~~~Bastion~~~
I walked from the library quickly, my mind roiling with thoughts and emotions. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to marshal my thoughts -- and slow my racing heartbeat. Mary stood patiently and silently in position, awaiting instructions. If she thought my behavior or demeanor were out of the ordinary she was too well trained to say anything. Too well disciplined might be a better description. She had been the last 'plaything' of my father -- the 6th Earl. Now there was a man who knew the meaning of 'discipline' I thought, reflecting on the past. I remembered that Mary had been his favourite, eventually moving up the hierarchy of the house to become Housekeeper. It wasn't favouritism that had earned those promotions; she was good at the job. And if anyone had suspected otherwise I could have told them about the down-side of being my father's favourite. He had run his house to 'old fashioned' standards -- mistakes were punished. I'd learnt first hand that Mary could take the cane and tawse and paddle like none I had seen before - or since.
I kept her on after my father died and I inherited the title. Certainly I had fond memories of how she had been given to me by my father on my 16th birthday. An older woman is the dream of many a boy -- but one that came true for me. In her mid-thirties at that time it had been a wonderful introduction to some of the privileges that went with the title of Earl of Shorncliffe. But it was not a sentimental decision to continue her employment. Mary had shown the steel necessary to keep the other, newer, girls in line. She was indispensable.
I glanced at her, noticing the eyes correctly downcast, hands at her sides, waiting on -- there was no other way to put it -- waiting on my pleasure. Mentally I nodded approval at how inculcated she had been by years of training.
"You may attend to the library now Mary. Adam and Wren are still in there -- as are the two new girls. You may care to know that the girls performed...satisfactorily."
To myself I wondered why I had chosen to phrase my words in that particular way. Was it because I did not want to reveal too much to Mary? Not to let her see how much what I had I had just experienced had affected me? Perhaps my thoughts and feelings were too disordered to process and express clearly? The girl had shaken me up in a way I had not expected.
I had become accustomed to the serving girls coming and going, staying in the house a summer, for six months, but not living in my memory more than a few days after they left. Well chosen by Barton they all, with greater and lesser degrees of enthusiasm, had succumbed and become playthings for my guests and myself. But my reaction to Kat had suddenly showed me that, what had seemed like a desirable way to ensure variety, might actually be turning stale and boring.
I realised that I needed to impose some discipline - upon myself for a change -- and make plans. I found myself strangely excited at the prospect, energized by the possibilities the new girl had revealed to me.
Mary nodded, bobbing her head in part curtsey. I started to walk down the corridor, then turned back to her as her hand rested on the handle of the library door, an inspiration occurring to me.
"Mary? That new girl, the Scottish one, not the French tart."
She nodded her understanding of the distinction and waited for my instructions.
"Fit her with the 'virgin's girdle' -- tonight."
Once more she nodded. Then she surprised me by smiling -- and looking directly at me. There was a sparkle in her green eyes and a smile on her generous mouth -- the look of a person recalling a fond memory.
"It has been many years since the girdle was used in this house."
Her comment - and direct gaze - shocked me.
"Mary! I do not pay you for....for such impertinence. You will see Mr. Barton first thing tomorrow morning and request six punishment strokes! Understood?"
Mary's eyes were downcast again. "Yes M'lord I understand." she said, before entering the library. But as she did, it seemed to me that she still smiled. But in the gloom of the corridor I could not be sure. Not sure enough to make an issue of it.
Once in my room I stripped and turned on the shower. My cock was still half hard, even after my exertions. Glancing down I noticed traces of blood on the shaft, witness to the surrender of the Scottish girl's maidenhead. Instantly my cock was fully erect. I turned off the shower and switched the taps to fill a bath. Once I was deep in the water I allowed myself to fall into a reverie, trying to sort out my feelings and deciding how to proceed.
"What a find that girl might be." I whispered to myself.
"Kat" - I couldn't carry on calling her 'the Scottish one' pretending that depersonalizing her made me think differently. I went back over the events of the night in my mind.
She made an impression from first entering the room. The uniform suited her and she suited the uniform. Her exciting curves filling it much better than the French girl. Her pathetic attempts not to reveal too much, in clothes that were designed to reveal everything, were somehow charming. But I had really started to notice her as she served. I could see the trembling running through her, making the dishes on her tray rattle. A practiced eye told me that it was not fear or shame or any other negative emotion causing this - just pure lust; raw, native passion. But it didn't need expertise to see that. Even the unpracticed eye would easily notice the evidence every time she bent over, exposing her wet cunt, glistening in the candlelight -- how ever much she tried to avoid exposing herself.
Then I recalled my amazement as I watched her licking up the wine from the table. Now, thinking back, I almost regretted slapping her - now I knew how 'green' she was. Barton usually employed girls with a bit more experience. (How he found this out in the interview I had never enquired.) But it had been such a thrill to see her reaction! Shock and dismay were clear in her face, fat tears spilling from her lashes -- but there was an excitement in those same eyes, glowing like a banked fire. I literally shivered as I recalled the look on that pretty face -- cheek livid with my handprint.
But all these thrills had been surpassed by her reactions in the library. She had watched me cane Alice and it had obviously excited her; beyond anything she had experienced before. My cock twitched and swelled as I recalled breaching her hymen. She had loved it! I have often had the pleasure -- and sometimes the honour -- of being a girl's 'first'. But none of them had enjoyed it as much as Kat -- and none had enjoyed me taking their virginity as much as her.
Then the delights of her virgin arse! It was all I could do not start stroking my cock as I thought about how she had pushed herself back on me when I had stopped thrusting. Her first cock, first in her arse - and she wanted more! With lovers I am gentle when introducing them to buggery. With the serving girls I don't care. Either way I have not found one who actually liked it -- not the first time at least. Most had, at the very least, learned to accept it -- following a variety of 'inducements'. These varied according to their position and their temperament. For the servants the cane was usually enough. For lovers from my own social strata this would have caused 'talk' -- and I found jewelry worked (almost) as well.
But not Kat. "First time and she loved it." I repeated in my head again. "She's a natural."
I couldn't help but make the comparison with Alice. The French girl was certainly pretty, and sexually skilled - but she was not a 'natural'. Nor was she a virgin, in any sense. Her reactions in the library had shown me that she was not a novice when it came to being to being dominated and punished. Someone had trained her; half trained her anyway -- but not well enough. She'd acquiesced to all we demanded of her -- but only after a hard beating.
In that way she reminded me of a horse I had once bought from a friend -- a French bred mare by coincidence. The horse was as pretty and well proportioned as any I had ever seen. She trotted and cantered like a dream in the paddock, but in the field, during a hunt; it was a different story. To get the best from her required almost constant application of the crop. But even then you always knew that, when it came to the really challenging fences, she would refuse, however hard the beating.
It gave me no pleasure to hunt, to ride, like that. Much better a well-trained mount that responded to a touch of the reins, the slightest pressure from thigh or knee -- or the prick of a spur just occasionally. To get that sort of responsiveness, that innate understanding and responsiveness, I believe you need to be involved in the training from very early on -- and allow no other riders until that level of mastery is established.
This theory shaped my thoughts as I drained the bath and made ready for bed. I made my plans accordingly -- and the excitement created by doing so kept me awake long after I turned off the light.
Day 2 - AM
In the morning I breakfasted with my guests from the previous night, Wren and Adam. The brothers were in fine fettle after last night's fun in the library.
The French windows of the breakfasting room are opened wide onto the South Lawn. Already the day promised to be warm and we talked about how to spend our time. Adam and Wren congratulated me on my choice of new staff but chided me for not sharing "the blonde with the big tits." I smiled and explained that the host must retain some privileges for himself.
"You can use Alice any way you like, as long as you stay. But I have plans for......the blonde." I told them.
Wren had obviously been thinking about how to 'use' the French girl and made some suggestions. I summoned Barton, and asked him to arrange things to Wren's specifications. With that done Wren grinned at Adam and said,
"We should have some real fun with the French slut tonight. It would be even better if you'd let us play with your one as well."
I couldn't help but laugh at his persistence, shaking my head. Wren, Adam and I, being cousins in a close family, had been raised together from childhood. They were literally like brothers to me and I loved them as such -- but they could be every bit as exasperating as any real siblings. Adam, the elder of the two, would inherit my title if I died without an heir. If this subject ever came up he expressed only disgust at the thought. A surfeit of money and an almost total lack of responsibilities allowed both of them to indulge in almost unbridled hedonism. Neither wanted this way off life to be constrained in any way.
This combination of factors freed them to explore any whim or desire -- and all they seemed to wish to explore was sex. Always curious and experimental they had, over a period of time, progressed from adventurous to daring and then quickly on to kinky. By the present day the heights of perversity have long since been scaled and they were now in a dark, uncharted region on the other side of that peak.
