SECRETS OF MYSTMEADE MANOR (F/F, M/F, footjob, very adult!) PART III

[munchausen22]

PART THE THIRD: In Which I Make Fast Friends, Share Stories, and, at Last, Find Release.

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I have yet to discern a clear biological or magickal reason for the connection between the power and female sexuality. I can only say that it all seems to be connected. Perhaps the heightened arousal is merely an ancillary result of absorbing and storing the power? Whatever its cause, it is very definitely real, and powerful – and it raises both practical problems for the scientist in me, and delicious possibilities for the libertine!
From the Journals of Hieronymous Meade, Circa 1901.

I was awakened some hours later by the sound of giggling outside my door. It was quite dark, and I blinked for a moment, uncertain of myself in the strange new surroundings; it was not until I lit the small bedside lamp that I fully remembered my circumstances. A voice outside my door whispered, “Oi! Bethany! Let us in, love!”

I smiled at Kelleen’s Irish lilt and eagerly rushed to the door, my sleepiness falling away. Kelleen and Becca bustled in, dressed as I was, in nightgowns and, of course, bare feet. Becca closed the door behind them and smiled at my confused, but happy, expression.
“Can’t let the first night go by without really getting to know one another,” Becca said. “We’ve come to welcome you properly.” She held up a small bottle of spirits; Kelleen carried three glasses.

“Oh, by all means,” I said with a grin.

The liquor was decanted – a lovely, heady spirit with overtones of honey. Kelleen bounded straight onto my bed, which was enormous enough to accommodate all of us. I climbed on, as well, and artfully propping the plentiful pillows, we sat comfortably. Becca thought of joining us, but instead pulled over a deep, comfortable chair and sat back in it, propping her bare feet on the bed. She wiggled her toes and sighed, then raised a glass to us. We drank.

“So, there are a million things we could speak about,” Becca said, “But I think by far the most interesting would be for each of us to tell how we came to be here. They must be three very curious tales, mustn’t they? And doubtless full of racy bits.” She gave a theatrical raise of her eyebrows.

“But don’t the two of you already know each others’ stories?” I asked. I realized I had no idea how long they had been here, or how well they knew each other.

“Kelleen wanted to wait for us all to arrive. But now she’s tipsy and impatient and I daresay a bit horny, and she’s ready to go ahead.” Kelleen made a noise of mock-protest, and Becca stuck out her tongue at her. Kelleen responded by zipping her big toe down the sole of Becca’s near foot, producing a shriek. I noticed Becca blushed – brazen as she seemed about most things, she seemed rather shy about her ticklishness. I found that quite endearing.

“How long have the two of you been here?” I asked.

“Kelleen was the first of us,” Becca said.

“Right. I’ve been here, oh, about a month, I suppose. Becca came a week after. Then you today, and I believe there will be one other, scheduled to arrive next week,” Kelleen responded.

“The two of you seem as if you’ve known each other for ages.”

“Well, it’s remarkable how quickly formalities fade when you’re regularly tickling one another to tears,” Kelleen said. “Also, this place – just all round, this place breeds the best of feelings.”

“And yet you’ve never discussed how you came to be…well, is chosen the right word?”

“Let’s find out,” Becca said. “Who’s first?”

The question hung there. Kelleen blushed, and I daresay I wore a shade of crimson, as well – I was hardly proud of the circumstances under which I had come to be there. But I realized that, given the Countess’s criteria, they doubtless had similar tales to share.
“Oh, come on,” Becca cajoled. “Don’t make me begin. I need to warm up to mine.”

I took a sip of my liquor and, braced, blurted, “Oh, all right. I’ll begin. But if you make fun, I’ll get you both.” I made a mock-fierce face, and the three of us burst into laughter.

And then I told them. Matter-of-factly as I could, I told of my parents’ accident, my adoption by the Bludgings, and the awful domestic regime of Madame Piggy (whom I imitated to great comic effect – poor Kelleen quite snorted with laughter at one point, and it was a good job she didn’t get a noseful of spirits). I told of that fateful afternoon, of what I had been doing in my chamber (“Ah! I knew we’d get some spicy bits!” Becca said, giving me rather a hungry look that was not at all unwelcome), and my shame at being caught. I told of how Madame Pigg had made what should have been the most private of matters humiliatingly public to her awful friends (“That horrible woman! Oh, you poor dear!” Kelleen interjected, laying a reassuring hand on my knee, which I found I quite liked). And I ended by recounting my peculiar interview with the Countess – the ordeal of my test, my despair when I believed I had failed, and my exhilaration when she revealed her true purpose.

“And that’s that,” I said. I was rather proud of myself, having been so utterly plain and honest about it all. It actually felt wonderful – once these girls knew this, my most embarrassing of stories, there was no need to keep anything back. We all shared such a wonderful, mysterious secret already that it seemed only natural that they should become my soul’s closest confederates.

The two of them gave me a little round of applause. “Well told!” Becca said, and Kelleen eagerly expressed her agreement. “Right, then. Who’s next?”

Kelleen sighed. “Well, all right. But my tale’s a bit melancholy, I must warn you.”

“Your story is your story, and we want to hear it,” I said, feeling a rush of sisterly affection for her.

“Right, then. Well, as you know, I come from Ireland, from a modest but lovely little village. My family, like every family in the village, is deeply Catholic, and from my youth, I took part in the sacraments, not least of which, of course, is confession.

“Now, I’ve always been rather a good girl, and for most of my life confession was a recounting of petty envies and trivial transgressions. Perhaps I fibbed to mother about finishing my chores, or I was cross with a schoolmate. And Father Higgins, our parish priest, listened patiently, gave me a Hail Mary or two for penance, and sent me on my way, cleansed of sin.

“As I grew into a woman, though, my body began to betray me, and I found meself drawn to sins of the flesh. Now, here’s the thing – it embarrasses me to speak of it, but I feel we can be open with one another, given the secret we share. My entire body has always been extraordinarily sensitive. I know you are sensitive as well, but…how can I say it? Imagine how sensitive the soles of your feet are to tickling. My entire body is like the sole of a foot.” She made a little face at the insufficiency of her comparison.

“You mean wrinkled and sometimes a bit smelly?” Becca quipped, then dodged the pillow Kelleen threw at her.

“Anyway, as I began to have feelings of a certain sort, I tried and tried to resist them, but it was as if my body just cried out to be touched. And my…button, down there…well, when I get excited, it gets ever so swollen and exquisitely sensitive. And so, inevitably, I eventually gave in and touched meself, one night in the bath, just rubbed that tender bud with me slick, soapy fingers, biting me lip to keep from alerting the whole house, and when I came I thought heaven and earth would tear asunder.”

I felt myself staring hungrily at Kelleen as she told her story. I pictured her in that bath, her crimson tresses floating in the steamy water, caressing her naked body, coming. My nipples were stiff beneath my nightgown, and I was becoming wet below. I glanced at Becca, who had a sultry look on her face as she listened attentively. With one hand, she toyed absently with one nipple through the thin material of her gown.

“Once I’d had a taste, of course, I couldn’t stop meself. I began to do it regularly. But each time, I felt such pangs of guilt. I’d always been told it was a sin, though I never really understood why, and could find nothing in me Bible about it. What’s worse, for some time I could not bring meself to confess it. I knew I wouldn’t stop, so what was the point?

“I suppose I won’t sound too arrogant, in this company of lovelies, when I say I had begun to draw many male eyes in our village. This was all good and well, as I welcomed the admirers, and admired quite a few in return. But one pair of eyes was not so welcome. Father Higgins, our priest, had begun to look at me in ways that made me quite uncomfortable – a wolfish, hungry look no priest should be giving anyone. I refused to acknowledge it for a long while – he was the priest, after all, and I a sinful girl. Surely I was seeing my own wickedness reflected in him.

“He approached me one Sunday after church, when I was alone. ‘Ye haven’t been to see me in confession for some time, child,’ he said, in his raspy voice. ‘Are ye hidin’ something? Ye cannot hide from God, Kelleen. Ye should come and get clean of it.’

“I did not relish the thought, but I knew I must. And so, the following day, I went into the church and into the confessional. He sat across from me in the dark. I had hoped the screen might be closed, so he would not see me, but it was open when I entered, and closing it would have been useless and foolish. And so we began. I confessed the usual trifles, then paused, unable to bring myself to go further.
“’Is that all, child? Isn’t there more?’ he asked, his voice uncomfortably eager. I took a deep breath and went on, telling him. I told him how I touched myself, in the bath, in the bed, even once in the stables when the urge became overwhelming. I told him, shamefully, how wonderful it felt, but that I knew it was a great sin, and how sorry I was.

“I could hear his breathing, quick and shallow, on the other side of the confessional. Then he began to ask me questions. He asked whether I touched me breasts, as well, or just me ‘cunny,’ as he called it. He asked how I did it, whether I put fingers inside or just rubbed the ‘clitty,’ and all manner of things. I felt compelled to answer him – here I was in the confessional, in a sacrament, after all. But his breathing kept getting quicker and quicker, and the bench on which he sat began creaking. I realized the old devil was wanking! At first, I froze, terrified, uncertain what to do. Then, a moment later, rage took over. You girls haven’t seen it yet, but I have quite the temper, and it blazed up right fiercely then. I burst out of the booth and yanked open the door to his side, exposing the old bastard. He sat there, red-faced, his big, grizzled old cock in his fist, staring at me open-mouthed as I gave him what for. I called him every name in the book as he clumsily shoved his great hard-on back in his black priest’s trousers and stammered and stuttered. I told him he was an awful man to shame young ladies into telling their sins for his pleasure, and that if there was a God, he’d suffer for what he did. Then I stormed out of the church and went for a long walk in the countryside until I’d calmed down enough to return home.”

Becca and I were laughing, now, at the animated way she told her story – she acted it out, hunching over and making a wanking motion as the priest, shaking her fist in the air as she took her own part. But here, a sad cast came over her face.

“And here’s where the story becomes melancholy. When I returned home, I found me poor mother crying at the kitchen table. My father stood rubbing her shoulders, a perplexed, sad look on his face. The old bastard priest had been there. He had told them of my wickedness, of all I had confessed to him, and also that I was spreading filthy and vicious lies about respected people of the town, trying to tar them with my own sin. I tried to tell her he was lying, at least about the second part, but he had done his work too well. If I were to tell them what he had been doing in the confessional, I would only be confirming what he had accused.

“They didn’t even yell. Mother cried, father shook his head, and they told me how disappointed they were, wondered how they had failed me. And then they said they’d be looking for a convent school to place me in, so that this wickedness might be taken out of me. Fortunately, the Countess arrived in our town a week later, and talked my mother in to allowing me to come here.

“So that’s that. Saved from the convent by the Countess. From that day on, I saw the world differently. My eyes had been opened to the way of things. I still believe in God, I suppose, but not in a church that harbors devils like Father Higgins, and not in rules that seem to fly in the very face of my nature. And it’s ever so nice not to feel shame at me own body anymore.”

We embraced her, told her how sorry we were for what she’d gone through and how happy we were to have her here with us. Tears came to her eyes. “Thank you, my sweet girls. I hope someday me mum and dad will understand. They’ve forgiven me, at least. I don’t think they really even wanted to send me away, but the word of a priest still holds strong sway in the Irish countryside.”

“Someone ought to cut the bollocks off that bastard,” Becca said. “Anyway, to new beginnings!” she exclaimed, and we all raised our glasses once more. We settled in, then, and looked expectantly at Becca. She grinned broadly, mischief in her eyes.

“Right! Get comfortable, girls, for there’s nothing melancholy about my tale. The two of you, poor little ducks, are victims, sent here for next to nothing by cruel and wicked people. I’m a bit of a victim myself, I suppose, but I’ve earned the reputation that sent me here, make no mistake!

“One thing you must understand about me, once thing that set all this into motion, is that I love to make men come. It fascinates me. The idea of a man, any man, of any kind, whether handsome or ugly, young or old, wealthy or poor, spurting the seed of his pleasure sends thrills through my body like nothing else. And if I can be the one to make it spurt, to milk him of his essence, to tease and tickle and rub his stiff rod until he surrenders to the sensations I give him…ah, god, it’s making me wet even to speak of it!”

My own arousal, which had waned at the sad developments in Kelleen’s story, was returning with a vengeance. Kelleen, too, seemed quite squirmy. I could see her nipples were hard, and squeezed my thighs together reflexively. I had never before been in quite such a situation. The sexual charge in the air was so electric and intense – we were all just so palpably wanting. It was strange, but thrilling.

“My fascination began about two years ago, shortly after my eighteenth birthday. I come from aristocratic stock, as perhaps you can tell by my speech and manners, if not my sense of propriety. We live on a grand estate with dozens of servants, male and female, and I have always been indulged with every material possession my heart desired, but my friends were typically the shallow, society sort. I had no true confidants, and mother and father were distant and aloof enough that I had to discover most of the truths of life for myself. Many, I discovered in a small black-bound book I discovered tucked away in the family library, hidden behind a set of encyclopedias. Therein I found a collection of the most wonderful smut – delicious, ribald tales of lusty woodsmen and willing maids, naughty nymphs and priapic vicars – that primed my appetites like you would not believe. Oh, the hours I spent poring over that tome, with my bedroom door locked and my hand between my thighs!

“Past a certain point, though, the book proved insufficient to do more than inflame my curiosity. Simple reading was not enough. One night when I was particularly randy I crept out of my bedroom window to go spy on the servants’ quarters. I did not know exactly what I sought – I had only a vague sense of possibilities, of catching groomsmen in various stages of undress, of perhaps lucking upon a young man with a maid enacting, in some form, some of the wild gymnastics described in that slender black tome.

“Barefoot, in my nightgown, I crept up to the servants’ quarters. Most lights were out, unfortunately, and the two windows I was able to peer into yielded little more than our aging butler reading a newspaper in his dressing gown and old Maude, a cook, doing some stretching exercises. Resigned to defeat, I began to head back to the main house – but then I saw a light coming from the carriage house.

I crept through the darkness up to an open window, and found a vantage point that I was sure concealed my presence while providing me a fine view of the goings-on inside. Within I saw pretty Lucy, a buxom young housemaid with dark hair and eyes, and her beau, Richard, a handsome, strapping lad whom I had long admired – in the distant way that one is allowed to admire one’s social inferior – for some time. She was dressed for bed, her hair down, in her cotton nightgown and bare feet, while he wore an undershirt that emphasized his muscles and his work breeches and boots. They were kissing passionately, both flushed, and his hands were cupping and kneading her great breasts through her nightgown! She moaned around his tongue, then pushed him back gently.

“’Ah, Richard, we mustn’t go further! Not here, where we might be happened upon at any time!’

“’Oh, Lucy, I need it so badly. I’ll die without your touch! I’ve been rock hard all day thinkin’ about ye, and me stones are blue for aching!’ he gestured toward his groin, where I could clearly see a prodigious erection straining against his tight trousers.

“Lucy looked around, cautious, then breathed, ‘All right. Sit back and be still.’

“I looked on in rapt fascination as the great, strong Richard lay back in the hay and offered his bulging trouserfront to Lucy’s delicate hands. She touched him through his trousers at first, and his body jumped as her hand cupped his great bollocks and kneaded his cock. He moaned loudly, thrusting his hips toward her hand. I was positively gushing, of course, and desperate to see what his breeches were hiding.

“She unbuttoned his trousers and drew them down around his ankles, and his magnificent cock swung up like a flagpole. I shuddered, and Lucy stared at it so hungrily you’d think it was a leg of mutton before a starving dog. She began by tickling his bollocks, teasing him a bit as he jerked and twitched. His rampant member jousted at the air, desperate to be touched. It was the first real, hard cock I had ever seen, and I swear I was as hungry as he to have her take it in her hand and stroke it in earnest.

“When she did, I gasped aloud – I was fortunate that they were too focused on what they were doing to take notice. Her little, soft hand rode up and down that straining shaft, lingering about the head, whilst her other massaged and kneaded his great, plum-like balls. The look on his face as he thrust himself into her caress is what did it for me – it was a mix of wonder and desperate urgency as her skilled handwork brought his pleasure to its apex. Unable to help myself, I delved a hand between my thighs and began sympathetically rubbing at my own center of pleasure. As she stroked, she cooed breathily too him – I could not make out the words, but the tone sent thrills through me down to my toes.

She had not been stroking long when suddenly his jaw went slack, his eyes rolled back in his head, and that great, overheated cock began blasting gout after gout of pearly liquid into the air. He fucked that little hand of hers for all he was worth, and she kneaded his manhood with long, firm strokes, coaxing every last drop of seed from his great, swollen balls. It was the single most astonishing thing I had ever seen – no prurient prose description could have prepared me for the sight of that monster disgorging its load. I came immediately, tremors of my orgasm making my knees buckle. Spots swam before my eyes. I had never spent so powerfully; for a moment I thought I might faint dead away.

“When my senses returned, Lucy was wiping up the remains of Richard’s crisis with a well-sodden handkerchief. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, his wilting member glistening with remnants of seed, then took hold of her, laid her back, and began lifting her skirts, to which she responded with an excited giggle. I should have liked to have stayed and seen her tended to, but I heard a stirring in the darkness nearby and fled back to my chambers before I could be discovered. As I drifted off to sleep, all I could see was that great, rigid cock blasting forth its tribute in her skilled and loving hands.

“I was insatiable nearly all the time for months after that. Couldn’t keep my hands off myself. But, as with the book, my memories were soon not enough. I wanted to try it, I hungered to feel a cock in my hands, needed to feel the power of bringing a bloke to spill forth his seed.
“And so, at last, I did,” Becca said matter of factly, a devilish smile on her face. Kelleen and I listened with rapt attention, a bit scandalized and more than a bit aroused. Kelleen sat wide-eyed, very quiet, but I could tell by watching her closely that she was subtly squeezing her thighs together. I was tingling all over, and my face felt hot.

“The first was a stablehand, a quiet, nervous, skinny young man of perhaps twenty. I chose him because he was timid, and spoke with such a stammer that he usually preferred to say nothing at all. I had caught him watching me many times before, and knew that he would never dare to tell anyone of our dalliance.

“I surprised him one morning just before he started work, when the sunrise was pink in the lightening sky, and he thought he was quite alone in the stables. I put a finger to my lips to show he should be silent and pushed him back into an empty stall. He was stunned, puzzled, but submissive. I produced a silken handkerchief from my bodice, then unfastened his trousers and fished out his long, slender member, which immediately stiffened to a fine cockstand at the touch of my fingers. At last, I had a hard, pulsing rod in my hands!

“Bless him, the poor nervous thing could endure for only a moment. My unpractised hands pumped him once, twice, three times before his face contorted in unbearable pleasure and a bit of shame and he spurted his tribute into my handkerchief. He let out a squeaky little whinny as he came. I gave him a little peck on the cheek and was off, leaving him stunned, breeches around his knees, his cock dripping. Once I was out of sight, I fell back against the wall of the house, gasping. I allowed myself to think back over what I had done, felt the slippery seed within the handkerchief between my fingers, and came without even touching myself. This was it, it was!

“Over the following months, I quite made the rounds of the unattached staff, no pun intended. I never did any of them more than once, as I did not want to convey the impression of undue significance, and I never let any touch me. I had a reputation to uphold, and could not have my marriageability compromised. I was in a state of chronic agitation; each encounter sated me for a time, but inevitably the need returned. I’m afraid I quite took advantage of the command that my social position afforded, though truth be told none welcomed my attentions with anything less than gleeful enthusiasm. Alongside my frenzied lust, though, was a certain intellectual, almost clinically detached interest. Even as I loved the power, the control, inherent in bringing each man to his moment of ultimate, helpless pleasure, I was fascinated by the variety of reactions my touch could evoke – the way one, an older, burly, bearded bloke, snarled and grunted as he took his pleasure, while another, a handsome , though pale and bookish, young man bore an expression of pure wonder as I coaxed forth the surging torrents of his seed. I used a different handkerchief for each, of a different colored silk, and laundered each myself – a dozen, in total. Even now, when I pleasure myself, I lay them out, clean, pristine, but forever linked with a man’s climax that I brought about with my own hands, and lie among them, naked, savoring their feel on my skin as I bring myself to climax.”

At that moment, Kelleen let out a little strangled squeak, and I noticed the bare toes of her near foot curl tight. The little darling had cum! I remembered what she had told us about how terrifically sensitive she was, how great and swollen her pleasure bud became when she was excited, and realized she had wiggled herself to a little spend, whether she’d intended to or not. She flushed crimson as the two of us stared at her. Becca smiled a sly smile, I winked, and we tacitly agreed to say no more about it. Becca cleared her throat and continued.

“Now, here’s the part that caused the trouble. As I said, I worked my way through the ranks of the unmarried help. But my hunger for variety was insatiable, and I quickly ran out of candidates on the manor. I certainly was not going to leave the safe confines of the estate to carry on with townsmen like a common harlot. But the itch was growing, and wouldn’t be denied.

“It so happened that a quite distant cousin, Philip -- related by marriage, not blood, for the scrupulous -- came to stay with us, along with his aging mother. I had known him since we were young, and had never really liked him, though he was unquestionably handsome in a haughty, arrogant way. Now, I was no more enamored of his personality now that we were both near twenty. But he was tall, and pretty to look at, and a gentleman of breeding – and represented an irresistible novelty to me. I was cool but cordial to him during our time together, pretending to ignore the way his eyes dwelt on my body. I’m quite sure he cared little for my personality, either, but felt drawn to me by more guttural urges, as I was to him. Still, neither of us, to that point, would have thought to act on whatever desires we had, for propriety’s sake. Now, though, I became determined to have him, after my way.

“For all the blokes I’ve brought off, I was still in many ways inexperienced in the ways of courtship, and especially seduction. I wanted to lure him in and have my way with him, but I could hardly treat him as I did the help. For one thing, I could not rely on his silence, and what he said of me would, unfortunately, matter. No, I had to draw him in, but he had to initiate things. But how could I inflame him without seeming to try?

Becca refilled her glass, then topped off each of hours. Kelleen drank eagerly, perhaps still a bit embarrassed.

“What happened, as it turns out, is quite ironic, given our current situation. One morning, as we were taking the awkward, mostly silent walk that we took in the mornings for formality’s sake, we came upon Hannah, a pretty young servant girl, scrubbing the floors of the carriage house. The door was open, and Hannah’s kneeling figure was framed in it. Now Hannah is quite pretty, about our age, with straight brown hair and a trim but buxom figure, so I was not surprised that she turned his head. What surprised me, rather, was the focus of his interest.
“As is many girls’ habit when scrubbing floors, Hannah had taken off her shoes and stockings to do the wet work in bare feet. As she knelt, the soles of her feet were on display.

“Philip was captivated. He literally stood and stared. I thought at first he was ogling her shapely backside, but, following his gaze with my eyes, I saw that he was gaping at her bare feet. I thought to speak to him, to hurry him along, but when I realized what he was doing I elected simply to observe. He seemed driven to absolute distraction, having trailed off in mid-sentence from whatever dull story he had been telling, and simply stared at the bottoms of the servant-girl’s feet as she scrubbed away, oblivious to his attentions.

“The spell was broken as another servant, Eleanor, tiptoed into view and ran a fingertip down Hannah’s sole. Hannah squealed and slapped at her with a sudsy hand, and Philip made a little strangled noise in the back of his throat. His face had gone quite red, which I pretended not to notice, and though we quickly resumed our walk without a word of it, he remained distant and distracted throughout.

I knew, then, what I needed to do. The book I had found made mention of some men driven to lust by the glimpse of a finely-shaped female foot; perhaps Philip shared that predilection? It seemed unmistakable, given his responses to the morning’s little scene. I thought on it that evening, and developed a plan.

“The next morning was sunny and a bit warm, and as we embarked upon our usual strained, formal stroll, I suggested we head into the gardens. Philip, utterly indifferent, assented – he was to depart that afternoon, and was doubtless already miles away in his mind. We wound through the garden paths, making small talk as usual, but I was focused on my plan. I kept talking about how hot it was, although it was really rather comfortably warm. He simply agreed, looking a bit puzzled.

“I steered us toward a little alcove in a far corner of the gardens – hardly isolated, but set apart enough to afford a reasonable amount of privacy. There, several stone benches were arrayed around a little merrily bubbling fountain. I went straight to it, sat on the edge, and began removing my shoes and stockings.

“’I do hope you’ll forgive me, Philip, if I indulge myself a bit. It’s just so dreadfully hot!’ I said. He watched with rapt interest as I rolled my stockings off. Formal as our interactions had been, he had never seen my bare feet before. I pretended not to notice him staring as I made a great show of flexing them, wiggling my newly freed toes. I plunged my feet into the deliciously cool water of the fountain. He came immediately to sit across from me, clearly choosing a vantage that allowed him an unobstructed view of my feet.

“’Aaah, that’s lovely,’ I sighed. He swallowed. I began aimlessly kicking my feet alternately, not enough to splash, but enough to offer him an alternating view of the bottom of each bare foot. He gaped. I could see his erection through his tight trousers, and felt a buzz of excitement go through me. He had been speechless since I had begun taking off my shoes.

“After a moment, I took my feet out of the water and shifted a bit, resting them on the lip of the fountain so the soles faced him, only inches away from his straining lap. I leaned back, pretending simply to bask in the sun, while wriggling my toes in what I imagined was a slow, seductive motion.

“’This is so delightful, isn’t it, Philip? But oh, my poor feet are so tired. Perhaps you might rub them a bit to make them feel better?’
“At that, he flushed crimson. With trembling hands, he took my feet into his lap, careful to keep them clear of his straining member. All was progressing according to my plan – soon, I should have that rigid cock in my grasp! I sighed as he began to rub them, tentatively at first, then with increasing ardor. He began fairly to caress them, running his fingers over them in an excess of passion with growing speed and intensity.

“And here, my darlings, is where things got away from me. Now, you ladies know better than anyone my acute sensitivity in that area, and very quickly I found myself biting back laughter at his ticklish touch. My feet began to twitch and jump in his grasp, and I let out a giggle.

“He looked up from my feet , eyes wide, an expression of joy and wonder on his reddened face. ‘Oh, indeed, cousin?’ he said breathlessly. ‘Let’s just see, shall we?’

“With that, he suddenly locked my ankles tight under his strong arm. I had a moment of confusion and panic before he began tickling the soles of my feet like a madman. I started to scream, but could only laugh and laugh as his fingertips danced over my most ticklish spots. I writhed and struggled, but he was simply too strong, and the devilish tickling sapped my own strength in an instant. His peculiar tastes, it seemed, extended beyond simply admiring women’s feet from a distance! My nerves were already on tingling edge from my arousal at my scheme, and those agile fingertips one the bottoms of my feet and between my poor toes quite drove me mad. I shrieked, cackled, howled with laughter as he tickled me relentlessly.

“Eventually, my heaving and struggling enabled me roll off the fountain to the soft, springy earth and wrench one foot free. He turned toward me, then, holding my remaining ankle hostage, aloft, while continuing his assault on its tender sole. He looked like quite a monster, at that moment: his face was flushed crimson, his lips were parted over his teeth in a madman’s grin, and his swollen rod made a straining bulge in his trousers that was impossible to ignore. I’m certain I must have been a sight, as well!

“At last, in part in desperation, in part from hunger to touch it, I managed to reach out with my free foot and bring it to rest on that very bulge. He froze, still clinging to my ankle. Perhaps he feared I would kick him in the bollocks; perhaps he was simply overwhelmed with the unexpected sensation, but he simply stood motionless, his eyes wide.

“I felt his rock-hard cock throbbing beneath my naked foot; my toes felt the dampness where the leaking juice of his passion had soaked through the thin fabric of his breeches. I pressed my momentary advantage, then, letting my foot perform the office I had hoped my hands would. I began to rub the arch of my foot over his swollen organ, massaging, kneading the great head now and then with my agile toes. He gasped aloud and pressed the sole of my captive foot against his cheek; it was clear that, at that moment, I had regained the control I had so dramatically lost moments before. And while it was not quite the same as having his naked shaft in my hands, the novelty made it quite exciting, indeed!

“His knees buckled and he sat down on the edge of the fountain, his legs spread to me. Afraid to endanger the moment by interruption, I pressed my advantage, continuing to pleasure him with my foot. He was moaning aloud, now, pressing against my steadily working toes. In the excess of his passion, he began licking the sole of the foot he still held in his hands. The swipe of his tonguetip down my ticklish arch was too much for me, and I let out a squeal of laughter. That was, for him, the final straw, as with a deep, passionate groan, he spent, pumping great surging blasts of seed into and through his trousers. I had learned enough of men’s pleasure to ensure that I kept up my steady stroking, speeding it slightly to rise with his ecstasy, as he drenched my bare foot in seed. Judging from the amount that was squishing between my toes and dripping from my sole as he unleashed his last shuddering spurts, his trousers must have contained his pleasure not at all.

“I fell back in the grass, panting, as he released my foot. I wiped my drenched sole in the grass as I lay, thighs spread. I was quite delirious with arousal; I am quite sure that in that moment I would have allowed him to ravish me, had he the Herculean stamina to achieve a fresh cockstand after such an epic emptying.

“But I shall never know how the scene would have unfolded. Our tableau was shattered by a high, shrill shriek. I looked over, stunned, to see his mother and mine, staring open-mouthed at their wayward children. Their walk had taken them on a similar path to ours, as luck would have it, and my laughter had drawn them to investigate.

“Oh, Becca, no! How awful!” Kelleen said, sympathetic as always. For my part, I had to laugh aloud. Becca stuck out her tongue at me and continued.

“We could, perhaps, have lied our way out of it, passing it off as the playful gambols of youth, were it not for the fact that the front of his trousers was absolutely deluged with seed. There was no disguising it, and none, particularly not women who have had husbands and born children, could mistake that damningly-placed splotch for water. His mother had a fainting spell; my mother began screaming to high heaven. And then that bastard, that wicked arsehole who had just had his pleasure from me while leaving me utterly unfulfilled, had the nerve to blame me! He pointed his finger at me and began shouting, calling me a temptress and a ***** who had taken advantage of him, seduced him! Now, I suppose he was right, in a way, but how unmanly of him! It was not as if he were some choirboy, desperately resisting my advances!

“At any rate, the blame fell squarely on me, and my mother, proper lady that she is, did what she had to to redeem the family honor. She began looking about for reform schools, convents, all the usual places, and I felt sure I’d have to run away and join the gypsies before the Countess came along.”

It was a glorious story, made sweeter since we knew it had ended happily and brought her here. But it also made me curious. “Isn’t it odd,” I remarked, “that the Countess came to find each of us at the very moment of our need?”

“Odd indeed,” Becca said. “But certainly fortunate!”

Entertaining as Becca’s story was, it had also driven me quite to distraction with arousal. I could not bring myself to think too deeply in the state I was in. Much as I was enjoying the company of my new sisters, I was becoming rather desperate for relief. Part of me was tempted to embrace them, to indulge our shared excitement together rather than separately, but as inflamed as I was, I still could not bring myself to suggest it. Instead, I said, “Well, my darlings, it is getting very late, and we’ve classes tomorrow. Perhaps I should retire?”

“Ha!” Becca laughed. “I believe we all know what you’re in a rush to do. Not that either of us blames you, I’m sure. Still, it won’t work. I mean, it will work, but you could diddle yourself a dozen times and you still would not be able to sleep. Not on your first day.”

I blushed a bit, but had no reason to deny her appraisal of my plans. Instead, I asked, “What do you mean? How am I to rest?” I was a bit alarmed, now – this unusual, insistent, unquenchable arousal had been pleasant enough, especially when fed by Becca’s story, but the prospect of being unable to quiet it was frightening.

Kelleen grinned. “Surely you’ve felt it, coming up through the floors and into the bottoms of your feet. It’s frightfully strong at first, you poor dear, and here she’s been riling us up on top of it. Don’t worry, dearie. Trust your new mates to look out for you.” The two of them climbed toward me on the bed, pushing me gently back to sit against the headboard. Were they going to…?

Before I knew it, they had gently taken my hands and stretched out my arms. In an instant, my wrists were bound by the same special cords we had employed earlier to the headboard. I was secured, but quite comfortable, leaning back against the pillows. My cunny throbbed as I anticipated what they might do next.

I should have expected it. Instead of turning their attentions to the parts of me that cried out to be touched, they, giggling, scooted down to the foot of the bed. Each took one of my bare feet in her hands, and I suddenly knew what I was in for. “Oh, no!” I cried, in good-natured alarm. Oddly, I found myself both dreading and relishing what was about to happen.

“Oh, yes, my dear. You’ve been soaking up vibrations through these virgin soles all day. Until you’re used to it, it can be quite unbearable. The only way to real release is…”

“TICKLING!!” Kelleen broke in, and began doing just that, scribbling her little fingernails up and down my long sole. Becca joined in, tickling my other foot, and I threw my head back and simply howled with laughter. It was maddening, as it always was , as their talented fingers found the most vulnerable spots on my bare soles and toes, and I shrieked and babbled and squealed like a madwoman, wiggling and clenching my toes in fruitless attempts at resistance. But, as the tickling went on, I found myself simply, blessedly, surrendering to it. At Madame Pigg’s, when the Countess had tickled me, I had had to fight my responses with every ounce of strength. Now, in this bed, with these two trusted friends who knew how ticklish I must be and were just as ticklish themselves, I had no need to hide my vulnerability or my reactions. As they attacked my helpless feet with varied and vigorous tickling techniques, eventually I stopped shrieking and babbling and simply let myself laugh, full-throated and glorious. I no longer tried to fight the sensations; my toes stopped wiggling and clenching and instead relaxed, allowing their wiggly little fingers in between them, almost welcoming the desperate heaves of laughter their touches provoked. In sum, I simply surrendered to the devastatingly effective tickling of my tender bare feet, and let the spasms of laughter wrack my body with luxurious abandon.

Sitting up as I was, I was able at times through the tears of mirth to look upon my tormentors. Becca’s face bore a sly grin with an unmistakable tinge of arousal; Kelleen had a look of pure glee and love. But her tickling and teasing of my poor trapped foot was no less effective than Becca’s!

They were true experts, playing my poor feet to maximal effect, bringing my wild hilarity to a fever pitch. And oddly, as my laughter built, so did my arousal! I had been desperate before; now, I found myself inexplicably mad with lust! And the fingers that drove me to heaving, hysterical distraction as they danced over my feet seemed, in some way I could not fathom, to be feeding that lust! My hips began to thrust at the air even as the tickling continued; I am quite sure that had my hands been free I would have rubbed myself to orgasm right there, in full view of both of them!

And then I felt it. A touch, a blessed, firm but gentle touch, right on the engorged bud of my passion. I was eminently conscious that all four of my companions’ hands were still fully engaged in tickling me beyond sanity; glancing down, I realized that Becca had extended one foot between my thighs and had found the centre of my pleasure with her long, talented toes! Licking her lips, she began working those toes against my overheated clit, making me cry out amid my laughter with delicious pleasure.

The sensations at my feet changed. Becca and Kelleen had left off tickling with their fingers and were now licking my bare soles, lavishing loving attention on their lengths. It still tickled unbearably, but amplified the erotic sensations that had become increasingly mixed in with the tickling. Becca’s toes continued their blessed work between my thighs. Kelleen popped my toes into her mouth, teasing their ticklish undersides with her tonguetip. I sucked in air in great, shuddering gasps of increasing urgency. I was on the verge of a climax that, if it fulfilled its promise, would surpass anything I had coaxed forth from my own eager body in my life. And still I laughed, my soles and toes no less ticklish for their new erotic sensitivity.

Becca’s great toe went from a teasing circling motion to an insistent, pulsing pressure, Kelleen began a maddening nibbling at the ball of my foot, and suddenly it was happening. I screamed as I came, a wailing cry of absolute, unbearable, animal pleasure that seemed to vibrate with the explosion that sent rippling tremors of ecstasy through my entire body. Stars swam before my eyes as the orgasm shook me to my very core, at last overcoming –no, subsuming –the ticklish sensations still assailing my feet. I thrashed and shook, Becca’s skilled foot maintaining just the right touch to encourage my climax to its ultimate heights. By the time the last little shivering aftershocks of the great cataclysm rippled through me, and my dear friends released my tingling feet from their grasp, I felt utterly and thoroughly sated, relieved and fulfilled in a way that I had never been before.

I tried to speak, and found that I could not. They understood. They released my wrists. Kelleen wiped my brow with a cool cloth, and they nestled my exhausted body into bed, fairly tucking me in. As they slipped out of my room, I began immediately to fall into slumber.
As I slipped away, though, a little voice troubled me, at the edge of my consciousness. It was a voice I was accustomed to hearing, that voice of curiosity and doubt that was generally at the forefront of my consciousness, but that had been drowned out until now by the constant throbbing of desire that had distracted me since I first set foot on the manor grounds. What is this place? What does the Countess want of us, really? What are these vibrations, that they made me so mad with lust? Can it be that this truly is the paradise it seems? Could something sinister be at play here, at bottom of all this? I had no answers. But, like a butterfly who alights on a flower and moves on, the troubling questions soon left me, and I slept more profoundly and sweetly than at any time I could remember.

End Book One