Being a Girl (6 page)

‘Not in this lifetime, Hamish. It's a rare and lovely sight, a rare and lovely sight indeed.'

‘Aye, and what are we going to do to punish these defiant Jezebels?'

‘It's not for me to say. It's for me to obey.'

‘Ah, it must be the muse that's brought the poetry out in you, laddie.'

They were gazing at us in wonder. At our pert breasts and lush pussies, our tiny waists and thin shoulders. I suppose we had never looked better and there was some youthful arrogance in the way I kept my back straight, my chin high. There was fear in me, shame, too, but also a weird inexplicable excitement.

I glanced towards the uncurtained windows, as if someone might be passing, not that anyone would ever pass that house. The sky was black. The storm had moved on and a sprinkling of stars had come out. Orange flames floated across the grate like dancers and the Laird's blue eyes were the eyes of a serpent, drawing me back, holding me in their power. I was naked, utterly exposed, my breasts tingling, my tummy filled with butterflies. My breath came in hot rushes and I realised I was panting.

Binky was staring at me. The Laird took her hand, directing it to the base of my spine. Our hips crossed, locking together, and I turned nervously as she began to stroke the soft flesh of my bottom, over the sloping
hill to the undercurve and back again, her caress warming the moisture inside me, and I felt a dampness like dew on the lips of my vagina. The beautiful woman in the painting above the fire was staring down with a knowing expression, her dark eyes full of sadness and secrets.

In the darkness the two men had become shadows. It felt as if we were alone, two naked girls discovering something that had been hidden, our bodies drawn naturally, subconsciously together. Our breasts touched and my nipples burned like the fire in the grate. Binky's eyes flickered and closed. She had thrown back her head, presenting her long neck, which I kissed, softly biting the ivory skin, her hand on my bottom running up my back to the nape of my neck.

I circled her waist. I ran my tongue over her neck, her chin, into her mouth, her plump lips sucking at my lips, and I thought back to that first fleeting peck as we'd entered the barn. I had never kissed my sister before and it was exquisite, her soft tongue circling my tongue, our engorged lips sliding into new positions, pushing greedily as if we were devouring some rare gorgeous feast.

Our pubic mounts were touching and we swivelled our hips, grinding the bones together. I ran my hand over Binky's back. I had never appreciated how slight and fragile she was, her narrow waist widening over slender hips, her spine that I now traversed, up over the well-defined little nubs and down to the hollows in the small of her back. Her thin body relaxed as if it were a bowstring too tightly wound. Her bottom was soft, round, springy, and I felt a syrupy ooze between her cheeks. Binky's hand made the same journey, over my back, then through the crack in my
bottom where she found the same oily wetness, the smell of our arousal so rich and shocking it took my breath away. We were the same height, the same size, and it was like touching yourself, like masturbating.

When the Laird's big hands rested in the middle of our shoulders, one on each side, the mood was disturbed, the passion drifting away like the swell of the tide retreating back to sea.

‘Shush, now, shush. Be still.'

His voice was a chant and when we realised what was happening it was already too late. Byron was on his knees attaching leather straps to our ankles, binding us together. We struggled, but the Laird's hands pressed like the jaws of a vice and we were paralysed. Byron strapped our wrists, swiftly, with skilful fingers, right to left, and we had to widen our legs to keep balance.

The Laird still kept his hands on our backs. I looked up to plead with him but his eyes were glazed. He was staring across the room at the portrait of the lady and I imagined with a sick feeling the long history of debauchery that haunted this secluded manor house.

Byron dragged a heavy dining chair towards us and the Laird stepped up on the red upholstered seat. Immediately above on the beam were two hooks. Byron passed the Laird two lengths of leather which he attached. He reached down for our bound wrists, the swivel join between the straps allowing him to hoist our arms above our heads. He connected our wrists to the straps, first one side, then the other. We struggled, even though it was pointless. Byron was holding Binky because she looked as if she were ready to faint and, though I squirmed and screamed, I couldn't move, and there was no one to hear me. The
Laird tightened the straps in such a way that our feet only just touched the ground.

How did this happen? Did we bring it upon ourselves? We had taken our clothes off, not willingly, but we hadn't put up that much of a fight. I had stood there proud of my full breasts and firm pink nipples. Binky, too, she was just the same, her silky white body displayed so shamelessly in the firelight. While the Laird had been testing us, I'd thought I'd been testing him.

He stood down, stroking our damp flesh, a potter making a vase, over our backs and around the swell of our backsides. There is nothing more humiliating than to bind two girls in this way, and the Laird was aware of his masterwork as he paused to study us, our arms stretched above our heads, our stomachs pulled in, our bottoms thrust out. We were exposed and vulnerable in every way.

It was the most degrading thing that had ever happened to me and yet, and yet, there was a part of me that wanted to know what was going to happen next. What could happen next? I'm not sure why, but I kissed Binky. Not a snog like before, just a kiss to say it was all right. We would get through this. Tears rolled down her cheeks, one after the other, and I licked them away. Byron moved the chair back to its place at the table. The Laird circled us.

‘Two wee sisters,' he said, a tone of awe in his voice. ‘Now, girls, I want you to scream as loud and as long as you can. Do it for an old hill farmer, just to bring a bit of pleasure into my life.'

I lifted my head and stared at him, made him focus. ‘What are you going to do?' I demanded.

‘I'm going to give you want you need, girlie.'

He clicked his fingers and Byron went to the walnut dresser against the wall. He opened the top drawer, removed something, and closed the drawer again. He returned and placed across the Laird's two outstretched palms a leather riding crop with an ornamental tassel.

‘I'm going to thrash you, lassie. That round bottom you keep pushing oot is going to be tanned until it's raw.'

I don't know where I got the courage from, but I spat in his face, an enormous mouthful of spittle that drooled down into his red beard. He grinned and chucked me tenderly under the chin. ‘That's what I like to see, Byron. A bit of spunk.'

As he spoke, he slid the riding crop through the cheeks of my bottom and up, first between my legs, then Binky's legs, locked against my own. He bowed the crop as if playing a cello, slowly, gently, backwards and forwards, and the breath caught in my throat. I sucked at the air and felt a deep raging shame as the liquids leaked from me, wetting my thighs. He kept sliding the crop back and forth, back and forth, urging little gasps from my throat, the crop so soft and the sawing motion so mesmerising, without thinking, I dragged down on the straps and rolled my pelvis until the wings of my pussy opened.

When the Laird slid the crop out and showed it to Byron, I saw that it was sticky, slicked and shiny with juice. Why were we wet like this? We should have been dry with shame, but my sister's naked body pressed tightly to me was intensely erotic, the prurient gaze of the two men so decadent, my embarrassment was submerged by my arousal.

The Laird ran his finger along the length of the soggy crop, then leaned over me, tickling my bottom
playfully with the tassel. ‘There, you see, lassie,' he said. ‘You're going to enjoy this.'

He was close enough for me to spit again but I didn't. I'd made my point. I kept my dignity. He gave Byron the riding crop and the two men stood back, one on each side of us, our bodies in profile and, although I knew what was about to happen, it still seemed unreal, unbelievable.

‘Are you ready, lad?'

‘Aye, Hamish, as ready as I'll ever be.'

‘Together then.'

There was no pause. Byron brought the crop down on my bottom, a swift, hard slash that cut across my pale skin, and the pain that roared through me was like no pain I had ever felt before, a sting, a burn with acid, a flash of fire. Yet even while I was absorbed by my pain, it was the sound of the Laird's big hand slapping Binky that resounded in my ears. She screamed so loudly, and was so close, it felt as if the scream came from my own lungs.

We rolled with the blow and as I watched the Laird draw back his hand, I knew that behind me, Byron McBride was lifting the riding crop. Down it came again, another flash of lightning, just above the first, cutting deep, searing my skin. Tears were gushing from my eyes. My back was drenched and Binky pressed against me felt as if she were on fire.

The next strike with the crop was lower, making a pattern, the line nearer to my sex. My vagina was shamefully engorged, pouting lasciviously between my thighs. Binky was sobbing against my neck, and I wanted to stroke her hair, comfort her, but our arms were pulled above our heads and the only comfort I could give was to kiss her ear.

The riding crop came down again like a whiplash,
the sound of the Laird's big hand spanking Binky's bottom like a clap of thunder that echoed and vibrated around the room. She didn't scream now. She just sobbed, her body trembling. Each new stroke of the riding crop was as painful as the last, but pain changes in character, and when you are familiar with pain, it doesn't seem quite so terrible.

Byron left six strokes on my backside, six red lines of burning agony, the fire in each stripe warming the whole area, up my back to my neck, down my thighs to my feet. My posterior was a furnace, my front was running with the sweat pouring from our two naked bodies and, as I stood there, arms suspended above my head, I felt like a diver at the end of the high-diving board, the void stretched out below me. Something had crossed over in me. I had changed. I had become under the beating a new person, more aware of my senses, more conscious of my own desires.

The Laird bent to inspect Binky's bottom. Now that it had become pitch black outside, the long windows were a wall of mirrors and I could see his reflection, this giant of a man bending over the thin elongated body of my sister, his big fingers pressing tentatively at her bottom as if it were a rare delicate fruit he was about to consume. Byron was inspecting my raw buttocks in the same way, then joined the Laird before they traded positions. Byron flexed his muscles, smiting the air with a test stroke, his eyes meeting mine.

‘Now, are you ready, laddie?' the Laird asked.

Byron smiled. ‘Aye, ready and willing,' he replied.

He raised the crop, and as he brought it down on Binky's hindquarters, I felt the terrible smack of the Laird's hand on my own. Binky was thrust against
me, our dank bodies slippery as fish, like two slimy creatures mysteriously mating. The pleasure and the pain were two threads woven together, making both stronger, more powerful. Before I could catch my breath, the second spank was scolding my flesh, the Laird's huge hand covering the entire surface of my bottom, the sting making the six stripes left by the crop blaze more brightly.

Binky was alternatively sobbing and screaming. I tried not to weep, but the Laird's will was stronger and I couldn't stop myself. It was what he expected, what he wanted. We had done everything he wanted. My body was numb. The fire in my raw bottom was growing calmer and, as the third smack found its mark, I hardly felt it at all. All I could feel was Binky pressed against me, our breasts so hot and wet, our pubic mounts slapping urgently together.

As the fourth smack made contact with my bottom, I didn't cry, and I didn't scream. I found Binky's lips and kissed her. She was surprised at first, but pushed back, sucking at my lips, running her tongue over my teeth, curling the trunk in little twirls down my throat. The two men pumped themselves up, readying themselves for the fifth stroke and, as I saw Byron's arm come down, I felt my stomach clench with contractions.

There was no breath in my body. I was a balloon emptied of gas. I gasped and panted. My mouth had fallen open. I pushed my bottom out to meet the Laird's hand, the muscles of my stomach tightened, and a spasm gripped my pussy. I was desperate with desire, aching with dirty, immodest needs. I could smell my fruity arousal. Or was it Binky's arousal? We were pressed so close I couldn't tell, and the air I breathed was charged on pure unadulterated sex.

Take me. Take me. Take me
.

The words ran through my head and just thinking them made me feel carnal, defiled, promiscuous. I was eighteen. A virgin still. And I wanted the Laird to take me, take me now while the liquids were hot between my legs. I watched and I waited. Byron raised his arm one last time and I gazed at him, eyes wide, knowing that as the riding crop beat the small drum of Binky's bottom, the Laird's brutish palm would crash like a ringing cymbal across my bruised beaten flesh, the pain mingling with a crude pleasure that had begun to release the creamy juices brewing inside me.

He put more effort into that last grand wallop and I roared like a wounded beast as the Laird's hand tattooed its shape on my bottom. I was shaking, trembling, forcing my pubic bone into Binky's open legs, wailing frenziedly, and trying to reach for something just beyond my grasp. The chastisement was over but unfinished, incomplete.

The Laird was retrieving the chair. Byron was already unbuckling the straps around our ankles. I looked into Binky's eyes. They were glossed with tears and exhilaration. I could smell the piquant aromas wafting from her groin and soft white armpits. It made my head spin. The Laird untied the straps holding our arms.