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| Rapunzel |
on Sun 10 Jan 10, 1:57 PM to Rapunzel's blog.
“Make sure there are white carnations. A large array. Within the white, there should be a single red carnation. A reminder to me of what a bead of blood looks like on your white skin……”
One was a lady, a married lady of stature, admired and respected for her charitable work. In her youth, she had been a great beauty and now, although older, she was still beautiful. Her white skin had a luminous quality to it, almost ethereal. Only by looking very closely at her eyes could you see the beginnings of fine lines, where despite the application of the finest creams and unguents, time was taking its inevitable toll.
The other was her maid, a young sylph, her pearly youth still fresh on her rosy cheeks. If she hadn't worked as a ladies maid, she could have been a dairymaid, laughing at her swain as he passed her in the sun. Vitality shone from every pore and in every light step there was an acknowledgement of what it was to be alive and young and beautiful, to be wanted and desired. The knowledge warmed her and it warmed every person that she met.
And the man that they lived with, the lady's husband, we shall call Mr X.
One was Lily, one was Rose. And between them, they made sure that the carnations were always in place, in every room that Mr X might enter. It was his foible, his folly. And woe betide any one who failed to meet this command.
Mr X was an older man. A man of power and wealth. His wife, like his house, was one of his many possessions and he valued her, not for what she was but for what she did, the prestige she brought him, the dinners she organised, the charm she displayed, the contacts she met, the knowledge she accrued. The lady knew this, because once, she had been thought of as bright by her peers and inside her smooth head, a brain still ticked away, although she tried to hide it, having long given up the thought that it would be any use, she knew her place. Wasn't that what he'd taught her from the very beginning – and wasn't that what she passed on to her staff?
The maid, as a ladies maid, her most personal servant, was more aware of this than anyone else in the house. Because her lady strived always for perfection, it was expected that she should as well. Her mistress brooked no dissent and no excuses. Mr X did not. So why should she? Was not every failing by those under her a direct reflection of her own abilities?
That was the way of the world. That was how their stars were placed. To change the stars was to change the world.
**************************************
A bell ringing harshly. A black clad figure ran to answer it, the master bedroom bell.
“Yes Sir?”
He was standing at the end of the bed, stripped to the waist, the well-cut breeches tight against his long legs. Over the end of the bed was stretched a recumbent figure, naked, pale skin gleaming, legs apart. Across her naked bottom were several angry welts, where the crop he carried had slashed into her delicate bottom. She didn't move at the sudden intrusion.
“Bring a bottle of champagne Lily. And two glasses.”
“Yes Sir.”
The woman on the bed moaned a little.
“Stop whining Rose.” he said contemptuously and slashed the crop across her haunches again.
Lily left the room quietly and as she ran down the long corridor, a small thin scream echoed from the bedroom behind her. In the cellar, she quickly pulled a bottle of champagne from the cold rack and hesitated. Pink or ordinary? He hadn't said. She would have to guess. She chose pink and arranged it on a tray with two glasses and carefully made her way up the stairs. At the head of the stairs, she passed a fine display of white carnations and as an afterthought; she removed a single stem from the arrangement and laid it on the champagne tray.
She knocked at the bedroom door. She could hear grunting from Mr X and soft, sharp gasps from the woman.
“Enter” he snapped. He sounded slightly out of breath from his exertions. He had Rose pressed up against the wall as he fucked her brutally, her slim legs entwined around his back, her arms wrapped about his neck as she gasped in pleasure.
Lily went to place the champagne on the bedside table, trying not to stare at the scene before her. Her heart was beating fast under he black dress. They looked so beautiful together. A sudden charge of lust pierced her lower regions and she tried to push it away. It would do no good. Such pleasure wasn't for her. Face burning at her thoughts; she stripped the foil from the bottle.
The rutting couple were now quickly reaching the peak of their pleasure and the loud pop of the champagne cork coincided with the join orgasm of Mr X and Rose. She slumped against his body as he lowered her feet to the floor and then trailed slowly across the bedroom to slump onto the bed, her face flushed with pleasure.
Mr X turned round and looked at Lily, who was pouring the pink champagne into two glasses.
“Lily. Come here.”
For one small, foolish moment, Lily's heart leapt. He'd noticed her! Would he…would she…..what would happen? Was she to have the pleasure of his attention, of his hard right hand, of his cock? She knew what that was like, because occasionally, it was bestowed on her and for the remaining time, she dreamt of it. Mr X haunted her dreams. She wanted him and she despised herself for doing so. But she did, hopelessly and wearily.
He looked directly at her for the first time. Then without warning his hand slapped her hard across the face. She stifled a squeal but couldn't stop her hand flying to her cheek, to hide the red mark rising on it.
“If I want very expensive 1842 pink champagne, I'll ask for it. Don't presume to know my mind. You haven't the brains.”
“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir.” she muttered miserably.
“Now get down on your knees and clean my cock.”
Quickly she knelt and did as he asked, swirling the still tumescent flesh in her mouth, licking the head, tasting Rose on his cock.
He pushed her away. His new erection stood out, hard and proud.
“Stay there and watch.” he said brusquely.
With little ado, he climbed onto the bed. Rose was already waiting for him on her hands and knees, head down, perfect bottom high in the air, the welts from her beating clearly visible. He parted her cheeks and stroked her rosebud and she mewled at the pleasure, and the pain to come. He smoothed oil between her cheeks and in one thrust, took her in her most secret place.
Left alone in the middle of the carpet, Lily forced herself to watch. Mr X had aligned himself so that she had a perfect view of the two of them. Lily's reluctance to watch was not so much that she found what they were doing repulsive, but because she desperately wanted to be the focus of his attention, to be the girl on the bed. But that was not to be. She knew her place. But despite that, she felt herself getting wetter and wetter and longed to slide her hands between her legs and at the very least, achieve her own pleasure via her own hands, a lonely act on any occasion but one, at least, where she was allowed some respite.
Rose's mewling became louder and stronger. She was orgasaming again. Lily, desperate for her own pleasure and with none of her own forthcoming, tried to keep her heart serene, but it was a black well of turmoil.
Mr X, confidently and pleasurably, came, shooting his lust deep into Rose's delicate bottom.
He withdrew.
Then they both sat up at the end of the bed and Lily rushed to offer them their champagne glasses. He reached across her hand and picked up the white carnation.
“A nice touch.” he said. “But it needs some red.”
On the bedside cabinet, Rose had discarded the fine jewels she had been wearing. Picking up a cameo brooch, he held Lily by the wrist and very deliberately, ran the pin into her finger. She gasped in pain. A single bead of blood appeared and turning her hand, he let the drop splash onto the white purity of the carnation. Then, he laid the violated flower across Rose's shaved pudenda. The vision pleased him.
“My god, what you do to me, you little witch….” he murmured, leaning over her pearlescent beauty.
He held out his hand for a champagne glass and Lily handed it to him.
He sipped slowly, savouring the taste, before he turned to Rose.
“We have a dinner at the Aloysius house tonight. The carriage is ordered for seven. Lay out Lily's lilac cambric and the pearl collar. That is the most appropriate garb.”
“Yes Sir.” said Rose.
“And as for you Lily, instead of standing there gawping, you'd better get along to your bedroom to bathe. We don't want to be late. Mrs Alosysius is looking forward to discussing the charity concert with you.”
“Yes Sir.” said Lily.
“And Lily – no pleasuring yourself in your room. It is conduct unbecoming in my wife and you certainly don't deserve it. Hurry along.”
Alone in her room, in her bath, the array of carnations on her dressing table seemed to mock her.
She ached for release.
But she knew that release was not permitted. Her humiliation was complete.
