The Indulgences of Isabelle Page 2

  'One,' I told her.

  Portia could no longer control her shaking. Her breasts were shuddering, while the muscles of her tummy and sex had begun to make slow rhythmic contractions, as had her bottom-hole, which looked exquisitely rude. Again I lifted the stick and again I applied it to her flesh, a little lower, so that once she'd stopped wriggling about and clutching at her hurt cheeks she was left with two parallel weals marking her skin.

  'Give her a five-bar gate, Isabelle,' Sarah instructed, 'and do it hard. I'd like her to be wearing her welts for a couple of weeks to remind her not to go behind my back.'

  I nodded, ignoring an instinctive touch of pique at Sarah for giving me an order. Portia had hung her head lower still, her dark curls now tumbling down to hide her face, but I could imagine what she was thinking – about how it would feel to have to go about with her bottom decorated for the next few weeks. I was smiling as I lifted the stick once more, taking careful aim before bringing it down to lay a third stripe across her cheeks.

  'Three,' I said. 'You're marking up rather nicely.'

  Portia said something through her panties, maybe a rude word, maybe a thank-you – it was impossible to tell. I ignored her anyway, content that she already had her bare reddened bottom stuck up in the air. My third stroke had landed a little higher than I'd intended, so I gave her the fourth low down, across the meatiest part of her cheeks where they bulged out to either side of her anus.

  'Four – and do try to keep still.'

  I was trying hard not to laugh. Portia had begun to make little treading motions in the chair, making it hard to aim, and I waited until she'd managed to get herself under control again before giving her the fifth stroke. It was the highest, leaving her with five lines decorating her bottom. Once more I waited until she'd calmed down. Then I applied the last stroke, angled down across the others to create the five-bargate effect, making it absolutely obvious that she'd been caned – and by an expert.

  'Six,' I told her. 'You may get up now.'

  Portia stayed as she was, motionless for a moment before she broke. Her hand went back, clutching at her sex to masturbate herself even as the tears streamed down her face and her body shook with sobs. We watched in silence, allowing her to do what she had to, and to humiliate herself in front of us. That was the best thing about Portia. She knew she was a stuck-up little brat, and what ought to be done about it.

  It took just moments, her hand snatching at her pussy roughly at first, then to a rhythm, her fingers slapping at her flesh, faster and faster, until her vagina and anus went into spasm and she was coming. I could imagine the strength of her feelings as she did it, masturbating openly in front of the six women who'd punished her, a demonstration of absolute surrender and also an acceptance of the justice of her beating. That wasn't going to change her attitude, though, and the resentment was coming back into her expression even as her orgasm faded.

  'Go and stand in the corner, Portia,' Sarah ordered as her girlfriend's shudders finally died down. 'Pull your dress up and put your hands on your head.'

  Portia gave Sarah a sulky look but obeyed, scampering quickly into the angle of two bookcases and adjusting her dress so that both her smacked bottom and her breasts were bare. Her breathing was heavy and even, and she was still shaking, but we ignored her as Eliza spoke.

  'We must at least consider new members. Does anybody have any suggestions?'

  'We do,' Jasmine answered, with a quick glance at Caroline. 'Our friend Yazzie.'

  'Only there's a bit of a problem,' Caroline put in. 'She's Mo's daughter. Mo from the Red Ox.'

  I winced. The Red Ox was one of the pubs where they stripped. I had some extremely unsettling memories of it – and of Mo, a big half-Chinese man with a primitive attitude to women.

  'She's really cute,' Jasmine was saying, 'and well into it, mainly bondage, but she doesn't mind having her bottom smacked. There's no need to look so worried, Isabelle. Mo doesn't know we're into her.'

  'I should think not!' I answered. 'But what if he finds out?'

  'Exactly,' Caroline agreed. 'He'd kill us!'

  I nodded. Given his own behaviour it would be hypocritical of him to object to us playing with his daughter, but I knew he wouldn't see it that way. Men seldom do. Besides, it would give him a hold over me. I'd put a great deal of time and effort into breaking away from him and his friends, a group led by the truly filthy Stan Tierney who'd taken advantage of me during my first year.

  'I'd rather not risk it,' I said.

  Portia was making urgent gestures from the corner.

  'Do take your knickers out of your mouth, Portia,' Sarah said.

  'I didn't want to give you another excuse to punish me,' Portia explained, after taking the now-soggy scrap of silk out. 'What I want to say is that we should at least meet her, and Tiffany.'

  I hesitated. I knew that if I put it to the vote I would probably lose. Sarah was likely to vote against me on principle, and Jasmine and Caroline were the only ones apart from me who had to worry about Mo. Katie would support me, maybe Caroline, but not Eliza, who was keen to find somebody for herself now that I was no longer under her discipline. I was quite keen to meet Tiffany as well, so the best bet was to arrange for Yazzie to be vetted by whoever was least likely to accept her. She'd be Jasmine's playmate, which would make Portia jealous, while Katie would be indifferent to another submissive woman.

  'Katie and Portia can meet Yazzie,' I suggested. 'Jasmine and I can meet Tiffany.'

  There was an immediate exchange of calculating glances, but nobody spoke up.

  Tiffany Inglehurst was a first-year at Erasmus Darwin College, where Portia herself had been an undergraduate and where Sarah worked as the catering manager. She was also an out and proud lesbian, having joined the university society in freshers' week, which was apparently how Portia had met her. They seemed to have gone more or less directly from the UOLS stall to bed and had stayed there until Sarah's unexpected arrival, a scene that I was very sorry to have missed.

  After her initial spanking for going behind Sarah's back a tear-stained Portia had admitted to telling Tiffany about the Rattaners. This confession had led to her group punishment. Given what Portia and Tiffany had got up to in bed together it all seemed fairly safe, and at least there was no difficulty with the introduction. Portia simply told Tiffany that two girls would be coming to interview her for membership, and that was that. It was really only a formality anyway, because as she knew about us already we could hardly turn her down.

  It was going to be harder with Yazzie because she hadn't been told about the Rattaners. Katie and Portia were going to make out that they were customers for the corsets that Caroline made, which was true in a sense, and so pretend to meet Yazzie as if by accident. I was still half-hoping that they'd turn her down, but only half. Jasmine had shown me a photo that had seriously weakened my resolve. Because she was Mo's daughter I'd been imagining her as some sort of shapeless hulk with a huge round head and little piggy eyes, much like him. The truth was that while she was obviously Chinese, there the resemblance ended. She was tiny, and very compact, with great melting eyes and dark hair that hung down below her bottom, a bottom that Jasmine assured me was extremely spankable. Just looking at her photo was enough to make me want to put her across my knee.

  All I knew about Tiffany was that she had red hair and was reading Politics, Philosophy and Economics. She'd also managed to get one of the first-floor rooms in the main quad at Erasmus, which suggested that she was pushy and not short of money. As we stood in the Victorian red-brick cloisters at the bottom of Tiffany's staircase Jasmine gave a little snort, conveying jealousy rather than the contempt she was hoping for.

  'She's going to be another stuck-up little bitch, isn't she?' she suggested.

  'Let's at least give her the benefit of the doubt,' I replied.

  The rooms opposite Tiffany's belonged to a don, a Dr Welsh, while the one directly next to hers was an SCR guest room. I was in college myself, on the t
op floor of Old Quad, which was about the best that a third-year could hope for, and St George's was at least venerable and beautiful. Still, I couldn't help but feel a touch of jealousy at Tiffany's surroundings. As I knocked on the door I was telling myself not to be silly, but the pure English arrogance of the voice that answered made it hard to suppress my feelings.

  'Come in.'

  We entered to find Tiffany seated in a large leather upholstered armchair. There was an open fire in the grate, which I was sure was illegal, and she was toasting a crumpet on the end of a long brass fork. She was small and slim, with an oval face framed by copper-coloured curls held back with an Alice band. Her expression suggestion absolute confidence, even a little disdain, making me wonder what Portia had told her.

  'You must be Isabelle and Jasmine,' she said. 'Do sit down. I can give you ten minutes.'

  'Ten minutes?' Jasmine responded. 'We really need to talk to you properly.'

  'My PPE group are coming for tea,' she explained.

  I'd assumed that she'd been making tea for us, but I realised now that there were too many cups, saucers and plates.

  'Portia's told me all about it anyway,' she went on, 'so I know this is just a formality. But I do love to be spanked, especially by rough girls. Portia tells me that you two strip in pubs?'

  I felt Jasmine stiffen beside me. I was still trying to find my voice to refute the accusation without actually telling a lie when Tiffany spoke up again.

  'So I'm thoroughly looking forward to it and, hopefully, to dishing out a little as well. Be a sweetie and butter this crumpet for me, would you?'

  She'd finished toasting the crumpet and put it down on a plate. I shut the door behind me and quietly slipped the latch into place, took three swift paces across the room and grabbed hold of her by the collar of her blouse. Tiffany hadn't even been looking and she dropped the toasting fork with a squeal of surprise and alarm, followed by a second yelp as I forced her down over the arm of her chair.

  'Get her skirt up, Jasmine,' I ordered.

  Jasmine hadn't needed to be told – she was already hauling the struggling girl's skirt high. It was tweed and quite tight, which made it difficult, and all the while she wouldn't stop kicking and protesting.

  'No! Stop it, you idiots! My friends are coming . . . my friends!'

  'Shut up,' Jasmine snapped, hauling hard on Tiffany's skirt to expose a pair of lacy black knickers.

  'Unless you want Dr Welsh across the corridor to see you like this,' I advised, 'and your precious friends.'

  I'd got Tiffany firmly by the scruff and Jasmine was holding her legs, allowing me to whip down the black panties and expose her small freckle-covered bottom to the air. The door was locked but she didn't know that, so I gave her a moment to imagine the humiliation of having her friends walk in to find her taking a spanking.

  'Please, I'm begging you!' she pleaded. 'You can do anything you like to me, just not now. Not now, please . . . please . . .'

  'Shut up,' I told her. Then I began to spank.

  Tiffany's bottom was very soft, the flesh squashing out under my hand with every smack. She couldn't take it either, wriggling in our grip and begging us to stop, in a state of blind panic that only made it all the more fun. Jasmine was enjoying herself too, and after a moment she changed her grip, hauling Tiffany's legs wide to display the rear view of a sweetly turned little pussy covered with thick ginger fur. From between the lips hung the string of a tampon, and she was so slim that her anus showed too, a fleshy pink dimple in a nest of crinkly hair. My bottom-hole looks the same, which brought home to me just how unfair we were being, so I gave her a final hard smack and then let go.

  'You . . . you horrible big bullies!' she sobbed. 'Portia said you were bitches, but . . . but that was so good! Do me again . . . please, just do it quickly.'

  I glanced at Jasmine, who shrugged. Tiffany hadn't tried to get up, so we took hold of her by her panties and the waistband of her skirt and set to work, slapping a cheek each. She was wearing stockings, which made the sight even more alluring as her legs pumped in her lowered underwear, with her thighs and cheeks parting to treat us to glimpses of her pussy and anus as she wriggled under the spanking. We only stopped when the clock on her mantelpiece chimed five, which presumably meant that her fellow PPE students were due to arrive. She jumped up, grinning and rubbing at her bottom, her pretty face set in an expression of bliss.

  'Ooh, that was nice!' Tiffany sighed. 'Now my bum will be lovely and hot while I'm serving tea. Come on, you'd better go.'

  'OK,' I agreed, 'but a couple of things first. Everybody in the Rattaners is equal, whatever their background, and by the way I'm a Scot, and I've been through public school and finishing school, as I suspect you have yourself?'

  She made to reply but thought better of it, pulling up her knickers instead.

  'And I locked the door, by the way,' I continued. 'We do try to be discreet.'

  Tiffany's response was a rather nervous nod. She smoothed her skirt down and began to sort out the tea things, not speaking but with her movements full of energy, like a mad imp. What I was saying didn't seem to be getting through to her at all but the warmth between my thighs provided the answer to what we'd come to find out. She could definitely be a Rattaner.

  I didn't manage to see Katie until the weekend, when her blonde head and freckled face poked shyly around the side of my door just as I was putting the finishing touches to my essay. We'd spent part of the summer in Scotland, as well as two weeks backpacking in the Auvergne, and we slept together regularly, yet she still hesitated before kissing me, almost as shy as she'd been on the day we'd met. I pulled her close and made her open her mouth, allowing my hand to stray to the seat of the tight white trousers she was wearing so that I could cup one chubby bottom cheek as she melted to my kiss.

  'How did it go with Yazzie?' I asked when I'd finally let her go.

  'Great,' she answered, full of enthusiasm, only to start to look worried. 'Oh, I forgot. You're not that keen, are you?'

  'I'm worried about her father, that's all. You know what that lot are like.'

  Katie gave a sympathetic nod, then went on.

  'Yazzie's really gentle and polite, and she takes the whole domination and submission thing really seriously. She even calls Jasmine Kyou, which is a suffix meaning ''Lady'' that Japanese submissives use.'

  'I thought she was Chinese?'

  'She is, or at least her mum is, and Mo's half and half. Apparently she was brought up by her mum, in London, but moved in with her dad a few months ago after he married this Jamaican woman.'

  'Mo's divorced, then? That's no surprise. So what do you think?'

  'I think she'd be all right. She loves to be tied up so that she's helpless and then to be spanked – or anything, really. It's being helpless that's important to her.'

  'Eliza would appreciate that, and so would Sarah. What does Portia think?'

  'She wasn't too keen at first but she changed her mind.'

  I was instantly suspicious, wondering if Portia might have some ulterior motive, only to dismiss the idea. Yazzie was cute and no doubt she appealed to Portia's cruel streak, just as she did to mine. I was still doubtful, because the thought of Mo's reaction if he discovered that I'd been tying his daughter up and spanking her didn't bear thinking about. But everybody else seemed to want her, and it was important to keep Jasmine and Caroline firmly on my side.

  'I suppose we'd better let her in, then,' I said. 'Now come and sit on my lap.'

  Katie sat, and I was treated to the delightful sensation of her bottom settling on my leg. Just to have her with me made me relaxed, and also aroused because of the smell of her and the feel of her flesh – and the way her rounded breasts pushed out the front of her blouse, which I began to undo.

  'Isabelle!' she squeaked. 'What if somebody comes?'

  'They'll knock first,' I assured her, 'and the stairs creak. Now hush. I want to see you.'

  Katie's top two buttons were already undone
and she didn't try to stop me, although her mouth had come open a little and she'd begun to shiver with embarrassment and arousal. I undid a third button, allowing me to open her blouse and tuck it in at either side of her breasts, squeezing them together in her full-cupped white bra. She was quite a bit bigger than me, filling out her bra so that low, soft bulges of flesh showed above the cups. Her nipples, already hard, showed through the material. I stroked each of them with a crooked finger to make her sigh, giving her trembling a new urgency before gently easing each breast from its restraining bra cup to leave them jutting bare and beautiful in the cool autumn sunlight.

  'Please, Isabelle, you're turning me on,' Katie said, half in protest, half in desire.

  'Hush,' I repeated, and began to stroke her breasts.

  She put her hands to her chest, cupping her breasts as if to protect herself but also holding them out for my attention.

  'Put your hands on your head,' I ordered.

  Katie obeyed instantly and closed her eyes, her shaking now so violent that her whole torso was quivering as I continued to tease her breasts. It felt wonderful just to control her and to feel her helpless reaction to my touch, even without the sight of her pretty, blissful face and bare chest, or the feel and the smell of her skin. I leant forward a little to take one stiff nipple, then the other, between my lips, sucking each one in and giving the gentlest of nips to her teats. She winced, and as I began to lick at her breasts she was making little sobbing noises in her throat.

  'Trollop,' I told her, when I finally pulled back. 'You're as bad as Caroline.'

  She shook her head.

  'Yes, you are,' I insisted, again cupping one plump breast to stroke the nipple with my thumb. 'Maybe I should make you strip in pubs?'