Read Online One Week in the Private House by Esme Ombreux - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Esme Ombreux
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buttocks glowing and blotched with a red flush, jiggling with each smack, her sex gaping and wet and demanding to be touched. And then another series of smacks would descend, and Jem would buck and writhe and be overwhelmed by warm waves of pleasure.
At last, Miss Morelli stopped. Jem, breathing deeply, kept her thighs wide apart and her bottom pushed up. She wanted more. She wanted to come. Her clitoris was throbbing relentlessly. She wanted to touch it herself, but she knew she must not, without permission.
Miss Morelli's hand was on her bottom again, stroking the burning skin. 'I could go with this all day,' she said, 'but I've got better things to do. I have to punish Darren, remember. Mustn't exhaust myself on you.'
Jem moaned, and dipped her back even further.
'Yes, dear,' Miss Morelli said, 'you've got a lovely arse. And you're excessively wet down here, aren't you? Would you like me to smack you here? She placed her long fingers along Jem's lips; her middle finger nudged Jem's clitoris. 'While I play with this little button, perhaps?'
'Yes. Yes please, Miss Morelli.'
'No chance, sweetheart.' Miss Morelli pushed Jem off her lap and stood up. 'You'll have to finish the job yourself. I think you'll do very well for Mr Headman. Don't call us. We'll let you know. But I should cancel all your appointments from this afternoon onwards.' One of her gold, patent-leather sandals landed an insulting kick between Jem's buttocks, and she walked away.
Jem rolled over and gasped as her bottom rasped against the carpet. She didn't care who might be watching: she pressed her hands between her thighs and in a few seconds brought herself to a shuddering climax.
Well, I guess I'm in, she told herself. Headman's got to agree to see me after that experience. And what a weird experience! Kind of fun, definitely. But from now on, I've got to keep my mind on the job.
It had not taken long for Julia to re-adjust.
The chauffeur had started whipping her as soon as she had positioned herself, like a suspect waiting to be frisked, against the side of the car. Her legs were wide apart and her shins were touching the running board of the old limousine. Her elbows were resting on the roof of the cabin, and she had leant forward to lay her head on her crossed hands. The black paintwork radiated heat. The position of Julia's body was provocative: she had adopted it almost out of habit. She had found herself remembering the customs of the Private House. She knew that when one found oneself naked from the waist down in the presence of another person with a riding crop, one did one's best to please the other person. It came naturally.
The chauffeur had said nothing as he whipped Julia. The strokes had been painful, each one making Julia gasp and tense her muscles. There was never quite enough time after each stroke for the burning sensation to die away before the next stroke landed. The chauffeur had concentrated on Julia's buttocks, usually alternating between them but occasionally striking one of her thighs, or her shoulders, to prevent her becoming accustomed to the punishment.
Between her muffled cries of pain Julia had realised that the chauffeur was restraining the force of his blows. Her writhing bottom, she had thought, must be glowing with red lines, but there would be no weals. She had felt perspiration breaking out all over her body, and she had been aware of another wetness gathering at the apex of her widely parted legs.
When the chauffeur had stopped, Julia had remained leaning against the side of the car. Her buttocks had felt hot and prickly. She hadn't been able to resist the urge to roll her hips as if in an erotic dance. She had wanted more - more of anything, just as long as someone paid attention in some way to her sensitised buttocks and her hot, moist, yearning sex.
She had been able to hear traffic passing on the road they'd just left. She had known that at any moment another vehicle might pull off the highway and stop
At last, Miss Morelli stopped. Jem, breathing deeply, kept her thighs wide apart and her bottom pushed up. She wanted more. She wanted to come. Her clitoris was throbbing relentlessly. She wanted to touch it herself, but she knew she must not, without permission.
Miss Morelli's hand was on her bottom again, stroking the burning skin. 'I could go with this all day,' she said, 'but I've got better things to do. I have to punish Darren, remember. Mustn't exhaust myself on you.'
Jem moaned, and dipped her back even further.
'Yes, dear,' Miss Morelli said, 'you've got a lovely arse. And you're excessively wet down here, aren't you? Would you like me to smack you here? She placed her long fingers along Jem's lips; her middle finger nudged Jem's clitoris. 'While I play with this little button, perhaps?'
'Yes. Yes please, Miss Morelli.'
'No chance, sweetheart.' Miss Morelli pushed Jem off her lap and stood up. 'You'll have to finish the job yourself. I think you'll do very well for Mr Headman. Don't call us. We'll let you know. But I should cancel all your appointments from this afternoon onwards.' One of her gold, patent-leather sandals landed an insulting kick between Jem's buttocks, and she walked away.
Jem rolled over and gasped as her bottom rasped against the carpet. She didn't care who might be watching: she pressed her hands between her thighs and in a few seconds brought herself to a shuddering climax.
Well, I guess I'm in, she told herself. Headman's got to agree to see me after that experience. And what a weird experience! Kind of fun, definitely. But from now on, I've got to keep my mind on the job.
It had not taken long for Julia to re-adjust.
The chauffeur had started whipping her as soon as she had positioned herself, like a suspect waiting to be frisked, against the side of the car. Her legs were wide apart and her shins were touching the running board of the old limousine. Her elbows were resting on the roof of the cabin, and she had leant forward to lay her head on her crossed hands. The black paintwork radiated heat. The position of Julia's body was provocative: she had adopted it almost out of habit. She had found herself remembering the customs of the Private House. She knew that when one found oneself naked from the waist down in the presence of another person with a riding crop, one did one's best to please the other person. It came naturally.
The chauffeur had said nothing as he whipped Julia. The strokes had been painful, each one making Julia gasp and tense her muscles. There was never quite enough time after each stroke for the burning sensation to die away before the next stroke landed. The chauffeur had concentrated on Julia's buttocks, usually alternating between them but occasionally striking one of her thighs, or her shoulders, to prevent her becoming accustomed to the punishment.
Between her muffled cries of pain Julia had realised that the chauffeur was restraining the force of his blows. Her writhing bottom, she had thought, must be glowing with red lines, but there would be no weals. She had felt perspiration breaking out all over her body, and she had been aware of another wetness gathering at the apex of her widely parted legs.
When the chauffeur had stopped, Julia had remained leaning against the side of the car. Her buttocks had felt hot and prickly. She hadn't been able to resist the urge to roll her hips as if in an erotic dance. She had wanted more - more of anything, just as long as someone paid attention in some way to her sensitised buttocks and her hot, moist, yearning sex.
She had been able to hear traffic passing on the road they'd just left. She had known that at any moment another vehicle might pull off the highway and stop
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