The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 5 (21 page)

It was a calculated posture, and her words were equally well-planned.

Charlotte sighed heavily, “This isn’t fair, Serena. You always say things like that and we both know they’re not true. I do loads of things for you.”

Serena listened attentively, waiting for Charlotte’s next words. In the punishing silence, she heard Charlotte sigh again before deciding to relent.

“I’m not happy about it, but if you really want us to do it . . .”

Before she could finish the sentence, Serena had snatched at her hand and started tugging her out of the bedroom in search of Parnell.

Afterwards Serena realised that Parnell had refused three times before consenting to do as they asked. She had stated her desires boldly at first and he had refused with the same frank tone. She had tried pleading with him – saying that she knew he would get a lot out of the chastisement – but he had still said no. It was only when Charlotte asked that he grudgingly agreed.

“Just stand there,” he told them. “Backsides out, bending forward with your hands against the oak.” He used a stiff, authoritative voice and Serena could feel her knees beginning to weaken as she listened to him. Her anticipation for this moment had grown from a tingling interest in the dining hall to an unquenchable need beneath the tree. The night was clement with only the mildest breeze to tease her hair as it fell over her face. She glanced at her sister and hissed, “Isn’t this exciting?”

“No talking,” Parnell growled.

His tone defied argument and Serena fell silent and straightened into a submissive pose.

“Neither of you will speak whilst I’m doing this, or I’ll simply stop. None of us are going to say another word until we’re finished.”

Serena nodded and from the corner of her eye she saw that Charlotte was giving the same eager assent. Intuitively, Parnell seemed to have guessed that she wanted silence for this little ceremony. Any talking throughout their punishment would have lessened her picture of how things were going to develop.

“I’m going to prepare you both, then I’ll find myself a length of birch and begin.”

Serena drew a heavy breath, surprised by the quickening of her excitement. She heard his footsteps squash the grass as he approached and she felt the caress of his trouser leg against her backside. The sensation evoked a ripple of pleasure she had difficulty concealing.

Without a word, he reached for her skirt and unfastened the button at the waistband. The sound of the drawing zipper was deafening in the still night but the noise was almost drowned out beneath the hammering pulse in her temples. His hands were cool, but not unbearable and she didn’t flinch as he tugged the skirt away from her body. However, it was impossible to remain properly still when he reached for her panties.

Ignoring her unspoken protest, Parnell eased his thumbs beneath the band over her hips and pulled the garment down.

She could feel the fabric pulling away from her buttocks and knew she was being exposed. The thought sent her body’s need spiralling upwards. As her breathing deepened, she wondered if he was able to discern just how excited she was. Admittedly, in spite of the full moon, it was still a dark night but she felt sure that he would be able to see her wetness or sense the perfume of her arousal. Aware that those thoughts were driving her wild with anticipation, she gripped the oak tree harder. Deliberately, she tried not to register the caress of her panties as he tugged them down her legs.

“You look ready to be thrashed,” he said, drawing his hand against one cheek.

Serena blushed, surprised by her response to him. The palm of his hand cupped one buttock whilst the tips of his fingers fell close to her sex. She knew he wasn’t touching her accidentally and felt sure she could feel his fingers combing through the curls above her sex. The sensation was subtle but it fired a heat that left her sweating. She squeezed her thighs together and was surprised by the thrill of pleasure that rippled through her body.

When he moved away, she knew he had gone to tend to her sister. She heard Charlotte’s shocked gasp as Parnell began to undress her but the sound tapered off to a sigh of whispered permission. They were bending for him with their hips touching and Serena could feel the after-echo of each movement vibrating from her sister. She felt the tug of the skirt as it was removed and, as a second-hand experience, she enjoyed the caress of Charlotte’s panties being tugged away.

“Why are you wanting to go through with this?” Charlotte whispered.

Serena shrugged. “I don’t know. I just need to do it,” she replied honestly.

“I suppose I can understand that.” Charlotte agreed.

In the darkness, Serena could hear the smile in her sister’s voice and knew the moment’s excitement had touched her as well.

“No more talking.” Parnell’s brisk voice sliced through the air.

Charlotte made a surprised sound and Serena wondered if he was touching her as he spoke. She wouldn’t have put it past him and if he was, she wondered how he had managed to contain himself for so long. The attraction between him and her sister had been obvious from the first day of the weekend.

“No more talking,” he repeated.

Charlotte purred by way of response and Serena contemplated glancing over her shoulder to see what they were doing. Tiny shivers were emanating from the hip against hers and she realised the tremors were caused by Charlotte’s growing excitement. Under other circumstances she might have thought there was something perverse about experiencing the shadows of her sister’s arousal but on this evening it didn’t seem inappropriate.

She tried to shut the thought from her mind, surprised by the intense reaction it evoked. Her pulse was pounding so loudly she felt certain she was going to be driven mad by its deafening throb.

Charlotte’s tremors continued to quicken and Serena could feel her own excitement building. She swallowed thickly and moved her hip more forcibly against her sister’s pleasurable shivers.

“I’ll go and find some birch,” Parnell whispered.

Serena thought she heard the whisper of a kiss before hearing his shoes against the grass.

As soon as she felt sure Parnell was out of earshot, she pushed her face close to her sister’s. “He wants you badly,” she murmured,

Charlotte’s reply was a husky whisper. “He can have me badly,” she grinned. “He’s already got me more excited than I would have believed.”

Ignoring the weight of envy that nestled in her stomach, Serena opened her mouth to say something encouraging about her sister’s good fortune.

The whistle of a birch sliced through her thoughts.

She didn’t bother wondering how Parnell had managed to get back to them so quickly. Her backside was aflame with the sudden sting of wood against her exposed cheeks.

Charlotte started to say something but her reply was cut off by a second whistle. Instead of speaking, she released a grunt of discomfort. The sound was almost lost by the snap of wood striking flesh.

“He didn’t want us speaking,” Serena reminded her sister. “Not another word, remember.”

Charlotte nodded and as she moved her head, Serena could see she was squeezing her eyes against the threat of tears. She empathised with her sister’s anguish and then forgot about her when the second blow struck her exposed cheeks. The birch landed across both buttocks, inspiring a fury of pleasurable pain.

The length of wood rose and fell with the monotony of the ticking grandfather clock. The stripes were delivered in a punishingly slow tempo, with one blow for her, then another for Charlotte. Each descent managed to find a new target and she was surprised by the thoroughness of the punishment. A dozen stripes had landed against her and it didn’t feel as though the same piece of skin had been touched twice. The moons of her arse cheeks felt hot and red and she found herself flinching from the birch’s descent before the length had landed.

The wood whistled loudly as it fell, its shriek presaging a blistering eruption that was too intense to be wholly painful.

As each blow landed, Serena realised that their burden was being distributed evenly. The birch struck her arse and, whilst she was still trying to adjust herself to its bitter kiss, she heard it fall against her sister. When she believed she had almost come to terms with the intensity of the last blow, the next one fell more firmly.

It was the experience she had known it would be and then some more. The combination of moonlight, punishment and sexual excitement were forbidden thrills that worked as catalysts for one another. The harsh pain of each impact barely registered beneath the spreading warmth of her arousal. With every alternate blow, when Charlotte was enduring the birch, Serena found herself anticipating the next stinging assault. The combination of sensation left her feeling giddy and wanton.

Charlotte was breathing deeply, each exhalation coming in a laboured gasp. Serena thought she could feel the sensation through their touching hips, then wondered if she was the one who was causing it. The heat of her backside was furious but peculiarly warming. Her arse felt burned by the wood but it was not an unpleasant sensation. Remembering the quote that Parnell had given from the diaries, she realised that someone had already described exactly how she felt.

“It made my blood begin to boil and nowhere was that more apparent than inside my womanliness”

The words echoed through her mind as though they were being whispered in her ear. The need between her legs was euphoric and she knew she couldn’t resist it for another moment. Squeezing her thighs together, Serena snatched one hand from the tree and pushed it against herself.

A shockwave of pleasure rushed through her body. She had been told not to make a sound but beneath the stimulation of so much pleasure it was a command that she could no longer obey. She screamed her elation into the night as the orgasm battered its way through her. Every nerve-ending was pulled taut by the shrill climax that hurtled through her. The eruption was so strong she felt sure she was leaving the impressions of her fingernails in the oak’s rough bark.

When the ripples of joy began to subside, she realised the birching had stopped. In a way it was a saddening thought and she wondered if there would be any chance of continuing with the game once she had been given the opportunity to apply some sorely needed cold cream. She blinked her gaze free from the misty haze of her pleasure and wondered if she dared to turn and thank her tormentor. It was only a passing thought, almost drowned out by the fading echo of her guttural sighs.

“Right, ladies.”

Parnell’s voice had a grin to it that Serena could hear through the ringing in her ears. She heard his footsteps treading grass as he came closer, and she listened as he tested his strip of birch through the air.

“Now I’ve found a piece of wood, we can begin.”

“Begin?” Serena repeated doubtfully. She glanced at Charlotte but her sister’s face was obscured by shadows from the overhanging oak tree. She wondered how Parnell could use the word “begin” after what he had just done for them.

“Yes, begin,” Parnell repeated. There was a disappointed frown in his voice when he asked, “or have you changed your minds?”

She glanced back over her shoulder and studied his face, trying to see if he was teasing. To listen to him, it sounded as though he hadn’t even been there when they got their backsides thrashed.

But he had to have been there, she thought wildly. Rising panic was tightening her chest and making her forget all the punishingly pleasurable sensations that she had just endured. Glancing down at the reddened cheeks of her arse, she knew that he had to have been there and from the corner of her eye, she saw the proof that confirmed that thought. Propped against the base of the oak tree, looking as though it had only just been left there, Serena could see a stout length of birch.

The ad was a long shot, but I was getting desperate. It had been nearly two months since I’d had a gig. One more month of waitressing, I had sworn to myself, that’s all I’ll endure before I give up and go back to Pittsburgh. Live theater, soap operas, commercials, music videos, I’d consider anything but porn as a step toward my goal. Still, this listing in the Chronicle’s classified section was definitely on the fringe.

“Wanted. Attractive female magician’s assistant. Regular work, excellent remuneration. Will train.”

I’m generally considered pretty, but my auburn curls and freckle-dusted nose are more likely to cast me as the girl next door than the exotic femme fatale. Still, it was worth a try. I dialed the number from the ad.

“Hello.”

One word only, but spoken in a voice so rich and melodious that I was temporarily speechless and astonished.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

Flustered, I collected myself and my thoughts. “Yes, hello. My name is Myra O’Toole. I’m calling about your advertisement, for an assistant.”

There was silence at the other end of the line, as if he was trying to gauge my personality from my speech. “Myra,” he said finally. “Thank you for calling.” His voice was truly marvelous, washing over me like a Bach cantata, filling me with light. Socially, though, he seemed awkward, not knowing what to say next.

“Is the position still open?”

“Yes, it is. I haven’t found the right woman yet.”

“Well, would you like me to come and audition for you?”

“Yes, I’d like that very much. Would this afternoon be convenient for you? Around four?”

“That would be perfect.”

He gave me an address in the Mission district, an easy bus ride. As I hung up, excitement was singing through me. I had a premonition that I’d get the job.

I arrived ten minutes early, but I rang the bell anyway. The building was one of those middle-class Victorians on Dolores Street that have been converted into flats. It had been defaced with vinyl siding and wrought iron security bars, but the curved windows fronting the street were intact. His apartment was on the second floor.

He was not what I expected. Well over six feet tall, he was a massive presence, more than a little overweight. From his voice, I had imagined someone slender, elegant, and considerably more mature. He seemed to be in his early thirties, a scant half-dozen years older than I. He wore a Jefferson Starship T-shirt and jeans. His thick, coarse black hair had a tendency to fall into his eyes.