Customer Service Page 3

  Helpfully, Martha pushed it above my arms and over my head. It felt somewhat strange to be naked but perfectly safe with someone as kind and pretty as Martha. I felt she was getting a little warm too, I heard her breath quicken as she now feasted hungrily on my nipples, which had grown hard in a way I had never experienced before, except when I had washed myself in the depths of winter before going out to the cows.

  Everything was so strange and different in this curious city; none more so than this crazy night. When Martha took her nightshirt off too, I was amazed at the size and volume of her breasts, heavy in the glowing light of the fire. Something deep in my stomach lurched and I found difficulty in breathing. I had never seen another human being unclothed before but supposed that as she was a girl and not a man there could be no harm in it. Martha lifted my trembling hand to touch her magnificent breasts. They were soft and full, like the cows’ udders. Instinctively I pulled at her nipple like I did when I gently milked the cows and saw Martha’s green eyes sparkle with desire.

  It was so warm and comforting to see our bodies naked and bathed in fire flame. I lay back on the bed and felt Martha gently lift herself on top of me. Her little furry bush tickled the inside of my spread thigh. Driven by a burning passion I took her huge breast into my eager mouth and suckled. I felt a small sound like a purr come from my throat and felt my fingernails like little cat claws fasten into the bedclothes, as Martha emitted little moans herself. Without understanding why, I moved my legs apart, probably to cool my burning skin. At this, Martha moved slowly down, planting kisses over my flat belly, licking my belly button, down over my hipbones and down further still to my thighs. I felt her long silken hair fall against my cunny.

  Then, dear reader, the most unbelievable sensation occurred as Martha pressed her warm wet mouth insistently between my thighs. I looked down in the firelight to see her tongue come out and gently lick me down there, her arse proudly sticking up as she knelt. The sensation was heavenly. I didn’t think it could get any better until she madly quickened. I squirmed to get free not knowing what was happening to me. She held me fast with one hand, moaning while her other hand played in her moist bush. She increased her pace sending palpitations through my opening which convulsed my body in one arching spasm until I cried out to the moon. As I collapsed in a heap, I watched Martha laying back pleasuring herself alone to a shuddering completion.

  After a superb night’s sleep, Martha took out the cotton rags, tossing my black hair into bouncing curls. She announced that I should get dressed quickly and we would both go to see the rich gentleman. She held my hand as we made our way down the labyrinthine streets. Finally at a small doorway, she kissed me and told me to knock and that the fine gentleman would be pleased to see us. Imagine my amazement when the door opened and there stood Sir Hunter Tremayne. I blushed hotly as his eyes ran slowly up my body, thinking he might turn me away. But he beckoned us both in, sat me down in the parlour room and, putting his arm around Martha, whispered with her in the hall. When he returned, Sir Hunter had a serious look on his face.

  ‘Well, well. Little Lizzie Langdale. What a treat this is going to be. I am in need of your services. Come. We will start straight away.’

  I held my head demurely in the presence of the great man, and Martha and I followed, into what appeared to be a large bedroom, suitable for a man of substance. I supposed that this was where I was to do cleaning or mending or some such. Sir Hunter sat in a chaise longue with his feet up and told Martha to take off my cape. ‘She is pretty is she not?’ He asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Martha. ‘Very.’

  Then his tone became harsh as he sat up and eyed me with a cruelty I had only seen a glimpse of once before. ‘But, she is naughty too, is she not?’

  ‘I believe she is, sir,’ answered Martha. ‘Very.’

  He then got up and took a step towards me. ‘Naughty girls should be punished should they not?’ Terrified, I looked at Martha.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ answered Martha hungrily.

  I stood transfixed at the sight of Sir Hunter’s long limbs as he came towards me, not understanding any of this, unable to move. But, I was aware of my heart beating strongly and of a delicious hunger between my legs. Scared but anticipating at the same time, I smelt Sir Hunter as he approached. Leather and cigar smoke seemed to mingle on his breath, he was now so close. ‘Bad girls deserve a spanking,’ he said gently in my ear, sending torrents of anticipation shooting through me. ‘Get on your knees, girl.’

  Not having it in my power to resist, I knelt down. Roughly he pushed me forward so I was on all fours. ‘Martha,’ he demanded, ‘lift the little bitch’s skirts’. Martha pulled up my dress, exposing my naked buttocks which tingled, so exquisite was the feeling of their exposure to this powerful man. In this state of subjugation, I watched as he went to the wall and took off it a horse whip, and a length of golden cord. My eyes pleaded with him as he stared me full in the face, then brutally tied each wrist to opposite chair legs and picked up the whip.

  ‘Naughty, naughty, dirty little bitch.’ His voice was gravelly as he played the whip over my exposed cheeks. The tender stroking across my white skin was delightful and terrifying. Then, the last thing I saw as he pulled back his arm and bought the switch cracking down on my buttocks was Martha’s kindly smile, heavy with desire. The pain was exquisite, executed so elegantly by Sir Hunter, with such precision. Not only were my buttocks smarting, but the most intense sensation was the pleasure that the whipping had promoted in my quim. Sir Hunter brought the whip down again and I felt a swelling develop as I heard myself say weakly, ‘please, no,’ when what I really meant was ‘please, yes.’

  One last crack of the whip drove me wetly to shuddering orgasm and brought a sardonic smile to Sir Hunter’s face. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘for the ultimate punishment.’ As I looked behind me, still on all fours, he unbuttoned his breeches and brought forth a huge specimen of manhood, erect as a sapling. On seeing it, Martha immediately sighed, dropped to the floor and took it in her mouth. I waited, watching her lapping like a little dog. Sir Hunter guided her, his hand at the back of her head, all the while looking me hard in the eyes. Then, he boomed. ‘Enough,’ wrenched his member out of her mouth and, stood behind me. Smiling, he parted my thighs and rubbed his throbbing member over my buttocks. The power of it made me reach out and clutch his hugeness in my hand. Wet and hard, I marvelled at its strength. For a minute, Sir Hunter delighted in my hold, as I kneaded and played. Silently I begged for completion; when suddenly he lost patience. Brushing my hand angrily away, he roughly pulled apart my thighs, and forced his wet length into my widely splayed quim. In and out he drove while I cried out for mercy. In a matter of moments, he drew himself out and spattered his relief over the roundness of my buttocks, the warm seed dripping down my thighs. Martha licked her lips and smiled, knowing it was her turn to finish me off. The moment was too delicious, as her expert fingers drove round and round against my dripping sex. Martha, bless her, brought me shuddering helpless again to completion as she kissed me on the lips.’

  Many times over the years to come I submitted to more delightful four-legged humiliation, always in the presence of the eager Martha. It took me some time to realise that Martha’s desire was not for Sir Hunter but for me. They both took me to their separate beds and taught me all they knew. Martha loved me until the day she died last year, with the same devotion that I saved for Sir Hunter, my mentor and my master. As we two girls became women and reached maturity, and Sir Hunter grew slower, he installed us both in his country home for his endless pleasure. Under his expert education and care, I grew plump and voluptuous, delighting him with my curves, until now. As I write this, I am in my sixty-fifth year. I know I am going to die for I have this afternoon completed my will and had it witnessed by my servants. My final act has been to drink a phial of poison. Sir Hunter died last week at the venerable age of ninety-five, and the only place I wish to be is with him. I wait for his ghost to ride up on his horse and
place my spirit form on its back so that we can ride away to meet up again with my dear old friend Martha.

  There, you have my story as promised.

  And the bequest? Well, that is to Frederick March, beloved bastard son of Martha March and Sir Hunter Tremayne. Somehow my own childlessness has not been so painful with little Frederick around, the offspring of the two most important people in my life. May he enjoy on earth the money which is no longer of any use to me. Ah, I feel life ebbing away from my body. I am done. I hear hooves clattering on the ground below. Please forgive me, I must depart. Sir Hunter is ready to take me away, to the other world, to be with him, my beloved master, and to welcome eternity and endless youth locked in his strong arms.

  Schooling James

  by Bryn Allen

  She wanted to hit him. There was defeat written in the way James slouched over her battered kitchen table, written in the angry tension in his shoulders and the way his bright green eyes avoided hers. He’d given up, and Alice could think of jack shit that she could do to change his mind.

  Leaning back, she blew out a frustrated breath. Between them were her tools, books, pencils, paper, calculator. Tonight, her third meeting with James, was to have been the grand battle, the fight that would have finally wrung some sign of surrender from her student and make him submit. Submit to finally learning something about statistics, so that they could salvage this last chance at a diploma. Now, it looked like the battle was over before she could even begin. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah, exactly.’ James shoved his book away, sent it sliding across the scarred wood into her books and sending pencils tumbling from the table like lemmings. ‘This stuff’s all shit. Why don’t we just go for a beer?’

  ‘Damn it, James, I don’t want a beer. I want that fucking money that your father promised me if I could get you to pass. Why are you so committed to failing this test?’ Alice stomped out with one foot, stopping a pencil from escaping beneath her refrigerator. ‘You’re this close to passing and getting your father off your back.’

  ‘You think?’ James shook his head. ‘Not fucking likely. That old bastard won’t be done until I’m as unhappy as he is. I should have dropped out last year.’ He stood up, eyes stormy and body tense in its black jeans and T-shirt. ‘Sorry Alice, I know you could probably use that bonus, but it’s not happening. Just take what the bastard gave you for all these lessons and we’ll skip the rest. I can use the time for rehearsal.’

  ‘Wait.’ James’s hand was already on the door, twisting the knob, but he stopped. ‘One more chance. Next week, one more. I’ll figure out some way to beat this stuff into your head. C’mon.’ His eyes flicked over his shoulder to meet hers.

  ‘It’s a waste of time. Fuck it though. I’ll give you one last crack at me.’ There was a smile in his voice as he opened the door and stepped through into the night. ‘You’re cute when you’re frustrated.’

  ‘I thought you gave up tutoring.’ Eve dropped the glasses to the table, sending beer sloshing dangerously close to the rims. ‘Wasn’t worth it.’

  ‘It wasn’t. Then this bastard upped the price.’ Alice waited until the beer had settled before picking it up for a long swallow. ‘Paid me as much to prep one kid for one test as I made off of doing five for a whole semester. And promised me triple if he passed.’

  ‘Nice. Except the kid…’

  ‘Won’t. Hates school, hates his dad, hates the class. Doesn’t hate me, but then we’ve had less than three hours together and he spent most of that staring at my tits.’ Alice set down the beer. ‘I thought it might work. He’s not stupid. When he listened, he got this shit. But James doesn’t want to listen; he’d rather be playing his bass.’

  ‘Bass? James?’ Eve cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘James what?’

  ‘James Miller.’

  ‘James Miller? Plays for Bend and Deliver? Tall, dark hair, good-looking in that suspicious, mischievous sort of way that makes you think you’d be better off with out him, once you’ve had one last good fuck?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure about that, but yeah, sounds like him. Know him?’

  Eve snorted. ‘I went with him for a couple of months two years ago. Don’t you remember me talking about him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thick-dick?’

  ‘James is thick-dick?’ Alice remembered her friend’s stories. ‘You said he was younger, but…’

  ‘He was nineteen, and I wasn’t thirty. Yet. Anyway, there you go.’ Eve smirked at her over her glass.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s how you motivate him.’

  Alice frowned at her friend. ‘What the hell are you suggesting?’

  ‘You want him to listen, right? And you said he’s been checking you out. So offer to fuck him if he passes. Ample motivation for a man.’ Eve settled her glass down and gave Alice her most reasonable look. ‘Look, he was a nice guy, which is fucking rare in a musician, and a fabulous fuck. I wasn’t kidding when I called him thick-dick, and he knew how to use it. If Landon hadn’t come back from New York, I wouldn’t have let him get away. What a piss-poor decision that was.’

  ‘I’m not a whore, Eve.’

  ‘Course not. You wouldn’t be broke if you were. It’s just a more… traditional teaching method. You said he’d learn if you could get him to pay attention, and you’ve got a great attention-getter right there under your skirt.’

  ‘Eve, I’m this close to pitching this beer in your face.’ Alice tapped the glass warningly.

  ‘Fine. I try to help.’ Eve leaned back, eyes tragic. Then she grinned. ‘Hey, if you don’t want to reward him, you could at least threaten him.’ Alice rolled her eyes pointedly away, but Eve kept going. ‘Didn’t I tell you about his kink? Must’ve been too focused on the girth issue. James loved being spanked. Loved it. I ever wanted to get him ready, a couple of whacks on the backside and boom, at attention and raring to go.’

  ‘And this information helps me how?’

  ‘Well, if he doesn’t listen to you, give his ass a good smack. That’ll get him focused. Show him a little discipline from the headmistress, right?’

  ‘Yeah. You’re a great help, Eve. Wonderful advice. Screw him or smack his arse.’ Not that the idea of cracking the lazy punk across the backside didn’t have its appeal. Especially since it was such a nice backside. Alice shook off the idea and stood. ‘Another round?’

  ‘Of course. And hey,’ Eve snagged her hand as Alice started to walk away, ‘if you haven’t figured out that you can deal with ninety-five percent of your problems with men with one of those two options, it’s no wonder you aren’t getting laid.’

  Alice scrubbed the damp towel through her hair and stared at the clothes she had laid out on the bed. Dark skirt, long, buttoned neatly down the side. Black shirt, long-sleeved, collared, buttoned. Black hose that reached up to mid-thigh. Black bra and panties, lacy, see-through, sexy. And there it was, right there. This wasn’t just some last desperate attempt to claim the money James’s father had promised her for success. If it was, she could have worn her regular old cotton underwear. This was, at least partly, about sex.

  ‘Hell,’ she whispered, and dropped the towel. Ever since she’d talked with Eve the idea had been growing. It tried to hide itself in logic at first. This was the only way she had of getting through to him. He didn’t need this degree, a rich kid, member of a band that was getting some interest on the local scene, maybe even beyond. Why not take a chance, see what happened? It might work, and she might get her bonus. It might work, and she might see those green eyes look at her with something other than irritation at being forced to do a hated task or the casual speculation of boredom. She might see them flicker with desire.

  Alice reached out and picked up the panties and stepped into them. They were snug, silky smooth. Wearing them, she felt more naked. Almost a year without a boyfriend, without a lover, too caught up in her writing and jobs and stress. ‘So what if it is about sex. I could fucking use some.’ With a wry smile, she began t
o pull on the rest of her outfit and plot out the character she was going to play.

  Standing in her tiny kitchen, Alice looked up at the grinning cat clock on the wall and tapped her fingers on her arm. James was ten minutes late, and if he didn’t show soon she was going to lose all her nerve. In the night dark glass of the door, she could see herself, arms folded and face tense. The look was right at least, her rigid posture complementing the glasses she wore tonight and the tight bun that held her hair. The costume was good, the scene was set, and she’d been practicing her lines, but now the audience was absent. Alice frowned at her dark reflection and wondered if she should be relieved or disappointed when the dark glass vibrated with a hard knock.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, making her voice as hard and level as possible. James was dressed as usual, dark boots, faded jeans and a crumpled T-shirt tight enough to show off the lean strength of his chest and arms. He stopped at the door to stomp out the butt of a cigarette, then came in, looking her over curiously.

  ‘You’re late, Mr Miller,’ she said in the same firm voice. It surprised her that she could keep it that way while butterflies swarmed through her stomach. Maybe she should have trained as an actress instead of a playwright. Apparently she had some talent, and in any case she’d be just as unemployed.

  ‘Yeah, I know. Look, I’m just here…’

  ‘Mr Miller, you’re here to learn statistics. No more, no less.’ Alice reached down and lightly slapped the cover of the textbook that sat alone on the table next to her. ‘A task you have been shirking.’

  ‘What’s up, Alice?’ He seemed more amused than anything else, clearly trying to figure out her new attitude, the sudden change from her usual chumminess.

  ‘Ms Smith, Mr Miller. That is how you will address me. As for what is up, the answer is your time for lollygagging around. I’ve had quite enough of your attitude. It is time now, I believe, for stricter methods.’