The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica (57 page)

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Nelly asked.

“On your knees,” Catherine said again. “Make me repeat the instruction and I’ll be forced to use my horsewhip. Then you’ll be sorry.” To show the threat was
not idle, she raised the leather shaft of the horsewhip and patted it lightly against her hand. The flicker of a cruel smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

Obediently, but not obligingly, Nelly lowered herself to her knees.

It was clearly apparent that Catherine did not want a cup of tea.

It had been a strange couple of weeks at Thrushcross Grange. Nelly had found herself displaced from her former habitat at Wuthering Heights to reside with her newly married mistress amongst the
hospitality of the Linton family. She had not thought the marriage between Catherine and Edgar was an appropriate match but, being a good servant and aware of her place in the order of things, she
had kept her opinions confined to scurrilous gossip with other members of the house’s staff. Yet, if she had been urged to guess fifty times a day for fifty years or more, she would never
have imagined an instruction like this issuing from her mistress’s lips.

“Stay down on your knees,” Catherine said softly, “and crawl closer.”

Nelly traced a pink tongue against her arid lips.

Catherine’s smile blossomed with deviant delight. She settled herself on the side of her bed, pushing aside the curtains from the posts so she was framed by lace. Unladylike, she sat with
her legs parted and her hands on her knees. Nelly had often enough seen her mistress go riding and knew the young woman was wont to straddle a horse in such a masculine and unbecoming manner,
rather than opting for the more delicate and refined pose of side-saddle. The sight had previously stirred a rush of unfathomable desires in Nelly’s loins. Warmth, moisture and general
neediness had all risen in her gut like the onset of a pleasant fever. She didn’t know why her mistress’s posture should affect her in such a strong fashion but there had never been any
denying the heat it always inflamed. This evening her mistress’s pose continued to fan the embers of that same smouldering need and Nelly felt sick as she was consumed with sudden desire.

“Closer,” Catherine encouraged. “How do you expect to kiss me from so far away?”

Nelly swallowed.

“Kiss you, mistress?” Again, she licked her lips. But this time, they did not need the extra moisture. As the agony of her lust grew stronger Nelly realized she was salivating like a
hungry cur. Padding across the floor in the manner of Catherine’s pet bitch, she crept closer and closer to the divine scent of her mistress’s nearness.

Beyond the room the sounds of the house’s industry whispered in perpetual clatter. The kitchens beneath them sang with the shrill cries of kettles and pot skittering together. Isabella,
Catherine’s new sister-in-law, could be heard practising her finger work on the parlour’s virginal. Edgar was undoubtedly ensconced in his library and as silent as the breathless wind
that swept across the brooding moors and down from Wuthering Heights.

But Nelly’s attention was focused on her mistress. Her eyes grew large as she understood what was happening. Her heart beat faster as she realized she was on the verge of attaining a
lifelong ambition. She tried to swallow and discovered her throat was choked with nervous anticipation.

Catherine was slowly drawing up the hem of her skirts. The pale blue silk was worn over layers of crisp, white taffeta. Nelly could see the hem of the undergarments brushing against her
mistress’s boots. As the skirts were raised Nelly was treated to a glimpse of the boot top and then the mesmerizing vision of Catherine’s bare calf.

“Mistress,” she gasped.

“Closer,” Catherine insisted. “And let’s have less talk from you, shall we? I have other uses for your tongue and none of them involve you chattering.” Clearly
pleased with the remark, she released a salacious chuckle. Absently, she put the horsewhip by her side and pulled her skirt higher to reveal unclothed knees.

Nelly trembled before finding the strength to move forward. If she had been given a moment to collect her thoughts she would have pinched herself, to be sure this was the reality of Thrushcross
Grange and not the product of her overactive desires and imagination. Knowing her mistress would not tolerate any further displays of hesitation, aware that she was needed with an urgency driven by
understandable arousal, Nelly continued to creep closer across the bedroom floor.

Catherine inched the skirts higher. Her bare knees were completely exposed. Her thighs, as white as the moors in the depth of winter, were sinfully exciting. As Catherine shifted forward from
the bed, pulling her skirts up to her waist, Nelly saw the thatch of thick dark curls covering her mistress’s cleft. Not knowing whether to be more shocked by the display, or
Catherine’s lack of underwear, she resolved to move closer.

The tingling between her own thighs had turned to a clenching, animal need. The sight of Catherine’s most intimate secrets inspired a yearning she had long tried to deny. But now, knowing
the moment she had quietly coveted was almost upon her, she endeavoured to cross the final few feet of the room and do everything she was bidden.

“Hurry up, Nelly,” Catherine insisted.

She parted her legs.

Rested back a little.

And reached for the horsewhip.

From her perspective at thigh-level Nelly had the clearest possible glimpse of Catherine’s sex. Peeping from between the lush, dark curls were a pair of pink lips that looked flushed and
ruddy with excitement. Nelly didn’t know if it was an aspect of the light in the Thrushcross Grange bedrooms, or something peculiar to Catherine’s mood. But she felt sure she could see
a silvery glint of wetness coating the split of the woman’s sex.

“You want me to kiss you, mistress?” Nelly breathed. She was close enough to touch Catherine now: if she had dared. She raised one hand, intending to place it on the woman’s
bare thigh while she brought her lips up to meet Catherine’s face. Anxiety tightened knots inside her stomach. Her bowels clenched with the nervousness of not knowing if she was doing exactly
as her superior wanted. Moving her mouth nearer to Catherine’s jaw, marvelling at the all-consuming beauty of the woman, she asked again, “Do you really want me to kiss you?”

“Not on the mouth,” Catherine snapped, pushing her down to the floor.

Nelly realized she had been forced to the same level as Catherine’s parted thighs. The intoxicating scent of the woman’s sex flooded her nostrils. The richness of the fragrance, a
gamey perfume that suggested Catherine’s arousal had been broiling for an age, struck Nelly like a slap across the face. She drank deeply on the intimate bouquet and tried to understand
exactly what was required.

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“But not on the mouth?”

Catherine groaned with impatience. Grabbing a fistful of Nelly’s hair, pulling hard until she prompted a screech of pain, Catherine said, “Damn it, Nelly. Stop being such a tease.
You know we both want this. You know we’ve both wanted this for a long time. Stop asking dumb questions and just fucking do it.”

Nelly had no chance to respond.

Catherine had forced her face against the musky folds of flesh that protruded from the thatch of her pubic curls. The dewy split of her sex kissed at Nelly’s face. The moment her mouth
touched the sweet wine of Catherine’s wetness, Nelly understood exactly what was wanted from her. She pushed her tongue through the gaping lips and savoured the warm, cloying flavour of her
mistress’s moisture.

“Fuck, yes,” Catherine gasped.

Nelly wanted to pull away, and berate the young mistress from such a coarse turn of phrase. Such language and vulgarities were the fare of labourers and farm hands. Hearing profanities from her
mistress’s sweet and kissable lips was shocking to the point of blasphemy. But, instead of upbraiding Catherine for her expletives, Nelly could only do as her mistress insisted and devour the
warm, wet flesh. She stroked her tongue against the musky folds of skin, savouring the tang of their saltiness, and then plunged it deep between them. Alternating between the tenderest of kisses
and the most intrusive thrusts of her tongue, she was rewarded for her efforts by Catherine’s mounting sighs of pleasure.

“Dearest Nelly,” Catherine exclaimed. “Why on earth have you never done this for me before?”

Nelly moved her mouth to the apex of Catherine’s hole. The thrust of a small nub of flesh pushed out at her, pulsing gently and glistening like a pearl in the bedroom’s candlelight.
Enchanted, Nelly watched it for an instant, sure she was on the verge of making another great discovery. She was already sweated with the strong desire that serving her mistress had awoken, and
felt sure she would need to do something to exorcize the righteous arousal that now consumed her loins. But the sight of the throbbing bead of flesh inspired a hungry rush that was more animal than
anything she had yet known. Daringly, she flicked her tongue against the pulse.

Catherine groaned.

She collapsed back on the bed, stuffing a fist into her mouth to conceal the ecstatic cry. Staring rigidly at the bed’s lacy canopy she finally moved her hand. A beatific smile split her
full, sensuous lips.

“Oh! Nelly,” she murmured. “You can do that all night long.”

Not sure if that was another instruction, or simply Catherine’s way of urging her to continue, Nelly slid her tongue against the swollen flesh for a second time. She lapped until it grew
to double its size. She moved closer, placing her hand on Catherine’s thighs and marvelling at the lean, powerful musculature beneath the pale skin. Away from her sex there was still
something about the perfection of Catherine’s body that made Nelly believe she was in the presence of a divine creature. She had never known any creature – man or woman – able to
awaken such profound desires in her body. Drinking Catherine’s wetness, and basking in the warmth of the woman’s satisfied groans, she wondered if she had finally found her true
vocation as a servant at Thrushcross Grange.

“You’re a good little servant, aren’t you?” Catherine giggled.

Nelly moved her mouth away from the inviting split of pink lips. The dark curls tickled her nose as she moved back. She stiffened in her attempts to suppress a sneeze.

“Am I doing everything to your satisfaction, Mistress Catherine?”

Catherine giggled and tried to pull Nelly’s face back to her hole. Her sex was warm, musky and fragrant. The scent of her ripe lips threatened to engulf Nelly’s nose and mouth.
Nelly’s face was lightly scoured by the scrub of Catherine’s dark curls. The alabaster thighs pressed tight against Nelly’s cheeks. But she resisted being dragged between
Catherine’s legs as she waited for an answer.

“Of course everything’s all right,” Catherine sighed. “You were tonguing me. What could be better than that?”

With an obvious effort, and no little reluctance, Nelly pulled her face further from Catherine’s sex. She glanced meekly up and then wiped the back of her hand across her jaw. Her mouth
was deliciously moistened by the excess of Catherine’s wetness. The flavour was strong and inflamed the glowing coals of her desire. Touching her face reminded Nelly that she had been
drinking deeply from her mistress’s gloriously perfumed hole and the temptation to continue was almost overwhelming.

But she needed an answer before she surrendered.

Pausing to catch a breath, Nelly asked, “I need to know: is everything all right with your marriage?”

Catherine shrugged. “I’m not happy about being married to a dick. But we live in an age when only Edgar could propose to me. Isabella was never going to succumb to my feminine wiles,
was she? So I’m getting on with my life as best as I can. And you’re helping with that.”

Nelly allowed these anachronistic comments to flow easily over her head. She remained convinced that something was amiss because her mistress had never before asked for this sort of treatment.
Smiling with the dutiful ease of a pliant servant she pressed the issue of Catherine’s happiness. “Are you unhappy with your new abode?”

“Thrushcross Grange?” Catherine shrugged again. “I’d be happier living somewhere that didn’t have the word ’thrush’ in its name,” she said
dismissively. “That can’t bode well, can it? But Edgar will eventually change the name if he ever wants to get himself back where your tongue is currently going.” With a frown she
said, “Now get back to licking my hole, Nelly. Or I really shall switch your backside with my horsewhip.”

The threat was daunting.

And, at the same time, luridly exciting.

Nelly was struck by a sudden mental picture of her bare bottom being presented beneath Catherine’s whip hand. She could imagine the pale rounded cheeks of her own rear being striped and
slashed by the cruel strap. In the mental picture Catherine was laughing with positive glee.

Driving the whip down harder.

Stripping herself naked.

Exposing her breasts and torso.

Rubbing her free hand against her own body and exciting her nipples to full erection. And still slicing the horsewhip repeatedly against Nelly’s rear. The fantasy image was so vivid Nelly
could hear the swish of the strap whistling through the air. She could smell the scent of her own overheated excitement. And she could feel the blistering sting from every painful kiss of the
whip.

Fuelled by that fantasy, it was too easy to think of the mistress sliding two fingers into the velvety warmth of Nelly’s wetness. Nelly could even believe Catherine would rub her thumb
against the urgent ball of flesh that now throbbed at the top of her sex. The thought was enough to make her tremble on the verge of an explosion.

“Nelly,” Catherine said. Her voice was sharp with impatience. “Get back to licking my hole. Or should I assume you want me to whip you?”

Blushing furiously, fearful her mistress would see the truth in her eyes regardless of how emphatically she made her denial, Nelly pushed her face against Catherine’s sex. Squashing her
mouth over the slippery lips; lapping, suckling and greedily devouring the woman’s flavour; Nelly concentrated every effort on wringing satisfaction from her mistress’s nether
regions.