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“Come along girl,” Annabelle heard her new governess, a certain Miss Muriel Gray, order as the older woman’s fingertip coaxed the young woman’s panting body back into position over Muriel’s lap on the sofa.
The young lady couldn’t resist a sigh as the finger slid down under the swell of her pubic mound. Given she was already naked at her governesses behest, there really was little question of resistance. In fact compliance was certainly the order of the day:
“Oooh — oooh.”
Then another spank landed on the young woman’s bare backside, but not too hard this time, despite the loud report. The girl moaned.
“There’s a good girl.”
Three quick spanks followed in swift succession. The pert young miss swivelled her bum-cheeks seeking in a vain attempt to swerve away to protect herself. The older woman’s hands edged her back again.
Then Miss Muriel’s palm stung her protégée once more. The spoilt, young girl squirmed and gasped. She snatched forward and away from the blow, but landed on the wicked fingers playing around her nubile sex.
And then, she pulled away from the intrusion, so that her already tender bum thrust itself backwards and collided with the next spank, jolting her forward again from pleasure to pain and back again in quick succession.
“Oooh — ooh — M-miss Muriel — I…”
“Hush. That’s a good girl.”
Again our young heroine wriggled back from the toying digits. They were so insistent and so hard to escape and yet the tattered remains of her modesty required Annabelle to show some degree of restraint. There was little hope of that though, for, once more, Miss Muriel decided that delicious bottom was quite obviously pleading for another spank. And this was duly delivered.
Slowly over the past six months the girl had learned lessons which her mama would never have taught her. The kneeling to say her prayers had been replaced by kneeling to lick out her governess’s crotch, while Muriel platted the eighteen year old’s hair. The brushing her teeth in the morning had been facilitated by nipple clamps that served as a convenient toothbrush holder while she rinsed her mouth.
Annabelle had previous become very proficient in the flower arranging and country dancing advocated by the elderly governess who had made way for the more modern techniques of Miss Gray. And Annabelle was now assuredly becoming similarly adept at arranging her limbs over her new governess’s desk and spreading them well, so that Muriel could slowly sodomise her with a banana from the fruit bowl or, better still, one of the ebony dildos that she had brought back from a trip to Morocco.
And Annabelle now danced so well when bent across Miss Gray’s desk and caned neatly across the backs of both thighs just above the level that her less than modest skirt would cover. Her dancing through the night as Miss Gray rode her face was second to none.
As for Annabelle’s papa: well, although he had only an inkling of the full curriculum, he was most eager to share his knowledge of his child’s instruction.
The recommendations from France, Italy and Spain had determined his initial choice given they were accompanied by the most interesting pictures of Miss Muriel’s previous charges. And further interesting almost incestual imagery had followed over the subsequent six months. So, he had become rather more aware that Miss Muriel’s classes included all sorts of the more interesting aspects of deportment.
And the training had been most successful mecidiyeköy escort over the summer as exemplified today. Annabelle had clearly begun to realise that if she squirmed back away from the fingers, then her young bum couldn’t help but thrust itself out, all ripe and ready for the descending palm. And it was so unfair: the more she stuck it out, the harder her poor dear sit-upon got spanked.
The thing was not to stick it out. If Belle resisted the urge to slide backwards away from the naughty governess’s fingers — well, she still got spanked, but not so hard. True she would be spanked enough to make her wriggle; to squirm a bit and to make her even more squirmy, but, slowly, our star pupil caught on to that too.
Muriel’s hand slapped her charge again: not too hard. The girl wriggled: not too much. The hand hovered: not too eagerly. And the bottom stopped squirming without too much delay. All in all, the sequence was quite balletic.
And yet with the next slap, the next less than virtuous spank, our trainee ballerina found that despite her attempts at horizontal over the knee entrechat, she was wriggling rather a lot!
“You don’t seem to be able to hold still, girl,” Muriel commented in a dry tone. “I have a mind to write to my dear friend Emma and her mama to tell them how my latest little house slut misbehaves all the time.”
“I most certainly would. And I will send them the photographs of that rather large cucumber in your delightfully tight behind the other night.”
“Not quite as shaming as you devouring the cucumber sandwiches with your family at luncheon today, without telling them of the recent excursion of the gourd.”
“Never mind. I told your papa afterwards.”
“He seemed strangely pleased and asked the maid to bring him the remains of the sandwiches with his afternoon tea.”
“Yes, oh yes: oh your filthy, deviant papa indeed.”
“That’s hardly my fault, Miss Muriel.”
“Whose fault would it be then?”
“It could be yours, Miss,” the girl replied hesitantly and instantly blushed at the less than veiled accusation.
“And whose responsibility are you?”
“Yours, Miss Muriel”
“And so it’s more my right than my fault isn’t it?”
“If you like, Miss Muriel”
“I do like and what does my little lap-cunt like?”
“She likes the way you explain things so much better than she can.”
“Would that also be so much better than mama or papa could do?”
“Oh, yes miss,” the girl squirmed happily feeling Miss Muriel’s fingers pressing and probing, pushing daringly against the young girl’s surprisingly intact hymen.
“Even so, pet.”
“Even so what, Miss Muriel?”
“Even so, I do think something a little more severe than spanking might be called for,’ Muriel warned her. “Arch yourself up and wait for me. And don’t forget to expose yourself properly, girl.”
Miss Annabelle Archet pressed her eighteen year old belly down and pushed her youthful bottom back, spreading her legs as she knelt on the sofa in the drawing room, blushing to think how she was showing absolutely everything.
Hearing Miss Muriel walk across the room, to her little locked cabinet that had been an ominous presence in the house since Miss Gray had first arrived from the continent, Annabelle bit her lip, but she didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. She knew that, sitting in there, was Muriel’s collection aksaray escort of belts, canes, floggers and tawses, all of which had been put to good use on the younger daughter of the Archet family.
And Miss Gray was bound to select the new belt. She was always a one for novelty. Annabelle knew it was her governess’s favourite toy for corrective purposes now: an unadorned black strip of thin, supple Italian leather, all the way from Firenze.
Annabelle winced again. She could see Muriel in her mind’s eye holding the buckle in her palm and wrapping the leather twice about her hand. She could sense the way Muriel would flick her wrist with a practised motion.
And she winced again as she heard the belt crack satisfyingly in the thin air and let out an apprehensive moan. Then Annabelle swallowed, knowing that her indiscretion would return Muriel’s attention to her youthful form.
Annabelle quivered at the thought of Miss Gray looking back at her pupil waiting uncertainly and displayed so obscenely. She flushed to think of Muriel seeing her legs spread with her pussy and arsehole both revealed so rudely. Then she closed her eyes trying to ward off Muriel’s attentions.
Annabelle knew that as she screwed her eyes tight closed, Muriel’s eyes were drinking in her nubile young curves and the lush expanse of tender flesh offered up to Muriel’s mercy.
There was no longer any pubic hair to hide Annabelle’s modesty. Muriel had had that waxed away when first she had discovered how unkempt and hirsute her new charge was at the first undressing she had subjected Annabelle to.
And Belle also knew that Muriel would hear each of her shallow, panting breaths and could see, between the splay of her teenaged thighs, the rise and fall of her pertly dangling breasts.
“How many, then, Belle?”
‘How many?’ Annabelle queried meekly, once Muriel returned to resume her position at the girl’s side.
“How many shall I ask your mama in to help you count, pet?”
“Oh no, Miss: please I’d die of shame.”
“Then how many shall I ask your twenty one year old sister to share with you? I could spank you both together then – since you are quite as naughty as each other and don’t seem to be able to keep your tongues out of each other’s pussies these days… or your tight little bottom holes either as I recall from the photographs I took of you both last week.”
“How can you be so cruel?”
“With the greatest of ease as far as you are concerned, Belle.”
“You are so horrid to me?”
“And you love it, pet.”
“I do, it’s true.”
‘Well, in the absence of a sensible response from my agreeably submissive spoilt slut, I think the answer is enough to elicit something approaching contrition,’ Muriel almost giggled as she answered her own question. Annabelle nodded compliantly and looked up towards her governess.
“Now, arch your backside, slut.”
Obediently, Annabelle lifted herself up, her motion contrasted nicely by the way she looked down modestly at the sofa arm all the time. She was actually thinking how Muriel was at that very moment drawing back her arm and preparing to strike, so had good reason to be both demure and concessional.
Simultaneously, Muriel and Annabelle considered just how the whippy leather would land with a sharp report on the fullest curve of Miss Archet’s bottom-cheeks.
“And let’s try to see just how much we can disturb your dear papa next door.”
“Oh no, miss!”
“Oh yes, pet. Now cry nişantaşı escort out if you dare, my sweet little spoiled bitch.”
Annabelle trembled to think her father would hear her mewls as the tip of the belt licked into the split crevice of her private areas. Muriel trembled to think that Mr Archet, working next door would lick his dry lips and unbutton himself as he heard his daughter’s tormented cries.
And both knew that an anguished wail would tear from the girl’s throat, as Archet started to flaunt his raddled cock, pausing over tea in the next room. At that thought Annabelle began to raise her hand to protect her soon-to-be abused buttocks.
‘Hold still!’ Miss Gray snapped and, at the sound of Muriel’s displeasure, Annabelle’s hand shot back to its proper place, clinging to the sofa as to a safe harbour in a storm.
And then it began again. Muriel tanned Annabelle Archet’s arse cheeks methodically and clinically. She laid down each thin red stripe a little higher up the girl’s flanks right up to the point where the girl’s buttocks tapered into the small of her back.
Then, Muriel returned her whippy tool (with an inevitable vengeance) to the mid-point of the child’s derriere. She loved the squeals as the lashes descended on the teenager’s quivering arse cheeks.
Muriel wasn’t spiteful though. She was careful to avoid the girl’s plump, out-thrust shaven sex; but she compensated for that well enough. In fact, she made sure each blow landed with some precision and effect on the hapless girl’s upper thigh. Muriel actually allowed a greater length to mark the young girl’s skin, curling around and onto the front of her nubile legs.
Each lash elicited a barking cry from the disciplined child. A few tears were certain. And the eventual outcome was inevitable: buckling at the knees, Annabelle’s young hips snatched back and forth as her well-toasted bum got another half-dozen swishes of the governess’s belt for good measure.
And next door, on hearing the final outraged squeal of his cherished daughter, Mr Archet came, spurting feverishly all over his trousers.
And then there was to be more coming: the lighter touches of womanly fingers came to find their way back to the apex of Annabelle’s youthful vagina. These were teasing, toying touches. They were clever and caressing fondles. Muriel knew, from her days on the continent, just how to deploy a delicate, sensual connection. It was one that contrasted completely to both the spanking and the belting and one that would serve her young pupil in very, very good stead.
While Mr Archet pressed his ear to a cup against the wall, his semen stained trousers around his knees Miss Muriel ensured that satisfaction was achieved. As her papa tried vainly to coax another erection, Belle gave her thanks to her governess with the most delightful keening wail.
Yes, despite the last of her sobs from the punishment and the shock of the sight of the belt hanging over a nearby chair in case Miss Muriel needed it again momentarily, little Annabelle Archet shuddered (just as her papa had done so recently) through the peak of her next orgasm.
And it was all at the instigation of the beloved and trusted Miss Muriel Gray; the very Miss Muriel who could be heard at that very moment pushing her own knee-length skirt up. It was only a short matter of time before she was pulling her young charge down, between Miss Gray’s eagerly spread thighs.
There was, after all, still half an hour of the lesson; and, therefore, there was considerable opportunity for Annabelle to refine her elocution with certain tongue twisting exercises in the slick depths of her governess’s cunt. So, how could anyone not forgive a little impatience on Miss Muriel’s part as she ordered once again: “Come along, girl…”
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