Don't Judge Me Ch. 05

Yes, I was aroused. Does that make me a weirdo? I dunno. Don't judge me.

Mahogany was so excited her breathing was quivering. Her eyes were bright. She was bursting with... was it joy? It was white-hot excitement!

Miss Havisham gestured to one of the other maids to come forward. It wasn't the one Mahogany had singled out earlier, but one of the others - probably the oldest among them, come to think of it. She stepped forward and took the ruler from Mahogany's open hands.

To another, perhaps randomly chosen maid, who this time was the one Mahogany had retaliated against earlier, she said simply, "Tea". And the girl swiftly headed to the sideboard at the other side of the room, where there was a steaming hot urn, crockery, and an assortment of tea-making necessities.

"Right, up you get," Miss Havisham had the old familiar tone of absolute unhurried authority. Mahogany kicked off her shiny black heels and climbed up on the chair next to me, visibly quivering, to end up on her hands and knees on the table. From where I was sitting, next to where she climbed up, I can report further that, not only was she wearing suspenders as I had previously noted, but by now I could see... well, everything. She didn't have any underwear on. I didn't know if that was the case with all the girls, but from my vantage point it was, let's say, perfectly obvious that Mahogany did not have anything on under the dress.

That doesn't mean I was looking, ok? It doesn't mean I got a thrill out of seeing up her dress. It doesn't mean I was getting turned on by it. It just means I saw it. How could I not? So don't judge me.

But while we're on it, yeah, I looked. Why shouldn't I? A lot of people had seen all of my most private bits that day, and here I had the opportunity to switch roles to being the watcher instead of the watched. So I took the chance. And I liked it. So what? Whatever.

Anyway, Miss Havisham had Mahogany turn around, still on her hands and knees, to face me, so I wasn't looking straight up her dress any more anyway. Happy now? I was looking at her face, which was shining with excitement. To tell the truth this scene was probably more erotically charged than staring at her backside anyway, and I continued to feel caught up in Mahogany's obvious arousal.

Positioned this way, her bottom was available, diagonally across from me, at the head of the table near Miss Havisham. Anyone standing at the edge of the table next to Miss Havisham would have full access. Mahogany made eye contact with me, drawing me into her world of erotic thrill. The spell was briefly broken when, after having served Miss Havisham, the other maid delivered a fine bone china cup and saucer to me as well, filled with dark, hot tea, and with a small macron at the side. She served me professionally, but also glanced at Mahogany and they exchanged a momentary look that I couldn't decipher. Mahogany's excitement just kept ratcheting upwards. I was amazed. She was positively in heat!

Miss Havisham's crockery clinked as she tried the tea and made an audible sigh of appreciation. She crooked her head around the half naked woman perched absurdly between us, and asked, "How's the tea, my dear? Would you like sugar?"

By now I could see this was all a pantomime, a game, and I should play my role in it or be thought a spoil-sport, and I didn't want that. I sipped my tea, and responded, "Oh yes, miss, I mean no, miss. The tea is delicious, thank you, miss," without breaking eye contact with Mahogany. I felt that her excitement was heightened even more by the exchange, and presumably Miss Havisham was designing things that way.

Actually, I thought to my self, the tea really was good, and I was hungry, too. As strange as it seems, in the middle of this rather peculiar drama that was unfolding before me, I then eagerly ate the macron and sipped the tea again, purely for my culinary enjoyment this time. There was something in Mahogany's eyes that gave away her continued acceleration in erotic energy. Outwardly, her demeanor hadn't really changed, yet I found I was able to sense, ever more precisely, what her inner arousal was... like.

"There will be ten strokes", Miss Havisham's instruction was to the girl holding the hefty ruler, who nodded. She positioned herself near Mahogany's tail end, and lifted her dress up and forwards in a practical manner, so that it hung slightly over Mahogany's forehead, but not enough to block her eyesight, which was still fixed on me. Her petticoats formed a plumage around her, preventing me from seeing anything much past her face, so I wasn't able to get a good look at the suspender belt to finalize my survey of her corsetry. It was completely obscured from my view, but I knew that by now Mahogany was very naked in that direction. She also knew it, and I sensed a distinct uptick in her arousal in response to the lifting of her dress. It was a particular *kind* of arousal. It was... it was like humiliation, I guess. Actually, it felt a lot like the feelings I had when Miss Havisham kept pulling that curtain back in the shop. Whatever the word is for that, that's what she was feeling, on top of a surprisingly highly charged sense of anticipation and thrill.

Was I imagining this, or was I really able to see Mahogany's sensual mind like a map, watching her arousal swell into the scene like the ocean rushes up and around the rocks at the base of a cliff? I had never studied someone as they became aroused before, so I had nothing to compare it to.

Smack! The sound snapped across the room. It was loud. It was crisp, and it was, presumably, quite painful. Mahogany exclaimed, "Ooh!", as if merely surprised, and then sharply drew in breath in response to the pain. She never broke eye contact with me. Having me witness her experience was amplifying her sensations.

Across her sensuality, one of the swelling waves broke and foamed at the base of the cliff, with others following, rolling across the map, and a flash of lightning cracked overhead. How else can I describe it? I was in her head.

"One," Miss Havisham pronounced.

Smack! Again, Mahogany drew in breath sharply, but this time without a whimper. Her face continued to shine, even if her eyes closed briefly at each painful blow.

The lightning flashed, the waves grew in height and power. The skies darkened, in her inner world.

"Two," Miss Havisham's voice was level and dispassionate. Her pronouncement like the satisfying boom of a wave having crashed against a cliff, leaving the expectation of the next one, inevitably to rise, and the next.

Smack! Mahogany pushed her shoulders downwards, which would have raised her bottom upward, and took on a triumphal expression as she held my gaze. Her seas were all afoam, the storm was brewing, the air was crackling, and the tension was building.

"Three," the now expected commentary continued. Boom, went the wave.

Smack! The blows were impeccably timed at regular intervals. The room had settled into an intoxicating rhythm of the slap and the count, and I was taken through the cycles of piercing pain and escalating ecstasy through Mahogany's eyes, translated through her sensuality into lightning reports and the thundering surf. I couldn't see her bottom but I could imagine by now that welts were starting to show, and that it was surely reddening rapidly.

"Four." Boom.

Smack! As her bolt lightning crazed across a turbulent sky, Mahogany began to make a sound deep in her throat. She held my gaze. It was as if she were speaking some primal language to me, holding me inside her experience. Embracing me.

"Five." Boom.

I was held fast in place in my seat, eye to eye with this girl, witness to her delicious inner enjoyment of this humiliation, and her crackling, electrifying pain. Initially I had been vicariously enjoying her sexual tension, as we got ready for the session to begin, but by now I wasn't just sharing in it, but also observing it in infinite detail. I was more in tune with her arousal than I ever had been with my own. I didn't know what was happening. It was mesmerizing.

Smack! Lightening. Wave rising.

Silence.

The rhythm, which had become an inevitability, a sort of contract between the ruler and Mahogany's exposed bottom, was shattered. Suddenly there was no pronouncement of the count. The whole room was anticipating "six", but it didn't happen. For Mahogany, there was no "Boom". A wave had risen, had frothed at its peak, had borne down on the immovable cliff face, but then suddenly, inexplicably, agonizingly, it dispersed!

Mahogany's eyes bugged open, and she was suddenly back, completely in the moment, unable to remain in the inner world of the pain and the pronouncement, the thunder and the ocean, where she had made a safe cocoon her herself in the escalating rhythmic certainty of the punishment, charging up her eroticism as a bulwark against the pain. Back in the clarity of reality and experiencing the painful throbbing of her cheeks in this new context she wasn't prepared for, she bit her bottom lip. Her shields fell. She had no defense against the pain any more, in this now unmitigated, naked reality.

In her inner world, the lights suddenly went on, the sky instantly was clear and harshly blue with the sun glaring on her little scene, and the powerful swell of the waves, which had been marching toward the shore with the promise of thunderous sequential arrival, collapsed simultaneously into a dull, flat ocean. The calmness, the sterility, was unbearable. Her hopes of a crescendo were dashed. Her deep yearning for thunder, for power, for release, became as shrill the forlorn screech of a circling gull.

She waited. We all did. There was no choice. It was awful. A tear formed in her eye as she remained, naked bottom protruding toward her tormentor, but neglected. I was drawn into the grief of absence with her. A new humiliation washed over her, as the pretense of being "punished" was by now completely exposed as an elaborate masturbation. I felt her crushing feeling of smallness, powerlessness, shame, humiliation, and its dark arousal.

Silence.

Clink! Miss Havisham's tea cup found its saucer, emitting a classy sound into the heavy silence that had fallen. "Those macrons are delicious, don't you think, dear?" She said, as if everyone in the room were not relying on her to maintain the incantation, as if Mahogany's inner turbulence could simply be put on hold. As if I were separate from it, and could discuss other matters while Mahogany dangled like a worm on a fish hook between us, maddeningly woken as from a pleasant slumber into a silent cacophony of painlessness.

"Um...," I tried to gather my thoughts. Mahogany's raw gaze was fixed on my face as I tried to straddle these two worlds, Mahogany's electrified, but now destabilized inner world, and Miss Havisham's enforced return to reality, to make a response, "Oh, yes, miss. They're lovely." Mahogany's eyes closed and her face contorted into an expression I could not categorize, until they flashed open again, full of erotic energy and power. I was back inside her world. My response had poured humiliation like a sweet hot sauce over her badly interrupted inner beach scene. What was sauce doing in a beach scene? Heck, I didn't even know what the cliff and waves were for. It was just sauce, ok? A thick, warm, chocolatey sauce. That's all I've got. Don't judge me.

My response had amplified her torture, magnified her erotic charge, and reinforced both her arousal and her need for that arousal, with a warm (chocolatey) coating.

"Hmpf," Miss Havisham expressed satisfaction with my answer. "Where were we, Mahogany? Ah yes...," the room stood in anticipation her return to the erotic rhythm we had previously achieved. The whole room anticipated it, as we awaited the long-delayed report of the sixth blow in Mahogany's punishment. In each of our minds we read out in anticipation the next line in the pantomime, "Six".

"Five," she said.

Five? Wait. We were up to six. My own brow furrowed at the incongruity of her miscount. I even doubted myself for a split second. Mahogany's inner world started breaking at the foundations. The injustice, the sheer unfairness of this incorrect call was pouring a searing, rapidly increasing flow of lava across the (ok, the sauce was gone now. It's all difficult to describe) beach scene. The lava was ambiguously both jaggedly aggressive and also a welcome accellerant to the underlying arousal. The shame! The weakness! The surrender! But it was a dangerous, capricious energy, and the skies started rapidly to close in again. The ocean rose in response with malevolence.

Smack! The next blow came, and Mahogany had her rear end high in the air, and her chin on the table in the pool of slobber that she had, and was still, producing. She didn't externally react at all to the pain, but in her eyes the storm was raging, the thunder rolling, and the largest wave yet was growing, and bearing down on the cliff face.

"Five," Miss Havisham again called.

By now it was clear, this was no accident. Miss Havisham was torturing Mahogany on purpose. And it was working.

Her inner world erupted in more lava, belching volcanic steam and rocks of shame and indulgent self-mocking, which fell heavily into the now out of control sea with violent hissing and explosive bursts of steam. The skies flickered like a broken florescent bulb, with now continuous exchanges of chain lightning from horizon to horizon.

At this second "error", by Miss Havisham, Mahogany finally broke eye contact with me completely. Her head turned to the side so that she could sink her shoulders all the way to the table. Her face was now in the slick of her previous drooling, and she was continuing to add to the size of the pool, even as her face wallowed around in it. Her eyes were rolling back in her head, unseeing. She was lost in her own world. I was cut off from it.

Smack! "Lightning", I imagined.

Mahogany's moans started to form a kind of pulsing pattern and rhythm, but her face remained apparently catatonic. Whatever she was experiencing, I could no longer share with her.

"Five."

I gasped. I couldn't even imagine the chaos now erupting in Mahogany's senses. The authoritative voice, charged with adjudicating the punishment, was unjustly altering the terms of the agreed sentence without consultation, and without recourse.

Mahogany apparently started to build towards a crescendo under this newly unfair, savage regime. Her primal, uncontrolled grunting and moaning was finding a building rhythm. It was clear she would be climaxing very soon, and I found myself internally urging her towards it, needing almost as much as she did to resolve the tumult.

Smack! I winced.

She was close. It would be soon. She had started huffing and grunting like a grizzly bear.

"Five."

I held my breath. Was she going too far? This was like pumping more and more air into an overinflated tire, knowing that soon it would explode. Surely this was it, Mahogany would climax. She began a long, slow cry, which increased in volume and pitch as we all prepared for the next blow to fall, to detonate the whole experiment. The anticipation was palpable. We were ready. This would be it.

Silence.

There was no slap. There was no punishing blow. It didn't fall. The absence of it was incomprehensible in my mind. I literally sobbed in shock, and involuntarily threw both hands over my mouth. So certain had I been that the blow would fall, the sound would report, Mahogany would have her climax, and the game would go on to completion, that I was assaulted by the lack of it, like pushing on a door to have it yanked open unexpectedly from the other side. My lungs emptied and for a moment I couldn't draw breath.

Fearing to imagine the chaos now swirling in Mahogany's world, I broke away and looked around to check if there was something wrong. Was the girl with the ruler still there? What had happened?

Oh, she was there. Miss Havisham had raised a hand to signal for the session to halt, so she stood silently, obediently, waiting.

Incomprehensible.

That's when Mahogany roared.

It was the most peculiar, disturbing, erotic, strange, otherworldly, exciting, carnal sound I have ever heard. It was a primal scream, of sorts, from deep within her. It unrolled itself into the room and filled the space with its rawness of sensual overload. It was agonized, plaintive, and yearning. Her eyes flung open, and I was plunged immediately into what was now her maelstrom. Beneath the cliff, the volcano, the landscape, and the ocean, a vast vacuum had formed. The whole scene was without its foundation and it was collapsing into the void. The waves could not crash on the cliffs as they fell away. The volcano, pregnant with a magnificent eruption that threatened to launch city-sized chunks of the landscape far into the atmosphere, started instead swallowing its lava and retreating into the collapsing landscape. In an accelerating retreat from its previously towering peak, her arousal was sucking itself down an immense plughole into nothingness. I watched on, torn by the sense of loss, awed by the magnitude of the wave that had gathered, and held in thrall to this incredible injustice, this betrayal, this absence of a finality. But in a heartbeat the collapse had served to create an even greater, if it were possible, cataclysm of sensation and emotion than the original climax would have every been. Let's say it was like a star collapsing under its own weight, folding in on itself until it becomes impossibly dense and hot, and then, unable to contain the energy, forms an explosion so vast, so intense, that it gives birth to whole planets. Such had Mahogany's cliff face and waves become.

Continuing a series of unnatural vocal expressions, Mahogany sank from her posture of having her bottom raised in the air for punishment, into writhing and wallowing. Her bottom was striped with deep red welts, and her whole backside was glowing red. She was whimpering as she writhed, between involuntary sobs and groans. She had closed her eyes again, so I didn't have contact with her inner journey, but whereas her outer appearance was relatively quiet, just writhing and whimpering, I knew that this was merely a failure to vocalize the power of she was experiencing on another dimension. The inner fireworks were too vast, too expansive, and were locked in that other world.

Miss Havisham sat, without emotion, hand still raised, and waited.

Mahogany's face was now more or less covered in saliva, and whenever she moved, turned her head, or raised her face from the table, slobbery strings formed and fell away. Her dress was also damp with it. In addition I could now see that, at some point, she had also created an enormous puddle of fluids from her genitals. I didn't know how that could happen, I mean it smelled like sex, not like pee. I had heard girls talk about being "so wet", which I always thought was just exaggeration, and never had I seen anything like that. Her thighs were slick with it, and she now wallowed around in a sticky pool of her own making.

An alien sounding gasp finally escaped her throat, followed by a retreating series of sobs, progressing to quiet grunts, and little groans and moans.

Eventually Mahogany returned to herself. When she did, she flopped, exhausted, in her puddles of goo. Her breathing eventually returned to regular, but her eyes were still closed. She was humming softly, a single, low note.

"I think she's had enough for today," Miss Havisham dispassionately observed, to the wielder of the ruler. She placed her teacup down with a clink and stood up to lean over close to Mahogany's ear.

"Now, we only got to five today, dear. That was disappointing. I said you would get ten. You will take the other five another time," she delivered the outrageous falsehood looking at me with a twinkle in her eye. Mahogany quietly sobbed once, and moaned again, her eyes still closed, but then replied, croakily, "Yes, miss." She luxuriated a little more in her slimy puddle, and glowed with erotic fulfillment. Her eyes flicked open and fastened on mine. Through strings of slobber from her eyelashes to her cheek, she held me once again in her gaze. I was back with her now, in a sun-filled meadow, blooming with warmth and everything was aglow, fantastically peaceful. There was no trace of coastlines, thunder, volcanoes, or any such thing. She floated blissfully in a meadow of earthy fragrances and pollen, with yellow sunlight filtering through fragrant air, warming the skin and invigorating the senses.