor. Be quiet, I am thinking.”
She wondered, not for the first time, about the language he used some times. Rhetorical wasn’t a word she would expect to be everyday chauffeur language.
“If Lord Mulberry comes to realise you asked me to spank you and that I agreed to your request he will not be overly happy, I grant you; therefore, I cannot risk spanking you with the ruler any more for now. I will inspect your bottom three times a day until Tuesday. If the marks have gone by Tuesday, all well and good; if not, we will have to hide the stripes by spanking your arse all over with something like a table tennis bat and then you can tell him you fell off your horse.
“As for an alternative punishment, so that you might atone for sucking your brother in law’s cock, the rules will be simple. You will carry out my instructions, to the letter and with no obvious reluctance, until Lord Mulberry returns. When he returns, your punishment will be concluded.
“If at any time you refuse to accede to my instructions, whatever they might be, the punishment will end straight away and I will furnish his Lordship with the photograph. I will, under no circumstances, give you a second chance. There will be no renegotiation. If you say no to any request I make, no matter what your feelings might be about the matter, the picture goes to his Lordship.
“Is that clear?”
As Lady Kavanagh listened to her minion’s lengthy statement her heart got heavier and heavier as she realised that the only way she was to keep her title, and thus her wonderful if slightly extravagant lifestyle, was three days of total, shameful, embarrassing, discomforting subservience. She had to be as obedient to him as she had expected him to be of her as his employer, with one fundamental difference: he could and would instruct her to do whatever pleased him, no holds barred; for three days, or, to be more precise, 72 fucking hours!
Lady Eleanor Kavanagh, 5 th Duchess of Romney, said absolutely nothing. She was lost for words and, worse, she was beaten. Still staring directly at the floor, she awaited her fate.
“Stand up, this instant.”
Lady Kavanagh stood upright.
“Turn around to face me.”
The lady turned slowly, cupping her hands over her bush, hiding it from sight.
No matter the angle, the lady presented a magnificent sight. Drop dead gorgeous wasn’t an exaggeration in the slightest. Standing there in a white bra, large full breasts battling to stay in their formidable holders, waist and hips presenting the most wonderfully aesthetic sight: pure hourglass. A black suspender belt, stockings on wonderfully shapely legs and high heels.
Not for the first time, Adams acknowledged the woman was a fucking sex bomb!
“I do not remember instructing you to wear a white bra. Lose it. Now!”
Lady Kavanagh opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. She moved only her right hand away from her bush, protecting it from sight with the other hand and tried vainly to unclasp her bra strap with only one hand. She found she couldn’t look at the chauffeur in the eyes, her embarrassment was such. The last time anybody had seen her breasts, she remembered, was when his Lordship, worse for drink, had insisted she show them to three of his bridge playing partners in order to prove they were natural.
The memory of that ordeal still embarrassed her when she thought about it. She would never forget how the three men had leered at her large bare boobies. One of them was drooling at the mouth. She considered it disgusting!
Her husband however, and she wouldn’t forget this either, had a sparkle in his eyes she hadn’t seen the like of before. What’s more, he fucked her particularly hard later that evening.
Adams suppressed a smile when he saw she was still, this late in the game, doing her utmost to preserve what little dignity she had left.
“I’m waiting. Do it with both hands and be quick about it.
The Lady, managing to go an even deeper shade of crimson than before, did as she was told and at the same time presented Adams with a dilemma. He didn’t know whether to gawp at her bush or at her releasing her more than ample tits from the slingshot bra. He settled on the bush.
“What a magnificent triangle, Lady Kavanagh. Why, you are not a natural blond, are you, Eleanor?”
“No,” she replied indignantly. “Please stop calling me Eleanor.”
Adams looked at the unnatural blond and beckoned her to hurry up with the brassiere. He wanted to see her bazookas. Badly.
The bra came off to reveal, as he expected, a pair of magnificent hooters: top class!
“I guess voluptuous would best describe you, Lady Kavanagh. Or curvaceous, perhaps. Luscious wouldn’t go amiss either. Stop using your bra as a cover for your bush. Put it on the sofa and keep your hands by your side. You probably wont be wearing anything again until Lord Mulberry gets back so you might as well get used to it. That will possibly include when we go to the airport to pick him up,” he smirked.
The Lady did as she was told, very red faced, but again without a murmur. Finally, her chauffeur’s dream was realised: Lady Eleanor Kavanagh stood in her own drawing room, wearing high heels, stockings and a suspender belt. Nothing else! Her arms were by her side, as instructed, and her servant was free to run his eyes up and down her nudity to his hearts’ content.
Adams, breathing heavily, was in wonderland. He couldn’t keep his eyes still, swivelling from her jamambo bazookas to her tempting brown triangular bush. He could wait no longer. This was it. This was ecstasy. Pure fucking ecstasy.
The bulge in the groin area of his trousers was more prominent than he had ever known it. What was it, he thought? Was it because a beautiful woman with all her wares on display stood before him? Or was it because the beautiful woman in question was his employer? Or was it because the lady of the house plainly didn’t want to be standing before him, nervously showing him her nudity? A combination of the three, he decided.
“Reach back and get a sofa cushion and place it by your feet. Now.”
Alarm bells were ringing in her head. Joint feelings of helplessness and dread welled up inside her. Would she have to swallow? She would, of that she was certain. What’s more, she knew she would do whatever she had to do, however much the idea repulsed her.
Meekly, she did as she was told.
“Kneel and clasp your hands behind your back, you won’t be needing them.”
Lady Kavanagh obeyed, her tears steadily increasing by the second.
Adams moved forward so that his groin was less than a foot from his mistresses face and unzipped. His penisorous sprang forth, hitting her between the eyes. This action brought a gasp of angst from the upper class, sometimes overtly snobbish Lady; Lady as in Lady always spelled with a capital L type Lady.
Lady Kavanagh closed her eyes and was immediately ordered to open them. She looked again at his penis, for longer this time: bigger and thicker than any she had seen before. She wondered whether it would fit into her mouth and then gasped with concern when she realised that the menacing weapon she was looking at might do serious damage to her ass. Better to keep it in her mouth, however unpleasant that thought was, she decided.
Adams, breathing heavily, relished the moment. His cock was rigidly stiff; stiffer than he had ever known it. He was about to plunge it into the mouth of his rich bitch employer and he was going to fill her throat up with his want.
“I want you to repeat after me: for what I am about to receive, may I be truly thankful. When you have said that I expect you to open your mouth: wide.”
“For what I am about to receive, may I be truly thankful,” whimpered the shamed 5 th Duchess of Romney.
Lady Kavanagh sobbed, cleared her throat, opened her mouth and waited for the dreaded inevitable.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/spanking/lady-kavanagh-part-2.aspx">Lady Kavanagh Part 2</a>