Damsels in Distress

Damsels in Distress
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ISBN:  9781907753763
Author:  Amanita Virosa
Word Count:  68,219
Format:  eBook

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Hall of InfamyHall of Infamy
Rectory of CorrectionRectory of Correction

'Have you ever sucked a man's John Thomas, young lady?' he demanded.
   'Um, no sir,' she whispered.
   'It's time to learn, then,' he decided. 'Get on your knees.' He enforced the order by pressing on her shoulder, and then Rose watched as if hypnotised as he unbuttoned his fly, his fingers working mere inches from her face, and then the thing he withdrew made her belly churn with panic. It was huge, much bigger than she'd expected, with an angry, glossy purple head.
   'Now the thing is to breathe through your nose,' he advised, holding his cock with one hand and the back of her head with the other, pressing to encourage her to obey him and accept his erection into her mouth.
   'Lick it first, Rose,' he said, his voice a little strained now.
   'L-lick it?' she stammered, eyeing the purple thing with apprehension.
   'Yes, lick it, like you would a lollipop.'
 
Eleven tales of damsels in distress. Eleven tales inspired by the timeless theme of peril, pain and pleasure.
 
A sacrificial virgin is saved from birch-wielding Druids; but what fate do her Roman rescuers have in store for her...?
 
Chivalry is in short supply when captive Eleanor must serve Sir Peris's dark desires and those of his malevolent dwarf! Meanwhile Lady Jane finds out all about pain in Sir Richard's dungeon. Victorian maids are flogged and debauched by cruel aristocratic employers, whilst a pretty widow is blackmailed by a sinister schoolboy...
 
And even modern times bring scant respite for our poor distressed damsels. Pretty girls are stripped and whipped for their perverted masters' pleasure, and Melody even discovers that Alice can be crueller than any man!
'Taking their time, ent they?' Horace said, after a few minutes had passed.
   'Seem a bit reluctant, for some reason,' Farquar concurred. 'Perhaps we had better chivvy them along a little.'
   At that moment the two ladies returned to the main room, and Farquar felt his cock begin to stiffen as he perused the quite delightful sight they made. He had told them to take off their gowns and petticoats, and that was all, give or take a crinoline or bustle, that the ladies had removed. Both wore white camisoles, beneath tight-laced corsets, and both wore brilliant white cotton drawers. Virginia had black, and Penelope white silk stockings gartered just above the knee. The snowy whiteness of their underthings made a fetching contrast with the redness of their faces. Both ladies looked mostly at the floor and Virginia entwined her fingers anxiously.
   'Lovely. Don't they look lovely, Horace?'
   Wittingstall, however, was so overcome by the sight of the blushing beauties that he seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech.
   'Would you care to come over here?' Farquar asked politely, walking over to the polished mahogany table, and with evident reluctance, some sighs and many glances at each other, Penelope and Virginia edged over to his side. Farquar picked up a length of silky rope, taken from a curtain pull.
   'Hold your hands out in front of you, Virginia,' he ordered.
   'Wait a minute,' she said. 'What's this, you little beast? We agreed to be?'
   'Calm down, Penelope,' Farquar snapped. 'When we roast skittish boys at school we sometimes bind them. It helps them stay in position and cuts down on the "extras" we are obliged to give. Of course,' he winked at Virginia, 'if you are quite sure that you can keep still under correction, well then you would not have to fear getting your count doubled for some silly flinch or wince.'
   Virginia took as deep a breath as her tight-laced corset would let her, and held out her hands to be tied. 'It's all right, Penny. I would rather... I would not want to risk it.'
   'Very wise, Mrs Chisholm,' Farquar said, binding her wrists firmly with obvious expertise.
   'Miss Penelope?' he asked with a smile, taking up a second piece of bell rope.
   There was a slight pause. Penny seemed to be struggling with herself, but in the end she muttered, 'Very well, you nasty little beast,' and held out her hands.
   'I think we need to speak about that, actually,' Farquar drawled, as he bound the fair young woman's wrists tight. 'Calling me a little beast is not terribly polite. I think you had better address me as Master Farquar, sir, in future. Oh, and you may address Wittingstall here as Master Horace, sir. Do I make myself clear?'
   'Yes, Master Farquar, sir,' Virginia said, with only a hint of reluctance. She seemed, he thought, to have resolved to get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible by acceding to his demands.
   Penelope was different, however. The little blonde piece was obviously chewing worms as she weighed up her situation - bound in her drawers and corset - with the outrage to her pride of giving in to him. He decided to help, so picking up a thin dark cane from the table he put the tip under Penelope's chin, lifting it so that her blue eyes looked at him. 'Do I make myself clear, Miss Simpson?'
   They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, Penelope's bottom lip quivering with outrage and shame. 'Yes,' she said at last with bad grace, 'Master Farquar, sir.' She dropped her eyes and a tear began to trickle down her furiously blushing cheek.
   Farquar walked around to the other side of the table and took the end of the rope binding Victoria's hands. He tugged it so that she was forced to move forward until her thighs met the edge and then lean forward. Only when her upper body was stretched out over the tabletop did he desist.
   'Horace,' he said simply, 'get the books.'
   There was no need to explain further. As prefects, Farquar Salisbury and Horace Wittingstall were well practiced in the school house's many methods of preparing boys for beating. Horace took five leather-bound volumes of a distinguished work of natural history and placed them on the table next to Virginia. With a dirty sounding snicker he placed three of them, one after the other, under her belly, until no space was left.
   'Is she tippy-toed?' asked Farquar.
   Horace looked down at the woman's feet and frowned. 'Don't know, Salisbury,' he said in a puzzled voice. 'She's got those heels on. Damned if I can tell.'
   High heels were a phenomenon that neither boy had previously met with, but Farquar resolved the problem by telling Horace to add one extra volume and then see if Virginia could touch the floor with her toes.
   'Just about,' Horace reported.
   'Just about will do,' Farquar concluded.
   He tugged the rope taut and secured the end to a crosspiece of timber underneath the table.
   Then he repeated the process with Penelope, and smiled as he noticed Horace brushing his hand over the blonde girl's bottom as he raised her tummy with more large books. Miss Simpson bit her bottom lip and frowned furiously, but somehow kept her peace.
   With both women secured, bent over the table, Farquar walked back round and perused his handiwork. His cock had been quite stiff since the ladies had returned in their corsets, but as he perused their waiting bottoms he felt it throb and twitch.
   The truth was that he was furiously excited in a way he had never been when punishing boys.
  The ladies' fundaments, though still veiled by the white cotton of their drawers, were so plumply, so softly, so femininely inviting. He had been waiting a long time for this moment to arrive.
   'Well now,' he said a little gruffly, and stepped closer. There was just space enough between the bending women for him to stand. He reached out and took a handful of bottom on either side.
   Virginia gasped and Penelope gave a little 'harrumph' of outrage, but he ignored them both.
   'Well now,' he said, 'these feel nice and tender, Horace. Nice and plump and ready for the rod.'
   His hands had found the splits in the backs of the women's drawers, and praying that he did not come in his breeches, he slid his hands inside, provoking a pair of outraged sobs. The bottom flesh was warm and soft and smoother than satin, and Farquar stroked for a few seconds, utterly entranced.
   'I say, Salisbury, don't be greedy, let me have a feel,' Horace Wittingstall grumbled, in a rather strained voice.
   Farquar chuckled. 'All right, Wittingstall, don't get impatient, there is plenty of this succulent flesh to go round. What do you think? Shall we part their drawers and cane them the way schoolgirls get it, or drop their underlinen altogether?'
   'No!' Penelope protested in a shrill voice. 'I don't, it's not, I mean, you can't!' 
   'Actually it is, "you can't, Master Farquar, sir",' he corrected her smugly. 'Only its not because I do not care to be contradicted by you saucy little trollops, so that little outburst will cost you three nice extras. Oh, and by the way, I think you will find that I can!'
   Farquar removed his hand from Penelope's bottom and turned his attention to Virginia. 'Horace, would you care to divest Miss Simpson from her drawers, please?'
   'Would I?' Horace blabbered excitedly. 'Crikey, Salisbury! Would I? Would I care to divest her of her...? I say, bloody hell!'
   Marvelling at how tiny Virginia's fearsomely corseted waist was, Farquar undid the drawer strings tied around it and eased the cotton garment down. Virginia was trembling and she whimpered as he did so, but otherwise the young widow did not protest.
   Horace was so excited he had much more trouble undoing Penelope's drawers. The lady in question was writhing quite a lot and gasping in outrage, although otherwise she was managing to hold her tongue. At last Horace got the strings unknotted and pulled the drawers down, revealing a flawless, pertly chubby bottom. The red-haired boy blinked at it as he let the pantaloons fall, muttering, 'Bloody hell!'

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