tagRomanceMiss Mabel Ch. 05

Miss Mabel Ch. 05

bypotsherd©

Chapter five

Playing at Kittens - part two.


North London, September 1858.

Since she had disclosed that she had been spying in my room again, and my vengeance has been pronounced, I had been pressing Miss Mabel to spend a clandestine afternoon with me, but I could not think of a suitable ruse to enable her to escape the house.

The next day was Wednesday. Miss Mabel whispered to me that she had the answer.

"Just leave it to me Mr. Cowell", she said grandly. "All you have to do is to offer to escort me. Think of some business you have to do in the vicinity."

Next morning at breakfast, she produced a little note from her old Sunday school teacher Miss Butler, inviting her to tea.

"Mama, I really should go and see her; perhaps on Saturday afternoon. Oh Emmy, do please come with me, Miss Butler would be so pleased to see you!"

Miss Emily was in one of her frequent petulant moods this morning.

"You know I hate that stuffy old room, smelling of camphor and old lavender bags. Besides she will serve up an old dried-out seedcake and her weak-as-water china tea and talk religion. I should be bored rigid."

Mrs Bissell spoke up.

"Emily that is enough out of you. You are growing too pert by half. But really Mabel, I cannot allow you to go alone, and, as Emily declines to go with you..."

"But mother, really I should go. The poor old dear loves my visits, and I haven't really thanked her for the lovely Minton comfit dish she sent for my birthday."

"Oh yes," Miss Emily interjected, "she always remembers YOUR birthday."

I was a little late on my cue, but not enough to notice. Before Miss Mabel could reply and send the two of them to cap-pulling, I interrupted.

"I should be pleased to escort Miss Bissell," I suggested. "I have business at Mr. Blanchard's, the bookseller on Aldwych. He should have the new edition of Baines' Manual of Banking in for me, and he always has something good in his second-hand presses."

"Well, if it is not putting you out, that would be very obliging of you Mr Cowell."

So it was settled.

My next task was to find a house of accommodation were we could rent a room for a couple of afternoon hours. This proved to be simplicity itself. I considered my colleagues one by one, and decided which of them was most likely to have a use for such an accommodation, and might be prepared to divulge it to me.

I approached my first choice with a little circumlocution. But there was no need.

"You sly dog!" he guffawed, "So you've found your self a nice bit of home comforts. Good for you. How I wish I was a single man again."

The house he mentioned was in Embury Street, not far off the Aldwych, and on the way home I looked it over and made an approach. The fat, landlady chuckled, wobbling her three chins and her mighty bosom, and told me the price of a room with clean sheets was three shillings an hour, and if I didn't know an obliging young woman, she certainly did, or two if I liked.

Later that evening I told Miss Mabel almost all of this -- merely omitting the final offer.

On Saturday afternoon, Miss Mabel presented herself to me, looking a picture in her grey silk walking-out dress, merino jacket, grey stuff bonnet with violet silk lining that just caught the colour of her eyes, and one of the Nottingham lace shawls that I had bought for her and her sister. In her hand she clutched a reticule, ostensibly containing a small gift for Miss Butler.

"Do you think my old Sunday-school teacher would approve?" She asked, a mischievous look in her eye.

She took my arm and we walked through the streets to the house at Embury Street. We presented ourselves at the door and a slatternly maid in a sacking apron showed us up to the front bedroom. I was nervous myself, and from the convulsive way she gripped my arm and the whitening of her face, it was clear that Miss Mabel was positively frightened.

But she took possession of herself, and began to remove her bonnet and shawl, placing them on a chairback. Then, to my surprise, she lifted the skirts of her ankle-length dress, exposing her crinoline petticoat and proudly produced -- a cane with a pink ribbon tied in a bow around it.

I was taken aback. "But Mabel, do we really need to use that horrid implement?"

"Arthur dear," she said earnestly, looking up into my eyes, "I know you are a gentle person, but you must believe me. I behaved very badly indeed, searching your room and finding your most cherished letter, and reading it. It was inexcusable. Especially as you had expressly forbidden me to go in there."

If you are to forgive me, and I can feel truly forgiven, I have to take my punishment. Do you think I like the pain of being beaten? No! I dread it, but I know it will put things right between us."

"Very well then," I answered, but this time you shall remove all your clothes."

She giggled, blushed, but began to comply. I took off my jacket, necktie and weskit and rolled up my sleeves. Ad an afterthought I sat on the bed and removed my boots and stockings. Then I watched, entranced, as Miss Mabel disrobed.

First she unbuttoned her dress, turning her back to allow me to undo the difficult buttons down her back, then she drew the dress over her head.

Beneath it she wore her stiff crinoline petticoat, and under that another, straight with a bodice to which were attached layers of white linen flounces with lace edging.

That removed, she appeared in her whalebone stays, pantalettes and black cotton stocking gartered at the knees. The drawers were removed next, then the stockings.

She turned her back to me, asking me mutely to untie the stay ribbons behind her back I complied, and the stays were peeled off in their turn.

My excitement grew. Few indeed were the occasions I had ever seen a naked woman. Jessie and I had never had that chance, and my only previous experience of total nakedness was in Leicester with Camille, a mature woman, not a girl like Mabel.

Beneath the corset lays one more garment, a white cotton shift, well above the knees, with most of her lovely bosom on display above, and most of her lovely legs below. The shift went over her head and at last she was naked.

I saw with a slight shock that the tightness of her stays had impressed deep red marks in her flesh around the waist and across her back where the creases of her shift were driven into the flesh. I felt a deep, guilty excitement at the sight of these weals, mute testament as they were of woman's desire to please her man.

"There, Arthur dearest," she demanded in triumph, "was that worth waiting for?"

"Mabel, you duck, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. You take my breath away." Her figure was slim but full-breasted, with a softly rounded belly below the lovely curve of her bosom, and the generous width of her hips below.

The deeply cloven scut of gingery-brown frizzy hair I had glimpsed once before was now on open display, as she tried to hide nothing of herself from me.

Out of the reticule came the jar of cold cream, as she placed it on the table by the bedside. As I sat on the bed, she came and laid herself across my lap, her beautiful bottom high in the air and the cane laid on the bed beside me.

We both knew well what came next, but before I reddened those creamy globes, I stroked and caressed them with all the affection of my nature. Then I raised my hand and brought it down smartly on her proudly curving buttocks with a loud smack.

A dozen times or more my hand rose and fell, and I saw the white of her beautiful bottom blush pink. Turning then I stopped, excitement rising almost unbearably in me at the sight, the scent and the thrilling feeling of joy as this wonderful girl made this sacrifice for me.

She rose to her feet, softly kissed me on the lips, and positioned herself across the bed.

The slight parting of her thighs exposed the cleft and lips of her sex to me; a thin sprinkling of brown hair just visible. The temptation to kneel and kiss the wonders on display was overwhelming, but I knew there would be time enough for that later.

Now there was a cleansing ritual to be gone through. I took up the cane. I knew by now that it was no use offering premature absolution, so I raised the cane high and, after a couple of sighting taps, brought it down hard across the centre of her buttocks.

There was an audible swish, and a slapping sound, but less noisy then my hand had made. An angry livid line, turning, after a few seconds to a crimson streak, sprang up across the centres of her round buttocks.

She squealed and made to get up, hands reaching around for comfort or protection, then, with a palpable effort, she recovered herself and lay back down on the bed, arms extended at the sides of her head.

Another blow, a little lower, with the same result; then a third, high, just below the twin dimples of her spine and hipbones.

The squeals became groans, and her bottom was now marked with three dark track-marks, surrounded by crimson borders. Tears were running down her cheeks by now, and I felt pity for her pain, and admiration for her fortitude.

"Only three more, Mabel dearest." I said quietly, and, somehow this quieted her. Three more blows of the cane, three more track-marks, one low, just under the curve of her buttocks, and then it was over. She relaxed visibly. Her face, though wet with tears, was serene.

"Thank you Arthur dearest", she said. "Now we can be friends again."

Miss Mabel picked herself up off the bed and presented herself to me for soothing. Her crimson bottom now had a tracery of purple lines, white edged, and I applied cold cream to these with the most delicate touch I could contrive.

Round and round in small circles I spread the cold cream, rubbing it in to the ridges and furrows with finger ends, and then with the palm of my hand,

My fingers dipped involuntarily down along the cleft of her sex, and I felt again the slick wetness that told me that she was experiencing an excitement like to my own.

She rose to her feet, and I rose with her and clasped her to my breast. We kissed long and deeply, lips widely parted . It felt as if the spirits were being drawn out of our bodies, and mingling in our mouths. By the end of the kiss we were gasping for breath and suffused with joy.

"Mabel dearest," I said." It is time for me to be as naked with you as you are with me."

She sat down on the bed and watched intently as I disrobed. Off came my shirt and undershirt, my stockings, trousers and undergarments, and I stood before her naked. I went to her and we lay side by side in the wide bed.

"Now my dear, I shall teach you how to play at kittens. Will it be uncomfortable for you to lie on your back whilst we play?"

"Oh no dearest! I feel so excited already. Now you must tell me exactly what to do."

"No telling necessary. You just do to me exactly as I do to you."

She lay back on her back, and looked at me with calm trust. I had promised that nothing I would do would harm her and it was clear that she did not need to hear it twice.

I started by sitting up and, lowering my face over hers, kissed her face feature by feature, the forehead, the eyebrows and eyes, the ears, dipping my tongue into each ear in turn and nibbling on each earlobe, then her sweet little nose, her chin, and finally her mouth, which I kissed long, deeply and tenderly. Then I lay back down at her side, and looked up at the ceiling.

She gave a little giggle of pleasure and sat up beside me. Feature by feature she repeated my every action. Kissing my eyes ears, nose and mouth as thoroughly as I kissed hers. Then, apparently satisfied, she lay back down with a luminous smile.

Next I kissed her neck, nibbling it all over, under the point of the jaw, and round to kiss beneath and into her ears. I used my tongue copiously, and took tiny bites with my teeth shielded by my lips.

She rose as I lay down and, again, repeated my actions with principal and interest. She was laughing now, and I could see that her imagination was racing.

Next, her armpits, with the magical scent of womankind in each tuft of hair, and a taste in my mouth compounded of salt, sweetness and, just faintly, a trace of lifebuoy soap.

Next the hollows of her collar-bones drew my kisses, and my tongue traced the line of her breast-bone, and then one lovely, round breast after the other was kissed, suckled, licked and nibbled at length.

As I sucked her pink nipples I reflected that this was the first time I had touched her breasts, as no opportunities had offered in our furtive, short meetings at her mother's house.

I lay down with a question buzzing in my mind. Would she follow my lead, or would she begin to shrink from the growing intimacy.

She sat up and her lips and tongue found my armpits, and I saw with delight that there was no fear or pudeur in her. She then moved to my nipples, and, having never had them sucked before, I was amazed how sensitive they were, and what a thrill they gave me.

"Well, my dear, how do you like playing at kittens?" I asked.

"I love it," she replied. I have never done anything so exciting in my life." "Not even being spanked," I asked mischievously.

"Oh Arthur, you're silly," she replied. "I wanted you to see me undressed, because I want you to like me as I like you. The spanking was to give you an opportunity to be naughty with me."

Not wholly convinced, but thrilled by the candour and openness of her reply, I rose to continue the game of kittens. Just one stop now before my final destination. I brushed my mouth over her smooth, white belly, my tongue tracing damp lines across the skin. Then I centred on the whirl of her navel and dipped my tongue into its concavity, wriggling my pointed tongue, and making her squeak. Lastly, I traced the line of her hip-bones, standing proud at either side of her flat, rounded belly.

I lay down and she replicated my actions, with the subtle additions of sucking at my navel, and brushing her face down into my tuft of hair. She lay down with a wicked smile, knowing full well by now what was to follow.

I rose from the bed and stood over her, my cock fully roused. I saw her eyes fall to look at it as I moved around to the bottom of the bed and spread her unresisting thighs.

I had five or ten minutes to make her a convert to minetting. Breathing in her unique perfume, I began by planting kisses all up and down her cleft, and all over the cloven tuft of hair above.

She murmured, "Oh Mr. Cowell, really you shouldn't," but she said it to appease the jealous fairies, not to make me stop.

From kissing to licking, and gradually to sucking, as my excitement grew, and I could hear from her murmurs that she too was intoxicated by the moment. My stiff tongue probed the opening to her sex, and I tasted that strange combination of fish, fruit and wine that I loved more and more at each experience.

Then up to the flower-bud, her little man in the boat, and I teased it, nibbling and pinching and gently pulling with my lips.

Then finally, as Camille had taught me so well, I added the tip of my finger to my mouth, and, whilst my tongue licked the honey from her sex, my finger massaged the bud until she was throwing her head from side to side, gasping and panting.

At last, with a great gusty sigh, she relaxed languorously on the bed, and placed her hand over her cleft, a signal for me to stop.

I lay back down, still licking her flavours from my lips, and breathing in her scents from my wet face. We lay side by side, lost in reverie for a minute or two. Then she sat up. The grin on her face told me everything.

Step by step she retraced my movements round to the foot of the bed, then her face buried itself in my ball-sack and she breathed in the scent of my sex.

Concentrating on my balls, she licked, sucked, and finally took one ball into her mouth and sucked on it, and repeated the action on the other. The sensation was tickly and pleasing, but the pleasure dwelt more in the idea of her doing this lubricious thing, than in the physical sensation.

Not so when she ran her tongue all the way up the shaft of my prick, circled it around and under the crest, the licked at the slit at the crown. Now I was being carried away on a tide of sensation so great that I was frightened of being overwhelmed by it.

"Mabel!" I croaked warningly.

"I am not stopping until you have spent your seed!" she declared firmly. "I want you to have as much pleasure as you gave me."

She did not have long to wait. As she sucked gently on my prick, lips and tongue caressing the crest of my knob, I felt the tension build and the spasms begin deep in my buttocks.

With a grunt, I spurted got after gout of spend, careless of where it went. She sucked on, deeper and harder, and I looked down to see a column of pearly-white ropy seed trickle slowly down her chin.

She gulped, and said with wonder in her voice. "There now, I have done it. And, just think Arthur. some little part of you will become a part of me. You have fed me on your seed." It might have been a religious ritual she had partaken of, not an act of sensual gratification.

We lay for a half-hour, drowsy ands replete, before dressing, and taking our leave. Before we left, we each made use of the chamber-pot under the bed.

She squatted daintily on it and her piss tinkled down into the pot She blushed a little, but seemed not much embarrassed, perhaps because she shared a bed with her sister. When it came to my turn she watched, delighted, laughed and clapped her hands.

"I have seen men turn into the bushes, and up alleys to do it, Arthur, but never seen it come out before. How clever! Next time may I hold it and direct the stream?"

Yes, you can even sign your name with it for all of me," I replied jovially.

As we walked home she said, reflecting. "Well now I know how to play kittens, Arthur, and I hope we play it again and again. But why is it called playing at kittens?"

"I don't know, dear." I replied.

"Well, it is a pretty name for a lovely game."

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