Beauty's Punishment - By A. N. Roquelaure & Anne Rice Page 0,54
And gathering Beauty’s left breast from the top in her left fingers, she bunched the flesh and plumped it as Beauty felt the warmth suffusing her bosom. Beauty couldn’t keep quiet. And the moisture between her legs trickled down into the crack of her buttocks. Her spread-eagle body strained in vain to close itself.
The fingers stretched her left nipple and snapped it. And then the white tongue of the leather belt spanked her breast in a series of hard loud slaps. “O!” Beauty gasped aloud, unable to prevent it. The spanking that the Captain’s large warm hands had given her bosom was nothing like this. The desire to break free and cover her breasts, both of them, was irresistible and impossible! Yet the breast seethed with feeling as never before and Beauty’s body twisted against the wood. The little strap spanked the nipple and the bulging flesh harder and harder.
Beauty was in a frenzy as Mistress Lockley turned her attention to the right breast, plumping it in the same manner, snapping the nipple. Beauty’s cries grew louder, her struggling more violent. The nipple was rock hard under the torrent of licks.
Beauty closed her mouth, sealed it shut. She would have screamed at the top of her lungs, “No, I can’t bear it.” The concentrated blows came faster and faster. Her body became her tortured breasts, her desire fanned by the licks like a torch flame.
Beauty swung her head so violently that the hair streamed over her face. But Mistress Lockley lifted it back and she bent down and looked at Beauty, but Beauty could not look up at her.
“So tumultuous, so exposed!” she said to Beauty, and she kneaded the right breast, pumping it up high again, and then continued to spank it. Beauty gave a high keening scream against her clenched teeth. The fingers tweaked the nipples, massaged the flesh, and the heat roared through Beauty, her hips thrust upwards in a sudden violent convulsion.
“This is how a bad little girl should be punished,” the Mistress said.
“Yes, Mistress,” Beauty sobbed immediately.
Mercifully the fingers were withdrawn. Beauty’s breasts felt huge, heavy, a riot of warm pain and thumping sensation against her. Her low, raw sighs caught in her throat.
And she whimpered when she realized what was coming. She could feel Mistress Lockley’s fingers between her legs, pushing the lips apart even as Beauty sought to close herself, the muscles in her legs straining vainly. Her heels thumped the wood, the leather straps pressing into the flesh of her insteps. Again she lost all control, struggling violently in a deluge of tears. But the licking strap was slapping her clitoris. She screamed again at the searing intensity of the mixture of pleasure and pain, her clitoris seeming to harden as never before, the strap snapping up at it over and over as Mistress Lockley swung from beneath the sex with her right hand.
Beauty could feel the lips puffing, the moisture squirting, the slaps sounding wetter and wetter. Her head rolled on the wood; she cried louder and louder, her hips riding up to meet the strap, her whole sex a formless explosion of fire in her.
The strap stopped. It was worse, the heat rising, the tingling like an itch that must somehow find its divine friction. Beauty’s breath came in short imploring pants in time with her moans, and through her tears she saw Mistress Lockley looking down at her.
“Are you my impertinent slave?” she asked.
“Your devoted slave,” Beauty choked through her tears, “Mistress. Your devoted slave.” And she bit her lip, grimacing, praying it was the right answer.
Her breasts another sex were boiling with the heat, and she heard her hips spanking the wood beneath them, though she had no awareness of moving them. Through the mist of tears she saw the Mistress’s pretty black eyes, the black hair with its fancy little braid over the crown of the head, and the breasts swelling so beautifully in the snow-white linen blouse with its thick ruffle. But the Mistress was holding something in her hands. What was it? It was moving.
And Beauty saw it was a big, pretty white cat that stared at her with almond-shaped blue eyes in that wide, inquisitive manner cats have, its pink tongue licking its black nose in a quick gesture.
A wave of absolute shame overcame Beauty. She writhed on the board, a helpless and suffering creature, even more lowly than this proud, disdainful little beast that peered at her from the Mistress’s arms with jeweled