Chapter 19: La Contessa's Arrival
Later that morning Julia summons me and the other staff. La Contessa has arrived earlier than expected; she's been spotted in the distance riding along the sweeping avenue leading to the hunting lodge. Julia hurriedly assembles the domestic staff to greet her. It seems she has taken two horses, one for herself and another for Mademoiselle La Tour, to ride on ahead of the carriage. As a group of us emerge from the house. La Contessa has already dismounted, and strides towards the wooden portico at the entrance of the lodge, leading a splendid black stallion by its reins. Julia hastily hustles the staff into a line and we bow or curtsey to La Contessa.
Her face is flushed red, and her chest is heaving with the exertion of the gallop down the drive. Her horse, its body still steaming, is a magnificent beast, as imposing as its mistress. She towers over us, both because she's tall, also because her bearing and presence enhance her stature. She's dressed in hunting attire, a smartly tailored black jacket, which spreads out over her hips to accentuate her hour-glass figure, and a top hat with a pheasant feather in it. In her hand is a riding crop. My eyes are drawn to her fawn jodhpurs clinging tightly to her thighs, and her riding boots, knee high with silver spurs on them. The leather is splattered with mud. I remember polishing these boots and getting turned on by handling them. To see them on their owner, worn with such power and elegance is a sight to behold. The scowl on her face betrays her displeasure.
"What sort of rabble do you call this, Julia? Do you think this is the greeting I should expect after a long journey?"
In a fluster, Julia replies, "No, madam. I'm sorry, madam. We've been busy getting things ready, and we weren't expecting you until later."
"You should know to expect me at any time. I trust everything is prepared for me and my guest," she says, as an assumption more than a question.
"Yes, madam, everything is ready," Julia says, and luckily it is.
La Contessa's piercing gaze bears down on Julia, "You seem flushed, maid."
"Well yes, madam, I've been busy with finishing touches to make sure everything's perfect for you."
"No, I don't mean it in that way. I mean flushed like you've had a good fucking, my maid. Look at your rosy cheeks, you're positively glowing."
Julia looks horrified, and guilty.
"I'm sorry, madam, it must be because the last few days have been hectic," she mumbles.
La Contessa glances up at the rest of the staff to gauge their reaction. What do they know... or suspect? They appear uneasy. Is it because they know about me and Julia, or because their mistress is angry?
Her gaze is directed at me, stood behind Julia in the line with the other staff.
"You slave, come here," she orders.
I move forward and offer a sweeping bow.
"Welcome, mistress. I hope you've had a pleasant journey," I don't expect to sweet-talk her out of her foul mood, but it's worth a try.
"Oh well, at least one of you is ready to greet me properly," she says with sarcasm. "But don't think mere pleasantries will get you out of trouble slave. You are getting above yourself. A bit of praise and it goes to your head. That needs to be corrected, my slave. And what do you think you're doing here with clothes on? Strip off! And where are your manners, can't you see my guest wants help to dismount. She needs a foot stool to help her get down."
I contrive an appropriately contrite expression as I take my uniform off, but inside I've the lovely gut-wrenching feeling of submission. I love it when she's like this. Love the tone of controlled anger in her voice. Once naked, I walk over to Mademoiselle La Tour and get down onto all fours.
Mademoiselle, still sat upright in the saddle of her panting brown mare, looks on the scene with an amused glint in her eye.
I hear the crunch of riding boots on gravel as La Contessa follows me to Mademoiselle's mount.
"That's better, slave."
There's a swishing sound behind me as La Contessa slices the air with her riding crop using such force I feel the air blast against my backside like a winter squall. I know what will follow. The next stroke slices down on my arse with unrelenting power. It stings... it really stings! It's as if her irritation has been channelled into one stroke. I use all my powers of control to hold my position and stop myself from screaming in pain. Another three hard hits strike the flesh of my backside. The stiff wood of the riding crop delivers a severe stroke.
"I've been waiting to do that, my slave. You've grown complacent in my service and you need to be taught a lesson."
"Yes mistress, thank you mistress."
"Don't think this hunting trip is a holiday for you... or any of my servants," she adds fiercely, so they can hear. "You will be put to work and I will use you how I see fit."
"Yes mistress, of course mistress," I say, and I mean it. I want her to punish me. I want to submit to her.
La Contessa reaches her hand out to Mademoiselle, and the French woman slides off her horse, resting one of her booted feet on my back. The leather sole presses on me, but I strain to keep my position. Soon after, the second boot comes to rest on me so she balances precariously on my back. Mademoiselle may be petite but I'm still supporting her entire weight. I struggle to bear her as the riding boots press down on me, and the stones of the drive dig into my hands and knees. I daren't give way as, if I collapse, Mademoiselle will go tumbling onto the ground, and I'll be in serious trouble. At the moment when my body is about to give way, Mademoiselle steps off my back and I get relief. I maintain my supplicant position though.
Mademoiselle is dressed in riding attire in the same fashion as La Contessa. I've only seen her in formal dress and preposterous bejewelled wigs before. Viewing her today with subtle make-up and her black hair tumbling loose from under a top hat, I appreciate what a natural beauty she is.
"I think he rather enjoys the crop, Contessa. I recall how I used it on him during your card game."
"He's not meant to enjoy anything, Mademoiselle. He is there to suffer for me and serve me. Is that not so, slave?"
"Yes. mistress," I concur.
"I think he should have more strokes," Mademoiselle says.
"Whatever gives you pleasure, my friend. He is yours to use how you please."
The crop whips down on my arse in a succession of severe strokes, some using the stiff body of the crop, others the leather loop at its tip. Mademoiselle may only be tiny, but her hits pack a punch. She stops to tease me, running the crop gently against my backside. The leather loop is soft against my flesh, but it's only a short relief as the crop cracks on my arse. It's sore now, and tender to touch.
There's a crunch of boot on gravel as Mademoiselle takes her place in front of me. I keep my head down to maintain my supplicant position. I'm conscious of the brown leather of her riding boots and the fawn moleskin stretched over her thighs. From here I can peek under her riding jacket to spy her crotch where I see a damp patch, whether from the sweat of being in the saddle or arousal at punishing me, it's hard to say.
