The Whipping Girl

I have known Moira deRossier since we were both three years old, and she has been like a sister to me. My parents, Gaspard and Marie Toulard, the Duke and Duchess of Soleil, agreed to foster her as my companion, educating her as I was educated, training her as I was trained, and offering her every comfort our station could provide.

The only difference is that she is my whipping girl.

I learned of her purpose in our family when I stole sweets from the kitchen when I was a young girl. Moira had begged me not to, afraid that I'd get caught, but I thought I was far too clever to be found out. Unfortunately I was seven - I wasn't nearly clever enough. My parents were away to survey their holdings in the north, leaving us in the care of our nanny. Our people believe in divine right - the gods put the blood of my family in power, and it is an affront to them to punish one of the royal blood if you haven't a drop of it in your own veins.

Such a thing presented problems when discipline was required and my parents were not present to administer it. And that was why Moira had been fostered.

Our nanny informed me of Moira's purpose then, and I had to watch as she was punished in my stead. It wasn't anything outrageous or harmful - a spanking. But still, Moira was a delicate little thing, and having anyone seem mad at her made her cry. So for her to be spanked and scolded put her into a state. That made me feel terrible, so for many years I made it a point to be as well behaved as I could.

And when I couldn't stand it, I learned to be so clever that I wasn't caught. Which brings us to the present day.

Moira, of course, suffers my adventures patiently, my loyalest and truest friend and accomplice. She provides countless alibis for me, especially during receptions, fetes, balls, and the like. I can't stand them. Being dressed up and paraded around as the only child of my royal parents, and then hearing the whispered pity of the other nobles that I hadn't been born a boy... it's enough to drive one mad. Imagine countless indignities like that, and you might understand why I've grown up to be so deviant.

It isn't that I look the part of ne'er-do-well. My own name is Aveline Toulard, and I clearly come from royal stock. Even now at the age of eighteen, I have filled out appropriately, my height of 5' 7" stately enough in a dress without providing an affront to any of the gentleman dignitaries that visit us. My father is very tall, and had his daughter been of the same stature, I'm sure things might have been somewhat difficult for him. Instead, I am finely boned and beautiful, elegant, fair-skinned, silver-eyed, and blessed with ringlets of rich brown hair that, when left unbound, tickle at my lower back.

Moira also comes from the aristocracy, and she looks the part. Her hair is black, but it curls just like mine does, and is just as long and silky. Her physique is milder, svelte and elfin, and her personality is demure and gentle. Moira has a love of beautiful things, like poetry and music, while I love adventure, danger, and risks. We are very different, but our bond is strong. Some mistake us for sisters, and I can hardly blame them for their error. I love her like she's family.

Despite all that, I am yet again in trouble.

My handler Tomas, an older man who'd taken over responsibility for me when our Nanny became too old for the task, glares at me, looking over my filthy hands, face, and clothes. I'd stolen a pair of pants and a tunic, and had lit out on my father's old war horse, a stallion named Maelstrom. Despite his age, Maelstrom lives up to his name, but I can handle him. Or, rather, I usually can. This time I was thrown as I was racing him through the field. A flock of partridges had screamed and fluttered up out of the grasses, and Maelstrom was caught by surprise, immediately skidding to a stop. I kept going right over his head and tumbled to the dirt some ways away. I wasn't really hurt, but the bruises would be impossible to hide. I led Maelstrom back to the stables on foot, not attempting to lie about my mischief.

"You cannot risk your foolish neck with foolish stunts, Aveline!" Tomas yells tiredly, rubbing at his temple.

This is the first time I've been caught in several years, and I feel great apprehension about it. If the punishment were to come to me I'd hardly care. But I know it's not going to, not this time. Again, father is away. Mother passed from an illness many years ago, and father's duties frequently keep him away for months on end.

"I know, Tomas" I say, feeling like I've been saying this on repeat endlessly for the last hour. It's obviously that he wants to strike me in the face and be done with it, but if he lays a hand upon me his life will be forfeit. I'd hate for that to happen - I like Tomas quite a lot.

He scowls, then sighs. "Where's Moira?"

My face flushes. I want to protest - Moira hasn't had to suffer this indignity for some time, and I swore to her that the last time would be just that. The last. But I've let her down, and I only hang my head in shame as I wait for Tomas to go find her. Likely he won't have to look for long. Moira loves spending the mornings in the library, studying or reading for pleasure with a cup of tea. I pace back and forth, my heart racing. Damnit. DAMNIT! Why did the foolish horse have to startle? Then again... why was I out racing him when I'd been told time and again that he was prone to doing precisely that? A firm hand and seat are necessary to keep him focused, and I'd not been providing with either.

Within twenty minutes, Tomas returns to the stable yard with Moira in tow. She gives me a look that's full of disappointment, and that hurts more than anything else. Her frock today is plain but pretty, the laces of her bodice resting over her small bottom, the gray material clean and soft and well-tailored.

Tomas orders her to undress to the waist, and Moira flushes hotly. She's so shy about her body, and I glance around, noting a few stable hands going about their business. Yet there's nothing for it, and Moira pulls the laces loose behind her, rolling her shoulders up from her sleeves and pulling the front of her dress down, baring herself. Her slender arms hug around her small breasts, and she shivers in the chill of this March morning.

The punishment is brutal but quick - ten lashes with his folded belt, each one cracking down on her small back and leaving bruises and welts in its wake. Moira trembles and grits her teeth, but she doesn't make a sound, determined to carry out her duty and take the punishment on my behalf. When it's over, Tomas drops the belt on the ground and moves over to her immediately, guiding her with gentle words and hands back inside, and I'm left to stand there in the yard to contemplate what I've done.

\\\

Later that evening, after I shower, dress properly, and we all take our dinner in silence, I find Moira up in her room, sitting on her bed. A candle that was probably snuffed out recently smokes in coils of blue and gray against the moonlight. Very quietly I slip inside and close the door again, but she doesn't move, aside from turning her head just enough to listen to me lock the door again.

"Moira, I know you're mad at me, and I'm so sorry," I say at last, moving to kneel by her bed, where she's currently sitting.

For a while she doesn't say anything, and at first I think it's because she's very angry with me. Yet the tension in her features isn't from fury, and I slowly move to sit next to her on her bed. A light blanket is wrapped over her shoulders, but other than that she's naked. I'm so used to seeing her naked that I think nothing of it - people typically don't wear clothing in their bed chamber at night, and we used to share a room up until a few years ago.

"Does it hurt terribly?" I ask softly, trying to break into her silence however I can.

At long last she swallows, then glances at me and smiles nervously. "A little. Does it look bad?"

Cautiously I pull the sheet away, and I can see ten ugly purple marks welted across her back in crisscrossing stripes. It makes me wince, and she looks down self-consciously. My voice is sympathetic as I say, "That looks very painful."

She shrugs softly, and when she turns back to me I can see that her nipples are hard little points. It's chilly tonight, but not unbearable. Her eyes are soft and nervous as she looks at me, and I lean forward to kiss her cheek to comfort her.

To my surprise, she turns her head at the last moment, and our lips meet. This isn't our first kiss; that had been when we were fourteen, and she'd read so much about kisses breaking enchantments that she wanted to see what they were like. Of course I'd complied, enjoying it like a game. We cuddled all the time, being best friends, but sometimes, late at night, it would turn into a little more. Her hands would gather up mine, and I'd explore her body, touching her curves as I spooned up behind her. That was all it had ever been.

Tonight, her kiss deepens, and I can feel her tremble as she shifts close to me, her hands resting on my thighs. There's something about this kiss that isn't experimental, and I realize my heart is beating harder as I draw her to me gently.

"Aveline... what's wrong with me?" she whispers desperately against my lips, her own trembling even as she seizes my mouth with her own. Her hands rove over my body, her fingers seeking out the lacing at the front of my bodice and tugging at it, loosening it.

I'm quite confused, and I move away from the kiss just a little, just enough to speak. "What do you mean? Are you alright?" She nods and tries to move forward, grinning, and I smile back, playfully shoving her onto her back.

And then she moans luridly, her back arching from the bed, head thrown back and hair splayed in a tumble on her white sheets. My eyes widen at the sight. I've never seen this sort of thing. Of course I know how sex works - all of that was explained to me long ago. But I've never seen it happen, nor anything near to passion. And this is most definitely sexual passion.

"Moira... what's going on with you?" I hiss, moving over her to clap my hand over her mouth. "Have you been drinking wine?"

She writhes beneath me, shaking her head beneath my hand. I frown with confusion, up until the moment when she lifts her knee up between my legs and grinds the top of her thigh between my own. Layers of clothing separate her bare leg from my secret flesh, but even so I blink and tense. It feels good. Very good, and I close my eyes, biting my lip as I use my free hand to slowly pull up my skirts, until her bare thigh at last presses against my naked womanhood.

It surprises me when her skin slides over that secret place. I'm wet and aroused, and I flush hotly in the shadows of her bed, looking down at her in puzzlement. I'd been told to expect a husband someday, and that we would have children, as is the custom. I have never fought against that future, knowing that I'd have a say in my selection. And I know that I like being with men - I've tarried with a few of the stable boys, and I enjoyed every moment.

I just never knew that I enjoyed tarrying with women, too. With Moira beneath me, moving against me, arching, moaning into my hand, it sets my flesh on fire. I'm just about to lower my mouth to hers when there's a knock at the door.

"Lady Moira? Are you well?" The voice belongs to Janet, one of the household staff. Her room is only a few doors down from ours.

We both freeze on the bed, and I bite my lip, moving off of her. She slips out of the bed, grimacing at the pain in her back, and pulls on a robe, looking at me urgently as I tie my bodice as quickly as I can. She shoos me to sit at her desk, and I'm just tying the knot at the bottom as Moira unlocks her door and opens it a crack.

"Hello, Janet. I'm fine."

The fretful voice just outside the door asks "I heard about what happened with Tomas. Do you need any ointment?"

Moira shakes her head and smiles, clutching her robe about her chest with her right hand. "No, I'll be alright." She bites her lip, and moves closer, whispering shyly "I had tried to lie down on the bed, and I wasn't prepared for how much it would ache. I made such a noise, and I'm quite embarrassed."

Janet pouts and pats Moira's hand. "Poor child. You've always been such a lamb. Come down to the kitchen tomorrow, and I'll have an extra scone with honey for you."

"Would you?" Moira asks, her smile grateful. "You're an angel, Janet. Thank you."

"Be well, dear."

I hear Janet move off down the hallway, and Moira closes the door again, breathing out slowly as she turns the lock. Her eyes are wet as she looks over at me guiltily, and she nibbles her lip. "I don't know what came over me, Aveline" she pleads. "I'm sorry if I caused you distress."

For a moment I just look at her, my hands folded in my lap. "Hardly. But are you alright? I've never seen you like that. Didn't that hurt?"

Moira nods desperately and looks down at her hands, which worry at each other. "Yes. I... I've kept a secret from you, Aveline." The wind whistles outside, causing the clouds to drift outside the window of her tower bedroom. "Do you remember when you stole those sweets when we were seven? The first time I was punished on your behalf?"

I nod, feeling terribly guilty about it all over again.

"Yes, well... I didn't understand, but when it happened I was upset. You'll remember that I cried. But... there was a moment as it was happening when I almost laughed. I didn't know why I would want to laugh." Moira takes in a shaky breath, and moves away from the door, pacing the breadth of her room, gesturing with her nervous hands as she continues. "As we got older, and I was punished for you, I... liked it. It made me feel good in a way I couldn't explain. I've always been so... unlike you."

My brow lifts, and she looks down, then back up at me.

"You're so brave and adventurous, and I'm just meek little Moira, happy to stay in the library. So when I was punished, struck and bruised, it felt wicked and alluring, like I was getting away with something because I so enjoyed it. You had your secret mischief, and I've had mine too, Aveline. Are you angry with me?" Her eyes lock onto mine, her demeanor just barely keeping its composure as she waits for my judgment.

This all comes as a shock to me. I'd never guessed at any of this. Clearly Moira is far better at keeping secrets than I am. "Of

course

I'm not angry with you. I can't say that I understand, but I'm happy that you have found something good in it."

She breathes out again in relief, her smile broad as her hands lift to clasp at her chest in gratitude. Of course, I can't help but cause a little more trouble. It's not in my nature to leave things alone, of course. I rise to my feet and approach her, slowly gathering her in my arms. Her trust in me is so great that she huddles against me, wrapping her arms around my waist as she rests her cheek on my shoulder, her forehead resting against my neck.

And then I slowly, firmly slide my hand up her back, from her hips to her nape. Immediately she tenses, her hands gripping at my skirts. A trembling whimper issues from her lips and she shivers in my arms. I can feel her face heat up with a blush, unseen in the shadows, and her head lifts just enough so that we can kiss again. Her arms move to wrap around my shoulders, and with every long, slow pass of my hand along her spine, her kiss grows hungrier and more passionate, her body pressing against mine, needy and tense.

Knowing that she needs relief, and soon, I guide her to sit on the bed, making sure that she doesn't fall accidentally onto her back. Gods know what sort of moan she'd make. Moira just looks at me helplessly, saturated with need but without the experience needed to help herself. I know that the thought of touching herself makes her nervous. I'd tried to tell her that it felt good, but she'd always grow shy and would change topic.

Which means that, tonight, this is up to me. And since she's the first woman I've ever been with, I'll have to figure it out as I go. Of course, I'd been with the stable boys, and they'd touched me in ways I'd liked. Maybe Moira will like those things, too.

I kneel on the floor before her and gently part her legs with my hands. Beneath my palms I can feel her thighs shiver and tense, and I know that she's making herself do this in spite of her own shyness. Pushing her onto her back would be too much at once, so I gather up her right hand and take up her index finger into my mouth, suckling on it.

Moira sighs, relaxing a little, though when I slowly press my teeth against her skin, she clamps her lips together to stifle another, quieter moan. Her legs part willingly then, and I use my other hand to touch her, caressing over her inner thigh and letting it guide me toward her secret flesh, shadowed within her robe. My fingertips feel her soft, warm curls, and within them I feel her slick heat. She trembles, resting her hips right on the edge of the bed, offering herself to me as I touch her, feeling the edges of her full, moist lips and finding the firming, hidden pearl above them.

Her hips jerk and she bites her lip, and I know for a fact that I've found it.

I release her finger from my mouth and move in on all fours, kissing along her thigh, following that familiar path to what is still hidden in the shadows. My lips find her own secret ones and I kiss her there, feeling her shift. A trickle of warm nectar dribbles over my lower lip, and I slide out my tongue to taste it. She tastes like I do, or at least like my fingers do after I touch myself.

"Aveline..." Moira breathes, her voice soaking with need. My eyes roll up and I shift back, looking up along the line of her milky, slender body, barely hidden in her robes. Her chest is heaving, and in the moonlight I can see that her cheeks are hotly flushed. She's beautiful... why did I never notice how beautiful she is?

"If I have you lie down on the bed, you must cover your mouth, Moira. You must be quiet."

She nods quickly, and shifts back onto the bed. She finds a pillow and covers her face with it, keeping it there with tense, curled fingers. I slide onto the bed on my belly, parting her legs and opening the robe to leave her bare below the waist. In the moonlight, her body is gorgeous, moving, shivering, ready. The glisten of her womanhood is alluring, and I move in closer to slide my tongue along that gleaming slit, just barely hidden in her silky curls.

The pillow over her face is clutched hard as she moans, the sound thankfully muffled and quiet. Once again I pass my tongue along her flesh, the tip just hooking beneath her pearl to tease it. Moira whines into the pillow, her knees bending while the soles of her feet press to the bed, then lifting onto the balls and toes only. Her hips move slowly, grinding against my mouth as I taste her more deeply. My hands move beneath her backside to cup at her cheeks, my fingers clutching at them and enjoying their warm firmness.

What had one of the boys done for me? Think, Aveline. That tongue thing. Yes, that had felt amazing, but how did it go? I make a few attempts, and though she squirms and whimpers, I can tell that I'm not doing it right. If I was doing it right... I give it one more attempt, and Moira arches her back sharply, gripping the pillow desperately tight as she cries out. Her legs shake to either side of me, and I can feel her leak hotly and tremble, her secret flesh quivering and tightening against my mouth.

Thank the gods for that pillow, because Moira is very loud. Only when she finally calms down and melts upon the bed do I slowly move away. My face is half covered in her, and while I love the flavor, I need to clean up. Getting up, however, proves difficult, given how my knees are weak and my own secret flesh aches for attention. I make it to the washbasin and tidy up, but I have to brace my hands on the wall for a moment before I begin the perilous trek back to the bed.