The Seamstress 2

by cc

Copyright© 2012 by cc

Sex Story: A spin-off from 'The Seamstress', featuring her son and the Master's daughter; a story idea suggested by Medik

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Romantic   Reluctant   Slavery   MaleDom   Spanking   Light Bond   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   .

[With thanks to Medik for the story idea]

"What's it like when—you know, when—I mean, when you're in bed—with him?" the Master's sixteen-year-old daughter managed to stammer out to the seamstress.

The seamstress paused in her bustling activity. She had been sewing the girl's wedding dress, as well as managing nearly every aspect of her upcoming wedding. It was a whirlwind of activity, for all that she and the Master had known the day was coming for longer than the girl herself, truth to tell.

She sighed. "Oh, my darling girl. M'lady [the teenager smiled; after three years of essentially being her mother, she still called her that, as a slavewoman would. Officially she may have been a slave, but in every other way the seamstress was her mother, and that was how she thought of her. At first she had tried to get her to call her by name, but the seamstress had quietly persisted in addressing her as a slave would her Master's daughter, even if in every other way she treated the girl as her own.], first let me ask you: how much do you all ready know about it? I think you know by now the—the physical aspects of it, I mean which body part goes where, do you not?"

"Yes, Seamstress, I know all that," she replied, with just a hint of the "of-course-I-know-that-do-you-think-I'm-stupid?" look so familiar to parents everywhere. "I meant, what's it like for—for you? When—when Daddy—when Daddy spanks you?" she ended in a whisper, now looking down at her lap, then back up at the slavewoman.

The seamstress sat startled for a moment, a blush coming to her cheeks. And we were so sure we were being careful! she thought to herself. "Oh my dear! M'lady, we did not intend for you to know about that! I hope you know: your father would never be cruel to me! When he—when he—spanks me, it's—for our pleasure. It's only 'play' discipline, not real."

"I—I figured that out. At first I wasn't sure, when I first heard you. I think I was fourteen. [So long ago! the seamstress thought to herself.] You were crying out, "Oh, Master, please please!" or something like that, and I could hear the—the whip, or something, striking you. It sounded real for a minute. I almost burst in to tell Daddy to stop hurting you!"

"Oh my sweet girl! That's so like you. But I'm glad you didn't, M'lady!" the seamstress answered with an embarrassed smile.

"Me too," the girl replied, with a blush to her cheeks also. "I kept listening, and soon you were making noises like—like you were—well, at the time I thought you were eating something really good. But it wasn't long before I figured it out—" she said as she blushed even more deeply. "Pretty soon I was sneaking out of my room at night to listen to you being spanked and whipped, and—and—touch myself!" she finished in a hoarse whisper.

"My darling girl! Listen to me, M'lady," and the seamstress gently took the girl's face in her hands, "Almost everyone—touches themselves, at your age, and many other ages as well! And as long as no one gets hurt, pretending to spank or be spanked during sex, and so forth, can be quite—stimulating!" She folded the girl in a motherly hug.

After a few moments the seamstress said, "So. You want my son to spank you, and you don't know how to ask him, am I right?" The girl nodded, her face buried in her 'mother's' chest.

After a while she whispered, "Does—does Daddy ever—tie you up?"

O my, the seamstress thought to herself. "N—no, he never has. Why, does the idea of it—excite you?" The girl nodded again, still hiding her face. "I know some people do that, and they seem to like it. As long as it's safe, with someone you love and trust, I think it's fine if a couple wants to do that." She thought for a moment, then leaned the girl out and looked in her eyes. "I think the best thing for you to do is to relax, don't worry about it, just see what happens. All right?" She chucked her under the chin, and the girl smiled back shyly.

The next few days went by quickly, and soon the Master's daughter and the seamstress' son were standing at the altar: he resplendent in his best dress cavalry captain's uniform; she radiant in the elegant gown her seamstress 'mother' had made for her; saying their vows: he to love, honor, and cherish; she to love, honor, and obey. Greeting the guests, the wedding feast, the dancing: all flew by.

The sixteen-year-old bride had retired to her room to freshen up, and take a break from the excitement. She took her gown off, intending to change into something more comfortable. Suddenly without warning she felt herself grabbed. Strong hands seized her arms, a cloth went over her eyes and another over her mouth. A moment of shock, a moment of panic, a moment of struggle, and then—

"My darling girl, stop, listen to me, can you hear me? Can you tell who this is?" she heard a voice softly but urgently in her ear. She stopped struggling, hanging almost limp in her captors' arms. "You are safe. No one is going to harm you. This is a 'bride-kidnapping'." The girl had heard of those; they still occurred quite regularly, especially amongst the rural folk. "Don't be afraid. Be nervous, be anxious. Be—stimulated. But not afraid.

"You are to be bound, and prepared, and taken to your new Master." At these words the young girl's breath came short, and she felt a moistness between her legs. Hands brought her wrists behind her, bound them securely together; her ankles were treated the same. She was lifted and carried a short distance.

From the sounds she could tell she was being taken into a carriage. They rode for perhaps a half an hour, then she was lifted out again and carried inside a building, then into a room, and laid on a couch or bed. She felt her ankles being unbound, spread apart, then bound again so that she could not bring her thighs together.

Hands touched her at the juncture of her thighs; even as she gave a muffled cry through her gag and began to struggle, she realized that the touch was gentle, even familiar. "Hush, darling girl," the beloved voice spoke, and she tried to relax, though she trembled. The hands washed and lathered between her legs. Then she felt herself being shaved. At sixteen years old she was only lightly fledged to begin with, and soon her mons was as bare as when she was a little girl.

The hands caressed her briefly, assessing the smoothness. Then one quick SMACK! of a slap onto her mons made her jump and squeak as the voice chuckled, "There. Now you are bare, as a slavegirl should be," she heard.

The last vestiges of her clothing were removed. She was lifted and placed onto some sort of a seat; it felt like a toilet. A hand reached underneath her, and she cried out as she felt something press against her anus, then slide inside her. She could not prevent it; it was well-lubricated. She had had one governess who was fond of giving enemas, so she recognized the sensation as the solution was infused, filling her rectum. "Let it out, darling girl," she heard the beloved voice say, and she did. Another enema was given, and then another, the last smelling sweet and floral. Then gentle hands cleansed and dried her pudenda. "There. Now you are ready for your Master. That is my wedding present to you," she heard, and her face was caressed, her cheek kissed.

She was carried into another room. She felt herself spreadeagled and bound. There seemed to be some type of padded bars in front and behind her at her waist. Her feet were on a small platform.

She heard footsteps. A hand grasped her hair and bent her head backwards, firmly, but not with a jerk; a hand ran up and down her front, grasping and squeezing a breast, tweaking the nipple, running down to her cleft, seizing and hefting her nakedness. She whimpered into her gag, her knees weakened and her arms stretched as they took some of her weight. Her breath came short, and she felt her cleft becoming wet.

His hand pulled her gag off, and hungry lips fastened onto her hers, his tongue penetrating into her mouth. As he held the deep kiss he ran his hand down to her buttocks and spanked her, SMACK-SMACK-SMACK! His mouth on hers stifled her cries.

He broke off the kiss, leaving her gasping. He whispered in her ear, "My darling darling slave-wife, I love you so much. You are altogether adorable.

"And you are altogether naughty, and are to be strictly disciplined, and submitted to your Master. I am going to leave the gag off, because I want to hear you as I discipline you," he finished, and smacked the tops of her thighs with his bare hand, SMACK!

"AAAAH!" she yelped, a faint red handprint showing where the spank had landed, and "AA-AA-AAAAAH!" she continued to wordlessly exclaim as he spanked her repeatedly the tops of her thighs, front and back. He paused for a moment and ran his hand along the teenager's smooth thighs, caressing and soothing her as she whimpered.

He whispered in her ear, "Are you all right, beloved slavegirl?"

She answered breathlessly, "Oh, yes, Master, please please, Master!" He kissed her tenderly on the lips, then stepped back.

She heard something like a crank turning, and felt herself lifted in her bonds, turned, repositioned. Soon she was in a supine posture, legs and arms still bound spreadeagled. She felt his hands at her face, and her blindfold was removed.

Now she saw her beloved, the seamstress' son, the handsome and dashing young cavalry captain, her husband-Master, as he leaned over her, smiling down at her, caressing her cheek, kissing her forehead. "You are such a naughty slavegirl," he murmured, and slapped her cheeks, forehand and backhand, not hard, barely enough to sting, but she gasped with each one.

He stepped back. She had a moment to look around. She was in a room she didn't recognize. There was a chair or two, a couch. Hanging on the walls were—what appeared to be punishment implements of various sorts. Each one had—a bow or ribbon of some sort, and a tag attached.

She was strapped to some type of frame, somewhat circular, with hinges, and what appeared to be crank handles attached in a few places. It also had a bow and tag on it. He waved his hand indicating the structure. "It's wonderful, isn't it? It's a wedding present from your father. He had it made specially for us; we'll have to remember to tell him how much we've enjoyed it," he said with a wink. He reached over to the wall and chose a flogger, well-crafted, with soft leather straps and a comfortable grip, and looked at the tag. "This is from Lord, wasn't that nice of him?" She had no opportunity to reply, as her new husband-Master brought the soft straps down, WHAP! directly across her small, high, teen-girl breasts.

"OOO!" she cried out, and "OOO-OOO-OOO! Oh, Master, please!" as he flogged her repeatedly across her top, leaving a fetching pattern of interlaced faint red lines on the tops and undersides, and directly across her nipples.

He paused for a moment and grabbed a crank handle, rotating it clockwise. The frame bent on hinges, bringing her legs up until she was bent at over a 90-degree angle, her ankles nearly over her head, still spread apart. Her vulva was fully exposed. He whipped her across her buttocks and her cleft repeatedly with the flogger, WHAP-WHAP-WHAP! "AIEEE! AAAH-AAAH-AAAH!! OHMASTERPLEASEI'LLBEGOODI'LLBEGOODI'LLBEGOOD!" she nearly wailed as he reddened her intimately.

He tossed the flogger onto the couch and seized her girlhood as she gasped. He squeezed and pinched the lips of her vulva, then probed into her, pressing against her maidenhead as she cried out, "AH!" She was wet, and her hips rocked as he molested her, pressing her quim against his hand as he rubbed her clitoris excruciatingly against her pubic bone. He spanked the teenaged girl directly on her maidenhood, SMACK-SMACK-SMACK! and she nearly screamed as she orgasmed, "AAAAAA! OH MASTER PLEASE! AAAAAA!"

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