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The horse suddenly veered to the left, snorting and threw his head up, nearly hitting my nose. I wrestled with the reins and reluctantly he resumed our course.
‘Bloody horses. Thousands of years as man’s companion and still scared of pigs.’
Vicky laughed from the saddle of the much larger horse alongside me.
‘You really don’t like horses do you?’
‘I hate the bloody things. And, what is more, there are about four miles of pig fields before we get back to the farm. And, I have to wear this ridiculous outfit.’
‘Oh do come off it, Suzy. You look good enough to eat and it shows off your arse deliciously. Don’t you just love the raw power between your legs?’
‘Actually, no. I might if I was in control of it but Pansy and I both know I am not.’
Vicky had told me that she always called gelded horses names like that.
‘Perhaps you’d have more fun if you rode with a bung in your arse?’
I looked at her and smirked. Her cornflower eyes had that wicked smile and her blonde, short cut hair, flicked around her ears beneath her tweed cap, the one she preferred to a riding hat like the one I was wearing.
Vicky’s father, grandfather and a long line of previous ancestors had farmed, become rich and died to pass the farm and wealth on. She, the last of the line, had inherited, leased the farm and kept the magnificent farmhouse and enough land to indulge her love of bloody equines. It was my love for her that led me to be where I was at that moment.
‘You’ll be fine. Old Pansy’s a great old thing, bomb proof if you show him who's boss.’
It became almost immediately clear that Pansy was not convinced of my managerial skills as he reared, whinnying and ejected me from the saddle. I felt as though I were suspended in mid air for minutes before a searing pain in my shoulder was followed by a crack on the head and welcome oblivion.
I became aware that I was looking up at a blonde framed face with four eyes which was surrounded by pale blue. I tried to focus but couldn’t. I felt a hand pass across my forehead and stroke my hair.
‘I’ve called an ambulance. You’ll be fine, don’t worry. You banged your head.’
Of that fact I was painfully aware.
‘Does, it hurt?’
‘I think the battle of El Alamein is being replayed inside me.’
‘Don’t be melodramatic. Be brave, sweety, not long now, I can hear the siren.’
I knew now that I was lying in her lap. I could see, very blurred, the shapes of the two horses tied to a fence post, presumably the fence that had assaulted me.
‘The nursing profession’s loss was my gain.’
Vicky chuckled. ‘We had a nurse we called Henry at school. She had teeth like Pansy’s. Her sole diagnostic technique was to shove a finger up your arse.’
I half muttered that I wished she’d shoved Pansy up Vicky’s arse.
‘I’ll let that pass since you’re not at your best.’
While the paramedics where assessing me, Vicky told me that she’d have to take the horses home but that she’d come straight to the hospital as soon as she had. I understood this but felt disappointed nevertheless. She kissed me, stood and I could see her more clearly in her jodhpurs, boots and Barbour. Then I threw up in a rather spectacular manner and passed out again.
I had no idea what time it was when I next knew what was going on. Vicky was sitting on the bed at my feet reading a paper. A nurse was shoving something in my ear and a blood pressure band was tightening around my upper left arm. The other arm was screaming blue murder.
‘Ah, back with us are you?’
I took in my surroundings as the nurse continued.
‘We think you’re concussed and you’ve definitely bust your upper right arm. The doc’s sending you for a head scan to make sure it’s nothing worse, then an x ray for your arm and theatre later.’
‘My Fair Lady?’ That was Vicky from the foot of the bed.
I asked, ‘Can you do something about the pain?’
‘As soon as the doctor says it’s okay, yes.’
‘I meant the one at the end of the bed.’
Vicky guffawed in her best upper class school manner. ‘You puked all over my riding boots.’
Once in hospital you become part of a system. The trolley I was on was pushed hither and thither, I was shoved through a large metal doughnut, photographed by a jolly woman wearing a blue apron and a badge that announced her name as Verity.
‘Nasty break,’ she opined cheerfully, staring at the x ray. ‘Not to worry, right as rain in no time. Bye for now.’
Then I was wheeled to a ward where Vicky was sitting comfortably in a chair still reading her paper. She looked up and watched as I was hefted onto the bed.
She pulled her chair alongside the bed and ran her hand over my forehead.
‘My god, you’re wearing a bugger's nighty.’ She laughed, referring to the inevitable hospital backless gown. ‘I swear they only do that to humiliate you. Good job your arse wasn’t like it was a couple of weeks ago. They’d be doing me for domestic violence.’
I hadn’t thought of that.
The nurse came back accompanied by a woman in a long white coat, stethoscope traditionally wrapped about her neck.
‘Your head’s fine. The arm’s a bit of a mess and we’ll be seeing to that this afternoon. Good job you hurt yourself so early this morning or you’d have had to wait until tomorrow.’ How comforting. ‘Smashing bruise on your bum, looks like someone took a cricket bat to it.’
‘That’s what a fence post can do you for you,’ said Vicky helpfully. The doctor and nurse left.
‘While your being fixed I’ll go home, change and feed the animals then I’ll be back here before you are, so don’t worry. Want anything from home?’
‘Could you shoot Pansy please?’
I was operated on at four that afternoon. Vicky was there to greet me when they wheeled me back to my bed although I was a bit drowsy and far from good company. She promised to come in the morning to take me home.
The nurse came in as we were kissing goodbye.
‘Sorry to intrude.’
Vicky didn’t stop kissing me for a while then, when she did, she said, ‘No problem. Just saying goodnight to my Hausfrau here.’ Turning back to me. ‘Bye darling. I’ll bring some clothes for you. They cut all yours off. £100 jods cut up! Appalling waste.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘at least there’s some good news.’ She smirked, kissed me again and left.
They let me out after two more days of ‘bed rest.’ I was not allowed to drive for a week to make sure the concussion was all gone. I felt limp and the arm hurt a lot despite the painkillers. Vicky drove me home. She’d brought me a loose dress which was easy to get on but she had ‘forgotten’ underwear.
‘I’ve filled the freezer with ready meals. I can't have you cooking with one arm and I don’t cook as you know.’ I knew that only too well. If she went near a kitchen with intent to cook, milk curdled, eggs broke and food turned toxic. I didn’t say that of course.
What I did say was, ‘Suppose they’d seen the marks on my arse.’
‘Then they’d have known more about us, wouldn’t they?’
“But would they have called the police?’
She held my hand. ‘Darling, everything we do is for my pleasure and your discipline. You’d have had to explain and there would be absolutely nothing anyone could do. It’s absolutely none of their business, is it?’
Whilst I accepted that, I was glad the cane welts on my backside had disappeared. It’s so hard to explain a relationship like ours.
She then asked me a question I had never anticipated. ‘Are you ashamed of the marks?’
‘Not a bit. I just know that other people don’t understand.’
‘Fuck ‘em is what I say.’
‘We haven’t been out for a social since you threw yourself off Pansy.’
Vicky had been taking care of me and I knew she was restless for some activity. She rode every day and we walked the dogs together of course but she was a social animal and loved going out. I was improving rapidly, had lost the plaster cast and although I still needed a sling I could cook again and do my normal duties around the house mostly.
‘The Hunt are doing Burns Night again this year, Saturday in fact. I thought I’d take you.’
Now, to be brutally honest, the local Hunt was not entirely my thing. They all loved horses for a start and thought anyone who didn’t was a heretic. They threw lavish balls and fund raising events and since they were mostly rich or aspired to be, they always wore expensive clothes and drank industrial quantities of champagne. Not that any of that was bad, it was just that they were all Vicky’s friends rather than mine. The good thing about them was that they were, as the landed rich often are, earthy and accepting of any type of sexuality.
Saturdays in January can be dull. Short, cold days and even shorter, colder nights. I suspect one of the reasons for Burns Night’s popularity is that it is an excuse to find a reason to dress up and enjoy and forget the chill and misery that is a British winter.
A long dress, dark blue with a scooped neck and a full skirt was her choice for me that Saturday evening. The taxi was due at 7.30 and I was expected to be ready by 7 so that we could have a drink together before we left. That meant me getting ready then pouring our drinks and waiting for Vicky to sort herself out. She came down to the sitting room where a fire burned in the hearth and low lights sparkled on the two glasses of bubbly that I had poured. She looked stunning. A genuine Scot’s kilt with the obligatory sporran, long socks with knife tucked in, a white frilly-fronted and cuffed shirt and a black, short jacket with brass buttons. She wore a black bow tie.
‘How do I look?’
‘Sumptuous.’
‘Good enough to eat?’
I smiled and she lifted the front of her kilt to reveal that she, at least, followed the alleged tradition that nothing should be worn beneath it. Her eyebrow lifted and I knew what was expected of me.
Hitching up my dress as she spread her legs for me, I knelt at her feet and paid my respects to the Venusian mountain. The heavy kilt fell over me as I loved her, my tongue finding her treasure, playing around her folds and her little but growing clitoris. I sucked her then, squeezing and rolling that little nerve bundle. I could barely hear her but I didn’t need to to know that she was on the brink. She had been wet when I got to it and I knew she’d brought herself to a state of arousal before she came downstairs. She wanted a quick one and got it. I felt her excitement, her arousal, her orgasm as it rose and crested and she gave me her thick liquid. I licked her down and clean, loving her gift as I always did.
We were among the last to arrive at the party. Men and women dressed much as we were. She’d placed a tartan shawl on me, across one shoulder and pinned at my hip. With my bad arm in a light sling.
We stood at the entrance to the large hall of the Leader of the Hunt’s baronial mansion. It was scene from a film depicting Scottish life. Everyone stood, drinking a variety of drinks and a waitress, dressed like a Scot’s maid, passed through the throng of perhaps sixty people with a tray of glasses. We each accepted one.
The bagpipe screamed the welcome to the haggis when we had finished a bowl of soup. Increasingly relaxed by alcohol, the guests applauded with clapping and whoops as the blessed pudding was ceremonially brought in, carried on a huge silver platter. The Leader drew his knife and ritually stabbed it before the incantation of Burns’s famous ode; happily not its entirety.
The waitresses served the traditional meal.
Vicky sat opposite me between a man of about fifty years and a woman of about forty. To my left sat a statuesque forty-five year old woman with a cap of dark brown hair and to my right a much older man, her husband who gave the impression that this might be his last Burns Night. He looked frail and a little over exposed to the whisky.
As dinner ended he excused himself from the table and disappeared. Vicky smiled at me across the table, pushed back her chair and made her way to where the dancing had started. I watched as she selected one of the younger women and led her to join the reel that was being prepared.
The woman next to me turned to me. Her voice was a product of money and expensive education.
‘Poor old bugger. He was quite something when I married him. Never marry a much older man, darling. Oh, but then, you’re not exactly the marrying kind are you?’
‘Well, not in the traditional sense, no.’
‘Of course, I forgot we can all marry now. You’re with our lovely Victoria?’ I confirmed this. ‘Well, she’s a lucky one and no mistake. Why the sling?’
I explained about my accident and my inherent loathing of horses.
‘Like men, darling, you need to show them who's boss.’
‘That was what Vicky said, just before the bastard thing hurled me onto a fence post.’
She laughed revealing good teeth. ‘Our Victoria, well, your Victoria I suppose one should say, is a fine horsewoman. I’m Debra,’ she spelt it, ‘and he is, or perhaps by now was George. Don’t imagine he’ll be my George much longer. He can barely stand, let alone dance, bless him.’
Vicky arrived at that moment, glowing. She kissed Debra fondly and with her hand resting on my shoulder.
‘Mind if I drag my bird onto the dance floor, Debs? She needs the exercise. She’s been malingering lately.’
‘We cant have that, can we Victoria. Perhaps you’d lend her to me later? If she gets too much for you, that is?’
As we walked to the floor, I said, ‘Was she asking what I think she was asking?’
‘Probably, darling. Dear Debs once told me she had shagged the entire committee, including the women. Rumour is that she wore poor old George out within a fortnight of meeting him. Insatiable, so they say.’
‘Weren’t you on the committee?’
She grinned but gave no reply, partly because the music had started and partly because, I suspect, she liked to keep me guessing.
Scottish dancing is a sort of combat really. It all looks lovely, but with feet and arms flying one is at great risk of serious injury. It isn’t made easier with one arm in a sling. I did my best. Vicky was careful not to do me any harm and after a couple of dances she led me past the table and out of the hall into a side room, where she kissed me. She tasted of whisky, good whisky. The room was almost in darkness, the sole illumination being a log fire but I could vaguely make out heavy curtains, a couple of wide leather armchairs and a sofa.
Vicky has an amazing capacity for drink. I do not and so had been taking it easy. She unpinned the sash and used it to pull me to her. I could feel the brass buttons of her jacket and the brush of her lips. I opened my mouth to her. She released the sash and ran her hands over my breasts through the silk of my dress. She bent to lick my chin and down my neck. I slid my arm from its sling and put both arms around her neck. Her hands roamed over my back, raking the bare skin above the low backed dress. I sucked her tongue into my mouth.
‘I wondered where you two had got to.’ Debra startled me. She stood just in the doorway, holding a glass of amber liquid.
‘Just checking her medical condition,’ said Vicky with a smile.
‘Yes, I saw. Seems perfectly fine to me, darling.’ She walked to us and stood behind me, talking to Vicky. ‘Did you fuck her before you came tonight?’
I felt Debra’s hand on my arse and went to move but Vicky held me tightly.
She said, ‘We don’t all shag and tell, Debs, darling.’
‘Well, I call that plain rude. Did she fuck you, Susan?’
‘No.’
Her hand caressed my arse and I felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘George didn’t fuck me either. But then, George isn’t any use in that department anymore.’ The hand traced the crack of my arse.
‘Well, you’ve probably exhausted the poor old fart,’ said Vicky.
‘Doubtless. Now, are you going to lend me this little joy toy or am I going to have to go and find someone else to give Lady Debra her just desserts?’
‘Not tonight, Debs. I’m going to take her home now. I think we both need a little together time.’
‘Cant say I blame you but then, you cant blame me for asking either.’ She patted my arse. ‘Give her a good seeing to and remember, Lady Debra is always willing to babysit or puppy walk if you need me.’ Her heels clicked on the oak floor as she left.
I think it was then that I breathed again.
‘Don’t forget, sweety, that if I decide to lend you to her, then I will. Clear?’
‘Yes, Vicky.’
‘Yes, who?’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Better. Show me your arse.’
This was familiar territory. I turned so my back was illuminated by the crackling fire and lifted my dress. She pulled my knickers down a little and her hand wandered gently over my skin.
‘Not a mark on you. Well, home I think and we’ll put that to rights. Victoria is feeling rather cruel now. Debra taught me to enjoy my cruel side. She said it keeps a woman young. Come along now, let’s get home and find something to make my evening complete.’
The fire in the hearth was dying. I added logs and helped it to reawaken. Victoria watched me as I knelt in front of the fire. I was naked but for a suspender belt and stockings. She reclined, still wearing her kilt and shirt but having lost the jacket and bow tie. I turned to face her, still on my knees.
‘Well done you. I can never get the bloody thing to start. Pour me another whisky, darling. I want you to have one too.’
I stood up and walked to the sideboard where a large decanter held her favourite whisky. I poured a large one for her, a smaller for myself. Low lights barely lit the room.
‘Debra is one of the few who understands us you know.’
I placed her glass beside her on a low table to her left hand side. I sat on the floor, resting my back against her legs and felt her hand caress the top of my head. She was often at her gentlest before she indulged her cruel side. It seemed she enjoyed the gentle intimacies before she sought out my fears and tears. She knew I was at my most nervous now because I could have no idea whether it was to be long and drawn out or quick or what. She loved my uncertainty, my fear. Victoria loved tears shed for her pleasure. She was imaginative too, finding ways to hurt that surprised but always there was the pleasure, the intense, profound pleasure that went along with it. I sipped my whisky.
‘She once told me that she’d love simply to watch me caning you. I rather like the idea.’
I turned my face to her and looked up. I could see that look in her eyes. Fear ran through me like lava.
‘Stay there.’
Victoria stood up. I watched the sway of her kilt as she walked out of the room. Hesitating at the door, she turned and looked at me and her lip curled and my bowels turned to water. I knew that look too.
‘Over the chair, sweety.’
I waited, bent over the back of the softly upholstered chair. I could see myself in a large mirror hanging over the fireplace. Why, I asked myself. But, of course, I knew the answer. Nobody would understand but I did. I didn’t hear her bare feet pad into the room but I saw her in the mirror when she came to stand behind me. She’d put on a knee length nightdress, sheer and black, her breasts clearly visible. She kissed the small of my back, licked it. Her hands ran softly over my buttocks, over my thighs and up, up over my back in a gentle caress. The firelight flickered, illuminating my face. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see myself at this moment. Shame? Damned if I know.
‘Open your eyes.’
I watched as she placed a black stocking around my neck and pulled it tight. Not so tight as to throttle me but tight enough for me to feel it there. She held the two ends between the fingers of her left hand, like she held the reins when riding. Her mouth was beside my ear.
‘Look into my eyes. I want you to see, to understand.’
The crop in her hand, her right hand, was black. It had a tongue at its end, split like a snake’s. I was all too familiar with it. I watched her as she stroked me with it.
‘I love you, darling, with all my heart.’
I knew it was true. She kissed my ear, my cheek. The first stinging blow was across my arse. I bucked and she steadied me with the hand that held the stocking. The second came fast and accurate across the same spot. Then more with a few seconds between each but each harder than the other. I looked at her and saw the gleam in her eyes. She licked the back of my neck as another blow stung the tops of my thighs.
Victoria unwound the stocking. Deliberately she lifted her nightdress and slowly stuffed the foot of the stocking into herself until she left about six inches hanging. She held the nightdress so I could see, despite the tears running from my eyes. As I watched she walked round to stand in front of me. Her hands found my nipples and caressed them as she sighed and whispered how much she loved them. Her mouth came to mine and she kissed me, lifting my chin. My mouth opened and her tongue entered me. The kiss was deep and passionate, slow and loving. She twisted my nipples between sharp finger nails until I cried out into her mouth and she swallowed my pain.
Pulling back from me she pulled the stocking slowly until it was gathered into her hand. She pushed it into my mouth, leaving its top dangling.
‘Come with me.’
Standing, feeling the burn on my arse and thighs I took her proffered hand and she led me up the stairs. The bedroom was dark but a little moonlight through the uncertained window allowed us to see the white sheets.
‘Face down, legs wide.’
I lay down as instructed, spread my legs and waited. The bed eventually dipped as she got on behind me and I felt the slippery tip of her strapon at my dark star. She pressed slowly and I tried to relax, to accept it, to welcome it. Hesitantly she held herself there, slowly, so slowly she began to increase the pressure and I felt the burn then the delicious slither as she overcame my resistance. As it delved deeper she let her body relax onto mine, nipples hard against my back, her hands holding her just enough to allow her to begin to fuck me. Her mouth was at my neck, licking, kissing and biting as she plundered me until her orgasm spewed from her and with it my own. God how I loved her.
I woke still face down, my head turned sideways on the pillow. She was on one elbow, her free hand tracing the welts I knew were there. She lowered her face.
‘Best not fall off today, darling. You don’t want the doctors asking awkward questions.’
‘Oh, please tell me you don’t want me to ride with my arm as it is?’
‘God, you’re such a wuss! Oh well, that means I’ll have to keep them topped up until you’re fully fit.’ I could hear the smile in her voice. She slapped my arse. ‘Tea for Victoria, please and then a brisk walk with the dogs. If I cant have you mounted then I think Vicky’s steel had better be installed here.’ Her finger traced my arsehole.
We showered after drinking tea side by side in bed. We had the brief ceremony of ‘’popping the plug’ as she liked to call it and then dressed for a walk in the brisk, cold but bright day, the dogs gleefully enjoying and exploring the smells of her land.
‘Can I have a cat?’
‘The sort with one tail or nine?’
‘I was thinking of the sort with four legs and one tail.’
‘Great idea, but so is the other. Both or neither.’
We stopped and stood facing each other, her hands on my shoulders. I kissed her mouth, a lingering kiss.
‘Both then. One for me, the other for you,’ I said.
‘God, I love you.’
‘Bloody horses. Thousands of years as man’s companion and still scared of pigs.’
Vicky laughed from the saddle of the much larger horse alongside me.
‘You really don’t like horses do you?’
‘I hate the bloody things. And, what is more, there are about four miles of pig fields before we get back to the farm. And, I have to wear this ridiculous outfit.’
‘Oh do come off it, Suzy. You look good enough to eat and it shows off your arse deliciously. Don’t you just love the raw power between your legs?’
‘Actually, no. I might if I was in control of it but Pansy and I both know I am not.’
Vicky had told me that she always called gelded horses names like that.
‘Perhaps you’d have more fun if you rode with a bung in your arse?’
I looked at her and smirked. Her cornflower eyes had that wicked smile and her blonde, short cut hair, flicked around her ears beneath her tweed cap, the one she preferred to a riding hat like the one I was wearing.
Vicky’s father, grandfather and a long line of previous ancestors had farmed, become rich and died to pass the farm and wealth on. She, the last of the line, had inherited, leased the farm and kept the magnificent farmhouse and enough land to indulge her love of bloody equines. It was my love for her that led me to be where I was at that moment.
‘You’ll be fine. Old Pansy’s a great old thing, bomb proof if you show him who's boss.’
It became almost immediately clear that Pansy was not convinced of my managerial skills as he reared, whinnying and ejected me from the saddle. I felt as though I were suspended in mid air for minutes before a searing pain in my shoulder was followed by a crack on the head and welcome oblivion.
I became aware that I was looking up at a blonde framed face with four eyes which was surrounded by pale blue. I tried to focus but couldn’t. I felt a hand pass across my forehead and stroke my hair.
‘I’ve called an ambulance. You’ll be fine, don’t worry. You banged your head.’
Of that fact I was painfully aware.
‘Does, it hurt?’
‘I think the battle of El Alamein is being replayed inside me.’
‘Don’t be melodramatic. Be brave, sweety, not long now, I can hear the siren.’
I knew now that I was lying in her lap. I could see, very blurred, the shapes of the two horses tied to a fence post, presumably the fence that had assaulted me.
‘The nursing profession’s loss was my gain.’
Vicky chuckled. ‘We had a nurse we called Henry at school. She had teeth like Pansy’s. Her sole diagnostic technique was to shove a finger up your arse.’
I half muttered that I wished she’d shoved Pansy up Vicky’s arse.
‘I’ll let that pass since you’re not at your best.’
While the paramedics where assessing me, Vicky told me that she’d have to take the horses home but that she’d come straight to the hospital as soon as she had. I understood this but felt disappointed nevertheless. She kissed me, stood and I could see her more clearly in her jodhpurs, boots and Barbour. Then I threw up in a rather spectacular manner and passed out again.
I had no idea what time it was when I next knew what was going on. Vicky was sitting on the bed at my feet reading a paper. A nurse was shoving something in my ear and a blood pressure band was tightening around my upper left arm. The other arm was screaming blue murder.
‘Ah, back with us are you?’
I took in my surroundings as the nurse continued.
‘We think you’re concussed and you’ve definitely bust your upper right arm. The doc’s sending you for a head scan to make sure it’s nothing worse, then an x ray for your arm and theatre later.’
‘My Fair Lady?’ That was Vicky from the foot of the bed.
I asked, ‘Can you do something about the pain?’
‘As soon as the doctor says it’s okay, yes.’
‘I meant the one at the end of the bed.’
Vicky guffawed in her best upper class school manner. ‘You puked all over my riding boots.’
Once in hospital you become part of a system. The trolley I was on was pushed hither and thither, I was shoved through a large metal doughnut, photographed by a jolly woman wearing a blue apron and a badge that announced her name as Verity.
‘Nasty break,’ she opined cheerfully, staring at the x ray. ‘Not to worry, right as rain in no time. Bye for now.’
Then I was wheeled to a ward where Vicky was sitting comfortably in a chair still reading her paper. She looked up and watched as I was hefted onto the bed.
She pulled her chair alongside the bed and ran her hand over my forehead.
‘My god, you’re wearing a bugger's nighty.’ She laughed, referring to the inevitable hospital backless gown. ‘I swear they only do that to humiliate you. Good job your arse wasn’t like it was a couple of weeks ago. They’d be doing me for domestic violence.’
I hadn’t thought of that.
The nurse came back accompanied by a woman in a long white coat, stethoscope traditionally wrapped about her neck.
‘Your head’s fine. The arm’s a bit of a mess and we’ll be seeing to that this afternoon. Good job you hurt yourself so early this morning or you’d have had to wait until tomorrow.’ How comforting. ‘Smashing bruise on your bum, looks like someone took a cricket bat to it.’
‘That’s what a fence post can do you for you,’ said Vicky helpfully. The doctor and nurse left.
‘While your being fixed I’ll go home, change and feed the animals then I’ll be back here before you are, so don’t worry. Want anything from home?’
‘Could you shoot Pansy please?’
I was operated on at four that afternoon. Vicky was there to greet me when they wheeled me back to my bed although I was a bit drowsy and far from good company. She promised to come in the morning to take me home.
The nurse came in as we were kissing goodbye.
‘Sorry to intrude.’
Vicky didn’t stop kissing me for a while then, when she did, she said, ‘No problem. Just saying goodnight to my Hausfrau here.’ Turning back to me. ‘Bye darling. I’ll bring some clothes for you. They cut all yours off. £100 jods cut up! Appalling waste.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘at least there’s some good news.’ She smirked, kissed me again and left.
They let me out after two more days of ‘bed rest.’ I was not allowed to drive for a week to make sure the concussion was all gone. I felt limp and the arm hurt a lot despite the painkillers. Vicky drove me home. She’d brought me a loose dress which was easy to get on but she had ‘forgotten’ underwear.
‘I’ve filled the freezer with ready meals. I can't have you cooking with one arm and I don’t cook as you know.’ I knew that only too well. If she went near a kitchen with intent to cook, milk curdled, eggs broke and food turned toxic. I didn’t say that of course.
What I did say was, ‘Suppose they’d seen the marks on my arse.’
‘Then they’d have known more about us, wouldn’t they?’
“But would they have called the police?’
She held my hand. ‘Darling, everything we do is for my pleasure and your discipline. You’d have had to explain and there would be absolutely nothing anyone could do. It’s absolutely none of their business, is it?’
Whilst I accepted that, I was glad the cane welts on my backside had disappeared. It’s so hard to explain a relationship like ours.
She then asked me a question I had never anticipated. ‘Are you ashamed of the marks?’
‘Not a bit. I just know that other people don’t understand.’
‘Fuck ‘em is what I say.’
‘We haven’t been out for a social since you threw yourself off Pansy.’
Vicky had been taking care of me and I knew she was restless for some activity. She rode every day and we walked the dogs together of course but she was a social animal and loved going out. I was improving rapidly, had lost the plaster cast and although I still needed a sling I could cook again and do my normal duties around the house mostly.
‘The Hunt are doing Burns Night again this year, Saturday in fact. I thought I’d take you.’
Now, to be brutally honest, the local Hunt was not entirely my thing. They all loved horses for a start and thought anyone who didn’t was a heretic. They threw lavish balls and fund raising events and since they were mostly rich or aspired to be, they always wore expensive clothes and drank industrial quantities of champagne. Not that any of that was bad, it was just that they were all Vicky’s friends rather than mine. The good thing about them was that they were, as the landed rich often are, earthy and accepting of any type of sexuality.
Saturdays in January can be dull. Short, cold days and even shorter, colder nights. I suspect one of the reasons for Burns Night’s popularity is that it is an excuse to find a reason to dress up and enjoy and forget the chill and misery that is a British winter.
A long dress, dark blue with a scooped neck and a full skirt was her choice for me that Saturday evening. The taxi was due at 7.30 and I was expected to be ready by 7 so that we could have a drink together before we left. That meant me getting ready then pouring our drinks and waiting for Vicky to sort herself out. She came down to the sitting room where a fire burned in the hearth and low lights sparkled on the two glasses of bubbly that I had poured. She looked stunning. A genuine Scot’s kilt with the obligatory sporran, long socks with knife tucked in, a white frilly-fronted and cuffed shirt and a black, short jacket with brass buttons. She wore a black bow tie.
‘How do I look?’
‘Sumptuous.’
‘Good enough to eat?’
I smiled and she lifted the front of her kilt to reveal that she, at least, followed the alleged tradition that nothing should be worn beneath it. Her eyebrow lifted and I knew what was expected of me.
Hitching up my dress as she spread her legs for me, I knelt at her feet and paid my respects to the Venusian mountain. The heavy kilt fell over me as I loved her, my tongue finding her treasure, playing around her folds and her little but growing clitoris. I sucked her then, squeezing and rolling that little nerve bundle. I could barely hear her but I didn’t need to to know that she was on the brink. She had been wet when I got to it and I knew she’d brought herself to a state of arousal before she came downstairs. She wanted a quick one and got it. I felt her excitement, her arousal, her orgasm as it rose and crested and she gave me her thick liquid. I licked her down and clean, loving her gift as I always did.
We were among the last to arrive at the party. Men and women dressed much as we were. She’d placed a tartan shawl on me, across one shoulder and pinned at my hip. With my bad arm in a light sling.
We stood at the entrance to the large hall of the Leader of the Hunt’s baronial mansion. It was scene from a film depicting Scottish life. Everyone stood, drinking a variety of drinks and a waitress, dressed like a Scot’s maid, passed through the throng of perhaps sixty people with a tray of glasses. We each accepted one.
The bagpipe screamed the welcome to the haggis when we had finished a bowl of soup. Increasingly relaxed by alcohol, the guests applauded with clapping and whoops as the blessed pudding was ceremonially brought in, carried on a huge silver platter. The Leader drew his knife and ritually stabbed it before the incantation of Burns’s famous ode; happily not its entirety.
The waitresses served the traditional meal.
Vicky sat opposite me between a man of about fifty years and a woman of about forty. To my left sat a statuesque forty-five year old woman with a cap of dark brown hair and to my right a much older man, her husband who gave the impression that this might be his last Burns Night. He looked frail and a little over exposed to the whisky.
As dinner ended he excused himself from the table and disappeared. Vicky smiled at me across the table, pushed back her chair and made her way to where the dancing had started. I watched as she selected one of the younger women and led her to join the reel that was being prepared.
The woman next to me turned to me. Her voice was a product of money and expensive education.
‘Poor old bugger. He was quite something when I married him. Never marry a much older man, darling. Oh, but then, you’re not exactly the marrying kind are you?’
‘Well, not in the traditional sense, no.’
‘Of course, I forgot we can all marry now. You’re with our lovely Victoria?’ I confirmed this. ‘Well, she’s a lucky one and no mistake. Why the sling?’
I explained about my accident and my inherent loathing of horses.
‘Like men, darling, you need to show them who's boss.’
‘That was what Vicky said, just before the bastard thing hurled me onto a fence post.’
She laughed revealing good teeth. ‘Our Victoria, well, your Victoria I suppose one should say, is a fine horsewoman. I’m Debra,’ she spelt it, ‘and he is, or perhaps by now was George. Don’t imagine he’ll be my George much longer. He can barely stand, let alone dance, bless him.’
Vicky arrived at that moment, glowing. She kissed Debra fondly and with her hand resting on my shoulder.
‘Mind if I drag my bird onto the dance floor, Debs? She needs the exercise. She’s been malingering lately.’
‘We cant have that, can we Victoria. Perhaps you’d lend her to me later? If she gets too much for you, that is?’
As we walked to the floor, I said, ‘Was she asking what I think she was asking?’
‘Probably, darling. Dear Debs once told me she had shagged the entire committee, including the women. Rumour is that she wore poor old George out within a fortnight of meeting him. Insatiable, so they say.’
‘Weren’t you on the committee?’
She grinned but gave no reply, partly because the music had started and partly because, I suspect, she liked to keep me guessing.
Scottish dancing is a sort of combat really. It all looks lovely, but with feet and arms flying one is at great risk of serious injury. It isn’t made easier with one arm in a sling. I did my best. Vicky was careful not to do me any harm and after a couple of dances she led me past the table and out of the hall into a side room, where she kissed me. She tasted of whisky, good whisky. The room was almost in darkness, the sole illumination being a log fire but I could vaguely make out heavy curtains, a couple of wide leather armchairs and a sofa.
Vicky has an amazing capacity for drink. I do not and so had been taking it easy. She unpinned the sash and used it to pull me to her. I could feel the brass buttons of her jacket and the brush of her lips. I opened my mouth to her. She released the sash and ran her hands over my breasts through the silk of my dress. She bent to lick my chin and down my neck. I slid my arm from its sling and put both arms around her neck. Her hands roamed over my back, raking the bare skin above the low backed dress. I sucked her tongue into my mouth.
‘I wondered where you two had got to.’ Debra startled me. She stood just in the doorway, holding a glass of amber liquid.
‘Just checking her medical condition,’ said Vicky with a smile.
‘Yes, I saw. Seems perfectly fine to me, darling.’ She walked to us and stood behind me, talking to Vicky. ‘Did you fuck her before you came tonight?’
I felt Debra’s hand on my arse and went to move but Vicky held me tightly.
She said, ‘We don’t all shag and tell, Debs, darling.’
‘Well, I call that plain rude. Did she fuck you, Susan?’
‘No.’
Her hand caressed my arse and I felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘George didn’t fuck me either. But then, George isn’t any use in that department anymore.’ The hand traced the crack of my arse.
‘Well, you’ve probably exhausted the poor old fart,’ said Vicky.
‘Doubtless. Now, are you going to lend me this little joy toy or am I going to have to go and find someone else to give Lady Debra her just desserts?’
‘Not tonight, Debs. I’m going to take her home now. I think we both need a little together time.’
‘Cant say I blame you but then, you cant blame me for asking either.’ She patted my arse. ‘Give her a good seeing to and remember, Lady Debra is always willing to babysit or puppy walk if you need me.’ Her heels clicked on the oak floor as she left.
I think it was then that I breathed again.
‘Don’t forget, sweety, that if I decide to lend you to her, then I will. Clear?’
‘Yes, Vicky.’
‘Yes, who?’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Better. Show me your arse.’
This was familiar territory. I turned so my back was illuminated by the crackling fire and lifted my dress. She pulled my knickers down a little and her hand wandered gently over my skin.
‘Not a mark on you. Well, home I think and we’ll put that to rights. Victoria is feeling rather cruel now. Debra taught me to enjoy my cruel side. She said it keeps a woman young. Come along now, let’s get home and find something to make my evening complete.’
The fire in the hearth was dying. I added logs and helped it to reawaken. Victoria watched me as I knelt in front of the fire. I was naked but for a suspender belt and stockings. She reclined, still wearing her kilt and shirt but having lost the jacket and bow tie. I turned to face her, still on my knees.
‘Well done you. I can never get the bloody thing to start. Pour me another whisky, darling. I want you to have one too.’
I stood up and walked to the sideboard where a large decanter held her favourite whisky. I poured a large one for her, a smaller for myself. Low lights barely lit the room.
‘Debra is one of the few who understands us you know.’
I placed her glass beside her on a low table to her left hand side. I sat on the floor, resting my back against her legs and felt her hand caress the top of my head. She was often at her gentlest before she indulged her cruel side. It seemed she enjoyed the gentle intimacies before she sought out my fears and tears. She knew I was at my most nervous now because I could have no idea whether it was to be long and drawn out or quick or what. She loved my uncertainty, my fear. Victoria loved tears shed for her pleasure. She was imaginative too, finding ways to hurt that surprised but always there was the pleasure, the intense, profound pleasure that went along with it. I sipped my whisky.
‘She once told me that she’d love simply to watch me caning you. I rather like the idea.’
I turned my face to her and looked up. I could see that look in her eyes. Fear ran through me like lava.
‘Stay there.’
Victoria stood up. I watched the sway of her kilt as she walked out of the room. Hesitating at the door, she turned and looked at me and her lip curled and my bowels turned to water. I knew that look too.
‘Over the chair, sweety.’
I waited, bent over the back of the softly upholstered chair. I could see myself in a large mirror hanging over the fireplace. Why, I asked myself. But, of course, I knew the answer. Nobody would understand but I did. I didn’t hear her bare feet pad into the room but I saw her in the mirror when she came to stand behind me. She’d put on a knee length nightdress, sheer and black, her breasts clearly visible. She kissed the small of my back, licked it. Her hands ran softly over my buttocks, over my thighs and up, up over my back in a gentle caress. The firelight flickered, illuminating my face. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see myself at this moment. Shame? Damned if I know.
‘Open your eyes.’
I watched as she placed a black stocking around my neck and pulled it tight. Not so tight as to throttle me but tight enough for me to feel it there. She held the two ends between the fingers of her left hand, like she held the reins when riding. Her mouth was beside my ear.
‘Look into my eyes. I want you to see, to understand.’
The crop in her hand, her right hand, was black. It had a tongue at its end, split like a snake’s. I was all too familiar with it. I watched her as she stroked me with it.
‘I love you, darling, with all my heart.’
I knew it was true. She kissed my ear, my cheek. The first stinging blow was across my arse. I bucked and she steadied me with the hand that held the stocking. The second came fast and accurate across the same spot. Then more with a few seconds between each but each harder than the other. I looked at her and saw the gleam in her eyes. She licked the back of my neck as another blow stung the tops of my thighs.
Victoria unwound the stocking. Deliberately she lifted her nightdress and slowly stuffed the foot of the stocking into herself until she left about six inches hanging. She held the nightdress so I could see, despite the tears running from my eyes. As I watched she walked round to stand in front of me. Her hands found my nipples and caressed them as she sighed and whispered how much she loved them. Her mouth came to mine and she kissed me, lifting my chin. My mouth opened and her tongue entered me. The kiss was deep and passionate, slow and loving. She twisted my nipples between sharp finger nails until I cried out into her mouth and she swallowed my pain.
Pulling back from me she pulled the stocking slowly until it was gathered into her hand. She pushed it into my mouth, leaving its top dangling.
‘Come with me.’
Standing, feeling the burn on my arse and thighs I took her proffered hand and she led me up the stairs. The bedroom was dark but a little moonlight through the uncertained window allowed us to see the white sheets.
‘Face down, legs wide.’
I lay down as instructed, spread my legs and waited. The bed eventually dipped as she got on behind me and I felt the slippery tip of her strapon at my dark star. She pressed slowly and I tried to relax, to accept it, to welcome it. Hesitantly she held herself there, slowly, so slowly she began to increase the pressure and I felt the burn then the delicious slither as she overcame my resistance. As it delved deeper she let her body relax onto mine, nipples hard against my back, her hands holding her just enough to allow her to begin to fuck me. Her mouth was at my neck, licking, kissing and biting as she plundered me until her orgasm spewed from her and with it my own. God how I loved her.
I woke still face down, my head turned sideways on the pillow. She was on one elbow, her free hand tracing the welts I knew were there. She lowered her face.
‘Best not fall off today, darling. You don’t want the doctors asking awkward questions.’
‘Oh, please tell me you don’t want me to ride with my arm as it is?’
‘God, you’re such a wuss! Oh well, that means I’ll have to keep them topped up until you’re fully fit.’ I could hear the smile in her voice. She slapped my arse. ‘Tea for Victoria, please and then a brisk walk with the dogs. If I cant have you mounted then I think Vicky’s steel had better be installed here.’ Her finger traced my arsehole.
We showered after drinking tea side by side in bed. We had the brief ceremony of ‘’popping the plug’ as she liked to call it and then dressed for a walk in the brisk, cold but bright day, the dogs gleefully enjoying and exploring the smells of her land.
‘Can I have a cat?’
‘The sort with one tail or nine?’
‘I was thinking of the sort with four legs and one tail.’
‘Great idea, but so is the other. Both or neither.’
We stopped and stood facing each other, her hands on my shoulders. I kissed her mouth, a lingering kiss.
‘Both then. One for me, the other for you,’ I said.
‘God, I love you.’
Elissa
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- Category:
- Lesbian
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