Page 16 of The Taking of House Westwood

“Oh Mistress, please”, Sophie said, her quiet voice trembling. Miriam lay a long finger across the girl’s soft lips.

“Now Sophie,” Miriam said, bringing her face close to the girl. “You’ve already earned yourself a correction for your shameful attempt to cover yourself earlier. I’m in a generous, forgiving mood, but don’t try me with any more of your outbursts, or you’ll be the worse for it.”

Sophie’s eyes overflowed with tears, several salty tracks snaking their way down her forlorn, but pretty countenance.

“I detest that man,” Sandra said, peevishly slapping Sophie’s breasts back and forth with the flat of her hand. “How Farrier allows Lucien such free reign I will never understand.”

Sophie whimpered at a particularly sharp blow, watching her own breasts swing to and fro on her chest in time to the Countess’ callous slaps.

Sandra herself had once been threatened with a trip to Lucien after a particularly serious row with her husband. He had been incensed at Sandra for her summary dismissal of his favorite maid, Lyss.

Sandra had been increasingly jealous of the time and attention her husband Dirk paid to the buxom slut. He insisted Lyss parade around the estate in the briefest of uniforms, which did nothing but emphasize the girl’s bounteous charms. Sandra knew he was probably fucking the little minx, but as long as he was discreet about it, she tolerated his little dalliances (after all, she had a few of her own).

Still, it had been the last straw for her when she had watched from her sun room balcony as he put the girl — clad only in stockings — through exercise drills out on the front lawn in the bright morning sunlight.

Several male servants had stopped to observe Lyss huff and puff her plump little behind through several rounds of breast bouncing exercises. Her husband reclined on a lawn chair, his gaze avid, a prodigious erection freely tenting the front of his trousers as he directed the display.

Well, as soon as her husband left for business in Wyndhaven, she’d had the little slut hauled in front of her and dismissed on a charge of idleness. The girl was really nothing of the kind, and unfortunately, was actually quite sweet — a quality that just further inflamed Sandra’s jealousy. Regardless, the girl was sent packing, despite her tears and pleading.

When Sandra’s husband arrived a week later he was enraged, and threatened to add Sandra to that monster Lucien’s next pony intake. It was only after tearful supplications of Sandra’s own and a stiff dose of the cane across her bottom and thighs, did her husband relent and say he would consider not sending her after all.

That night after an arduous few minutes of taking her husband’s thick member deep into her throat did he pronounce her official reprieve from a trip to the next intake. He’d punctuated his decision with a gout of sperm down her throat, Sandra spluttering as she’d tried to swallow the viscous offering.

“Farrier allows him such freedom because he is excellent at what he does,” Miriam said, her eyes sparkling. “If you’ve never seen Lucien at work on his pony girls, then you have never seen how a proper slave is treated. No kid gloves there I can assure you! In fact, that was his proposed trade in exchange for bringing our fair Sophie to milk. He wanted me to put her up for a term.”

“Ah, not so bad a trade I should think,” Sandra said, mesmerized at the languid movement of the soft breasts.

“Maybe not, but Lucien takes his time with his charges. No matter how delightful it would be to keep Sophie with milk-swollen tits, I couldn’t bear to be deprived of her charms for six months — longer if Lucien decided she needed to repeat the course, which he would be perfectly within his rights to do.” Miriam laid a hand tenderly against one of Sophie’s tear-streaked cheeks.

“Fortunate for you to have such a merciful Lady, my dear,” Sandra said, gently tweaking one of Sophie’s earlobes. Miriam beamed again, looking upon her charge with warm fondness.

Sandra clucked her tongue in mock concern. “Ah, but look at this belly. Soft, but smooth. Such youthful flesh. She may need to stay away from the sweet cakes when she gets a bit older though, lest that big bottom get even bigger.”

Miriam tutted, pushing her friend’s shoulder in faux protest. “Nonsense Sandra. She is the finest flesh I’ve laid eyes on in years. Any man’s — or woman’s — dream. If she gets a little heavy in the hindquarters in later years, then it will just be her husband’s or Owner’s job to whip her into shape. Such flesh just needs regular exercise — of one kind or another.”

Miriam winked at the Countess. Sophie’s face, burning with shame, dropped toward the floor.

“Besides,” Miriam said, poking a thigh with a long nail. “I like a girl with some softness, some vulnerability. I have my men for the hard angles and tight flesh! I still think Lucien may be on to something though.”

Sophie let a short sob escape before cutting it off.

Sandra spread her hand across the flat expanse of Sophie’s abdomen, a finger delving into the recess of the navel. “Does Lucien frighten you, girl?”

Sophie nodded her head, her eyes still downcast. A tear had gathered in a fat drop at the end of her neat nose. Miriam having moved to sit on the bed next to the girl, darted in to lick it off with a prehensile tongue.

“Mustn’t waste,” Miriam murmured, winking, making Sandra laugh once more.

“Well you should be afraid of him, dear,” Sandra said. “From what I hear he makes your stern Mistress Westwood seem like a playful kitten by comparison. Heed her words well lest she put you up for the next intake.”

Sophie shuddered, but straightened, arms moving back fractionally to an approving coo and caress of a breast from Miriam. The Lady flashed an encouraging grin to the Countess.

Emboldened, Sandra moved her attention back up to those luscious breasts. “Now these are amazing. These just beg for attention, and a taste,” she said, with a glance to a clearly approving Lady.

“Hold them up for your Countess,” Miriam said.

Sophie grasped her breasts in trembling hands, pushing them up in offering. Her face flushed pink, eyes downcast.

“More,” Miriam said. “There’s a good girl.”

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