Eva's Education

I looked around at all the eyes watching me, knew there was no escape, and tested the long, thin birch, which swished ominously through the air. Lena looked round at me, an almost contemptuous expression on her imperious features, and I struck her lightly across the buttocks.

'Oh dear!' said the Baron, 'this afternoon, you're going to learn what it feels like to be caned, so don't insult us now, please!'

I drew my arm back, thus chastened, and sent the switch whistling through the air, landing with a sharp crack just below the crack in Lena's pretty, well-toned white arse.

'Harder, much harder!' said the Baron, and I really laid into the next one, this time drawing a great gasp from Lena, and etching a livid red line right across the width of her backside. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that my friend Olga was now kneeling on the carpet at the Baron's feet, his erect tool being rhythmically caressed in her red lips.

'Much better,' said the Baron, between deep breaths, 'another ten like that, at least, and she'll know she's been caned!'

I lashed her still harder, lower down, so that the welt was interrupted by the pinkness of her crack, and she moaned loudly, writhing her arse as I drew my arm back for the next stroke.

'Lower!' advised the Baron, and I concentrated a few strokes on the tender region of her upper thighs, where the welts were soon showing up as purplish lines, interspersed with droplets of blood as tiny blood vessels were broken by my harsh caning.

I was horrified that I found myself actually warming to my task – even getting just a bit excited as Lena squirmed sexily under my swishing, stinging birch.

A few more strokes, bringing up lovely red welt across her white thighs, and voice from behind me told me to stop. It was Monique, who came up from behind and cupped my breasts, tugging sharply at the chain connecting my clamps, then pulling me around so that she could kiss me deeply. Meanwhile, the weeping Lena was helped from the sofa and restored to an unsympathetic Baron, who had just ejaculated comprehensively into Olga's throat, and was being licked clean with her prehensile tongue.

'Would you like me to cane you this afternoon, darling?' she asked, 'because somebody is going to, for sure.'

I looked at her darkly pretty oval face, with its long, long lashes, and big almost black eyes, and said, 'Yes, I'd like that, please.'

At lunch, she insisted on sitting apart with me, at one end of the long table, toying with the chain of my clamps. I was aware of acute discomfort from the restraint of my corset and skirt, not to mention the biting clamps, and ate very little of the delicious cold lunch that was served, but worse was to come when we were seated in the lounge for coffee, the three of us in charge of the women of the three principal guests. It seemed they had agreed the arrangement.

Quite suddenly, Lena, now dressed in a black cocktail dress, stood, and, clipping Olga's leash into place, yanked her brusquely to her feet. When she was standing, she ripped off Olga's little transparent top, revealing her firm breasts, from which depended nipple-clamps, identical to mine. Lena clicked her fingers, and a maid gave her something I couldn't see. What I could see was that Olga's eyes opened wide with terror, and it was soon obvious why, as Lena started to pierce my friend's left breast with a long, thin needle, causing her to let out a long shriek, which, in turn, brought her a sharp slap across the cheek.

She had to endure three more of the awful needles, their coloured handles waving around as she moved, then Lena moved around behind her and unzipped her skirt, pulling it down, not without some difficulty, and off. Again she clicked her fingers, and this time the maid gave her a much larger item. Olga grimaced and moaned as Lena went to work, but now knew better than cry out. When the older woman's work was done, she had fitted her slave with cruel clamps fixed to her outer labia, from which hung heavily-weighted chains. Now she turned Olga around, bade her bend, and spanked her soundly about her round arse, the sound of her slaps reverberating around the room, tears of humiliation and pain coursing down Olga's cheeks.

But as soon as I felt sorry for my friend, I realised it was my turn, and my own punishment was to be much simpler.

'Stand up,' said Monique, softly, and I did so, already half in love with this lovely woman. She helped me off with the terrible skirt, and I thanked her, then she told me to kneel in front of the sofa, my bare buttocks high and exposed for all to see, framed by the high, arching corset, which so pulled in my waist, the long garter-straps, and the black, seamed stockings below.

'Lovely,' said Monique, 'it almost seems a pity to mark you, darling. But you know it will look so pretty, don't you?'

'Yes, mistress,' I said.

'And you know I'm going to hurt you, don't you?'

'Yes, mistress.'

'It's what you want, isn't it?'

'Oh yes, mistress!'

'Then you should ask me to do it, I think.'

'Oh yes. Please cane me, mistress. Hurt me, please!' Was it really my voice which had spoken those words?

Monique walked away and came back with a long, thin cane, and I somehow knew she had the attention of the whole room when she took up position behind me, and I heard the fateful hiss as the cane sped through the air, then felt a sting worse than anything I had imagined – far more acute than Jean-Paul's whip the night before. I suppressed a scream as the terrible weapon bit into my buttocks, just above my pussy.

I bit my lip so fiercely I almost drew blood, as the second expert stroke bit into my tender flesh. This time, I couldn't help gasping and writhed as she positioned herself to get a better angle for the next vicious blow.

I lost count as the strokes rained down on me, lost in a world of pain, agony and a new, indescribable sensation – an ecstasy that only those who truly know the relationship between pain and pleasure can feel, and ecstasy that goes way beyond normal pleasure, transports the receiver, together with the giver, to a place no-one else may inhabit. I looked down, with something like disdain, upon the spectators, and when Monique had finished, and helped me up, we walked proudly together, out of the room. I was aware that Monique's husband, Jean-Paul, watched us with an odd expression on his face, and open jealousy showed on Petra's pretty features as we passed her. I thought, fleetingly, however, that she would probably have enough to occupy her, as she was being led on a leash by a woman of Middle-eastern aspect, whom I took to be one of Ben Sayid's wives. I couldn't help wondering what they had in store for her.

But all was forgotten, at least for the moment, when Monique led me to her own and Jean-Paul's room. Once inside, she locked the door, and turned to me.

'I hope I didn't hurt you too much, darling,' she said,concern all over her face.

I took her hand and kissed it. 'I came, when…..when…'

'When I whipped you?' she finished my sentence.

'Yes, when you whipped me.' I pulled her toward me and kissed her, lightly on the lips, whereupon she threw her arm around my neck and kissed me fiercely, until I had to pull apart to catch a breath.

It was only then that I realised that my skirt was still in the lounge, where I had shed it, and I had walked out, past all those people, my pussy completely naked. I said as much to Monique, and she laughed, a lovely, tinkling sound, then helped me out of my corset. It was heaven to be rid of the restraint, but when she also removed the nipple clamps, the pain caused by the blood rushing back into my tortured nipples was terrible, and I had to sit down for a moment, clad in just stockings and stilettos. That too became purgatory, and I was soon squirming as the pain from my sore red wheals took over. Monique was sympathetic, and had me turn over and soothed balm into the wounds, which she said would very soon disappear. The touch of her long fingers on my soft flesh was absolutely wonderful, and as she worked at my wheals, I started to caress her thighs up above the tops of her stockings, under her pleated skirt. Like me, she wore no panties, and, also like me, I discovered that she was clean shaven. When I touched an exploratory finger to her crack, she moaned as if she had been penetrated, and I took that as an invitation to go further.

Monique shuffled onto the sofa with me to make herself more comfortable, and abndoned herself to me as I opened her, first with my fingers, then, emboldened by her obvious pleasure, with my studded tongue. She cried out wildly when I siezed her clit with my teeth, and when I plunged my tongue deep into her wet, eager cunt, I felt her vaginal muscles take their agile grip on me, pulling me in as if it was a cock I was offering her.

I started then, as I hadn't heard the door behind me, so engrossed had I been with Monique, as two powerful hands forced my thighs apart. I pulled out of Monique's pussy and looked around, but one of Jean-Paul's hands pushed my head back down, and he was right between my legs!

Trapped between the two of them, there was nothing I could do but abandon myself to pleasure, and that was certainly on Jean-Paul's mind, as, without ceremony, he lanced his ramrod-stiff erection straight up my anus, so that I was forced even harder up against his wife's pussy, where I was already tonguing deeply. I had never been penetrated so suddenly or ruthlessly in my arsehole, and my whole body was now in agony, but the agony was a sexual agony, which consisted of orgasm after orgasm, one hot on the heels of another, so that I was in a constant state of arousal – come to think of it, I seemed to be all the time!

We changed positions several times, and went on until we were all spent, then we lay together and talked for a long time.

'Eva,' said Monique, 'next year we shall be moving from Paris, where we live most of the year just now, to the Seychelles. We should like you to come with us, darling. Will you think about it?'

I couldn't believe my ears. I looked hard at Monique to see if she was serious – she was. I thought about my contract with Mr Ivanescu, and about Petra, my dear Petra.

'How long do I have to think about it?' I asked her, then, not wishing to seem ungrateful, 'I have to consider my contract and so on, you know.'

'I understand, darling. No hurry – a couple of months OK?'

I nodded happily and she gave me a card with her mobile number.

When I went back into the lounge to enquire after Petra's afternoon, I couldn't stop thinking about my own change in fortune. Eva, I thought, you've come a long way from being the pig-farmer's daughter, and all in no time at all!