Poor Little Rich Slut (6 page)

“If you think I’m going to let you get away without getting punished, Heiress, you’re wrong there,” he murmured in my ear. “You’ll find a bamboo cane in the attic. Have Angelica cane your bare bottom twelve times before you come back down. Got that?”

I could have died right there, but my response was purely sexual. My juices were flowing and my heart was pounding with excitement.
But Angelica?
This was truly unexpected.

“And I want to see stripes. You hear?”

“Yes, of course,” I obliquely replied.

Finally freed of him, I sped upstairs, soon discovering that the housemaid must have been warned I’d want her. Normally at a time like this, she’d be serving cocktails downstairs, but she was in my room, getting Tate’s sleazy cocktail dress ready for me to wear.

“I told you, miss. He’s funny that way.”

“Yes, you told me,” I said drolly as I gazed at the dress. Maybe I was wrong about it, I thought to myself. I mean, I hadn’t even tried it on.

“You can’t wear underwear with this one,” Angelica informed me. She giggled girlishly.

“No, I don’t suppose you can,” I agreed.

Angelica whisked away the blue, stained dress, while I doffed my bra and, to my chagrin, my panties as well.
Was I really going to go through with this?
I wondered, even as I stepped into the tiny garment and pulled it up my hips.

“
Ooo
my, miss!
That’s a hot one,” Angelica purred as she smoothed the silky fabric along my hips. She tied the bow at the back of my neck,
then
turned me around. Her tender touch reminded me of the night before, for despite my fears over wearing the dress, I was aroused—and even more aroused once I looked in the full-length mirror and saw how perfectly the dress fit. Was it possible to expose nothing, but enhance the look of every significant body part? The dress hugged my hips, but not too tightly. It clung to my breasts, exposing my cleavage though not to the extreme. My
nipples made tiny indentations in the fabric, but no more than was
fashionable for the time. From the rear, the full expanse of my back was exposed, while the eye was drawn downward to where the draping stopped and my bottom began. It might be dangerous to bend over, but otherwise, nothing that
shouldn’t would
show.

“You like it?” Angelica asked as she ran her hand over my bottom underneath the skirt, reminding me just how naked I was underneath.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I do know if you keep touching me like that, I’m going to make a mess of myself.

She giggled and pulled her hand away.

Then I remembered Garrison’s second instruction.

“Angelica?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever … caned a woman?”

“Miss?”

“You know, caned, as in punished?”

“Ah, yes,” He eyes lit up. “Well, no,” she snickered coyly.
“Oh, sometimes a spank or two.”

“How would you like to cane me right now?” Just asking the question, my body flushed with warmth and I could sense a bit of sex juice leaking from my cunt.

“Why would I do that, miss?”

“Mr. Tate thinks I’ve been a bad girl and I deserve to be punished.”

“
Ooo
, my.”
Her smile was still sweet, but her eyes took on a cunning glow.

“And I can’t waste any time,” I urged her. “People are expecting me downstairs. Just come with me.” I moved into the hallway to the third floor stairs and then up the small, creaky steps that led into an unfinished attic. There was very little in the dusty place but a few old paintings stored against one wall, an antique bed—no mattress—in the corner, and in the middle of the room a lamp, a table, and laying across that table, the bamboo cane Garrison promised would be there.

Angelica followed me into the room and stared at the ominous thing with me. I don’t suppose either of us had ever seen an object quite like it. Even though it was just a simple bamboo rod, the purpose of the implement seemed to infuse it with a quality that made us both shudder.

“I’m doing this for Mr. Tate?” the maid finally broke the silence as we collectively stared at the cane.

“Yes, exactly,” I told her. “He said to make sure there are stripes. I’m sure he plans to check the results.”

“Ah.” She nodded her head.

I moved to the table and while trying to avoid the dust, gingerly bent over, which made the short skirt of my dress ride half way up my ass. Angelica moved in and pushed the skirt up higher exposing the expanse of my white cheeks.

“How many, miss?” she asked as she picked up the cane.

“Twelve,” I said.

“You count for me?” She stepped back.

“Of course.”

I took a deep breath while trying to relax my body.
Would it make it easier if I weren’t tense?
I wondered. Though I imagined it would be painful, my entire body was erotically engaged as if this was some sort of love play.

The air stirred behind me and I clamped my eyes shut tight. A heard a swishing sort of sound and felt a bright, stinging thwack of the first weal laid at the center of my buttocks.

“
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeseh
!”
I tensed up seething.

“Count, miss,” Angelica reminded me. Her voice was low and stern, as she slipped all too easily into the role of the stern martinet.

“One,” I answered her.

The cane struck again with the same swish, thwack and fiery pain.

I clutched the sides of the table for support, forgetting how dusty the surface was.

“Two,” I announced, then hastened to add, “Faster, Angelica, please!”

The little tramp fired off the next six rounds in a flurry. I could hardly keep up with the terrible woe that was brandished on my pour bottom, but I managed, a croaking, “That’s three, four, five, six, seven,
eight
and… I think nine.” I didn’t know for sure.

The last three came with the same swift speed as the six before and I nearly stumbled into the table from the powerful force. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was wearing a white dress, I’m sure I would have collapsed in a heap.

“Oh, my God!”
I vented as I tried to come to my senses. The pain was slowly diminishing, although when Angelica touched the raw
weals
, I found myself squirming under her hand.

“A little cream here might help,” she said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I answered weakly while holding back my tears.

I righted myself feeling a bit clumsy and pushed the dress down over my sore bottom.

Then leaving the cane where we’d found it, we both returned to my bedroom on the second floor where Angelica quickly massaged some lotion on my throbbing behind. Her roving hand proved to be as arousing as it had been the previous night; I’m sure I could have cum within seconds if her fingers had traveled deeper toward my clitoris and vagina.

“Oh my,” I groaned, but I suddenly stood up straight. “No, no I’ve got to go and so do you!” I was employer again, not punished child. And Angelica was once again my submissive housemaid.

“Yes, miss,” she said.

***

This time, my entrance below was a lot
more grand
than my initial appearance in the demure blue dress. By then, most of the guests had arrived, and as I moved through the crowd, I saw numerous glances in my direction and listened to the comments with a degree of muted pride.

“Good thing you didn’t wear that one and have Tate ruining it with his wine,” my aunt Justine said with a knowing snicker of amusement.

“A little daring for you, isn’t it?” Whimsy Perkins said, whispering in my ear. She’s an older woman who has always loved to flaunt her body. “But you do look ravishing.”

“You’ve never looked more radiant,” Dave Wilson, my father’s long-term business associate, said. He leaned in, “And I don’t think it’s just the dress.” His second comment gave me pause. I wondered exactly what he meant but my attention was quickly diverted by the caterers and I had to leave with just a gracious thank-you.

Apparently, my world would not fall apart because I’d decided to be a little daring, nor did I feel any judgment regarding the dress. By the time Garrison caught up with me, I was beaming happily over my recent triumphs, both the public and the private ones.

“You’re a busy woman. Looks like I’m the last one to compliment you,” Garrison said with a smug smile.

“I was wrong about the dress,” I admitted.

“As I knew you would be.” He surreptitiously placed his hand on my behind and gave it a squeeze. “How’s your ass?”

“My ass is just fine,” I said still smiling. There were too many people around for a conversation about the caning in the attic and he knew that.

But then he leaned into my shoulder. “I want you to wander into the conservatory. Find a private spot.”

“If there is one,” I said doubtfully.

“Oh, I think everyone is pretty well corralled around the food. You’ll hardly be missed.”
I smiled a half smile and began to wander. Now, more than ever, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. It registered in my body as heat and vibration, a pulse centering in my belly and extending outward. By the time I finally reached the conservatory, which was attached to the house on the South side, just off one end of the great room, there were only a few people in the vicinity, just as Garrison predicted.

The large glass enclosure was filled with my father’s orchids and other tropical plants he tended with great care. I’d never been particularly interested in them, but I did love the aroma of the room and even the greenhouse heat that made me feel as if I was walking through a jungle. As far as I could tell, there was no one in the conservatory, which made my meeting with Garrison as private as it could be, while still so close to the party.

“So, let me see you,” he said. He’d come up from behind.

I turned. “You want to see my bottom now?”

“I want to see the stripes, yes.”

I flushed as a titillating feeling of embarrassment swept through me. But I obeyed the order and bent over, placing my hands on a bench and let him look.

He flipped the skirt off my rear.
“Very nice.
I always thought the little bitch had a little sadist in her.”

“I’d say there’s more than a
little
sadist in her,” I commented.

His hand moved over my wounds, bringing back the original pain, although my bottom seemed to move involuntarily under his palm, struggling to increase the erotic sensation already cavorting through me unchecked.

“Doesn’t take much to turn you on, does it?” he said.

I was only too aware of the precarious position I was in. I worried that any minute someone would find me there, bent over and shamelessly enjoying Garrison’s caress. Even so, I took no measures to end the scene. He began to massage the tender flesh a little harder; I could hear myself groan as his fingers moved deep between my legs. He toyed with the opening of my vagina and my juices ran out over his hand.

“I should just fuck you here,” he declared in a scowling whisper.

Oh, I wish you would!
I silently screamed, while under my breath I softly seethed.

After having me nearly orgasmic, he moved his focus from my cunt to my rear hole. These last few days had produced a series of firsts for me…this anal stimulation became another.

I was immediately confused. Garrison’s finger was on my anus, smoothing my own juices about the
hole
and prodding open the tight muscle that didn’t want to give. His free hand was on my shoulder to steady me—so I wouldn’t freak out, which I suspect he knew might happen. He wasn’t far off the mark, as I felt a moment of panic make me almost bolt.

While I thought of the party going on just yards away, I felt myself being crudely probed. Once again, I wondered what had come over me to allow a man such complete power over me. And yet, despite my worried wondering, I did nothing to stop him, as if I had no will of my own anymore.

His finger moved deeper when my sphincter finally relaxed. It seemed that the more my arousal
crescendoed
the more I allowed him entrance. My breathing became ragged; I was panting with an open mouth. Again,
a surge orgasmic spasms
threatened to send me into climax. I would have given anything to have gone that far, but then, just as the climax was on me, Garrison pulled his finger from my anus, and something else,
something
foreign plunged inside my rectum.

“What was that?!” I came up asking.

He forcefully pushed me back down.

“Just a small anal plug.
You’ll wear it the rest of the night.”

The
weals
of Angelica’s caning weren’t enough?

“Yes, and I’m sure you’re wondering why. Well, I’ll let you tell me why once the night is over.”

The plug fit tight, but there was no way it would stay without some help. Knowing this, Garrison came prepared with some thin, flesh-colored leather straps that snugly held the device in place. They threaded my crotch and joined a narrow belt that circled my hips. Not only would I have the plug in my ass, but the leather strap slipped in right next to my clitoris, giving me the constant sensation of something pressing at that bud—a devious and perpetual reminder of Garrison’s authority over me.