Appreciating Amanda Ch. 01

Part I -- Looking Back

"Amanda Mountford," I enthused, "sometimes you really need to be appreciated."

Looking back now, Amanda, I have to say your response was disappointingly confined to a muffled grunt; but I could forgive that. After all, your mouth was rather full at that moment. How could one not be generous, indulgent even, to one who is as intently engaged as you were? I looked down at you, my darling eighteen year old pet, filled with pride, watching as you drenched the strap-on, which was firmly belted to my waist, with saliva. I loved the way I had trained you to ensure that it would be just right and well prepared for later usage on your other young holes.

I will always remember pressing forward into that pretty mouth of yours, dismissing my sweet protégée's repeated gagging sounds each time the rubber tool touched the back of the throat at the apex of each thrust. Then I leant over your nubile, young body, running my hand all the way down your back to that pleasingly rounded bubble butt for a deliciously proprietorial squeeze and a wickedly echoing slap.

The darling wriggle, as you flinched in response, was quite natural. Do you remember how your lovely form was actually almost completely denuded and spread, face-down across my new coffee table at the time? Any onlooker would have seen that your pert bottom was still very pink from the rather vigorous caning that my good friend, Gertrude, had inflicted upon it the previous day. Dear Gertie: she is such a thorough disciplinarian.

Those stripes had now faded from the vivid marks that had impacted so on that sweet eighteen year old derriere, even though Gertrude had meticulously criss-crossed your teenaged flanks with them. And yet, they reproached me still as you, my pet, gurgled beneath me. They were an angry reflection on a rare loss of temper at your sometimes pusillanimous approach to the mature joys that I had offered you since taking your education in hand. And Gertrude, grateful for the opportunities that I occasionally toss her way, is always prepared to be as thorough that she imagines I would wish her to be in such situations.

Why, I can almost see her in my mind's eye, ushering you into her study and looking you over, before having you lean right over her dark mahogany desk. I can feel your trepidation as you see the well-worn edge of the desk. Then there is the puzzled look crossing your face as you wonder how many students and other affiliates of ours have been located in exactly that position.

Next comes that cool swish of air against the back of your thighs as your skirt is flipped up around your waist, snagged on the end of some well-chosen tool whose whippy propensities are still to be tested on your youthful derriere. You tremble lightly until the contrasting warmth of a mature female hand offsets the chill. It touches your shivering thighs first and stills them before the fingers rise tantalisingly up to the tight crevice between your panty-clad, teenaged buttocks.

You twitch away from the first contact and are rewarded by the sharp sting of a slap and the hiss in her voice, both chiding you for your naughtiness; and repeated once, twice and then a third time for good measure. You have been warmed, my dear sweet Amanda; you have been measured; and you have been found extremely wanton, despite that air of apparent innocence you normally exude. Gertrude knows exactly what you need to ensure you never say no to your owner again. She has a vast array of implements and a wealth of experience in using every single one of them.

So, just lower your belly to the desk obediently, raise your bottom pleasingly and wait for Gertrude to slip her experienced hands under the elastic waistband of your innocently pink, lace trimmed panties and pull them down to your knees as expeditiously as only she knows how. You know from experience that you will have plenty of time as the seconds tick by to open your eyes, pet, and stare out freely at the lovely countryside. It undulates gently into the distance and forms almost as pleasing a vista to observe as your pretty, pink, soon to be striped derriere...

Ah! Such pleasant recollections! And I can remember to the day, pet, the time you first crossed my path. That is exactly a year ago now, when you moved in next door with your father, James, early that year, just as winter gave way to spring -- hence the candle that I planted and then lit in your belly button after luncheon today. It's such a natural holder. I do so love the way the wax spills over the side and pools on to your lovely young tummy, before spreading and forming that malleable residue, where I can write my initials to remind you just who you belong to now.

This girl remembers the move very well too, mistress. I was quite tired after the long journey. Daddy was so very irritated to find that several of his rarer books had somehow been left in a crate in storage. He does so like having his things about him. I had chosen my room, when daddy finally purchased the house. Yes I know you know the room well, but please let me press my face back between your spread thighs; tug my hair until I am back where I belong. I promise you that I won't exhaust my tongue or your patience with my silly chatter. And yes, mistress, I will enjoy your lovely cunt. I will twist my eager, young tongue round and round, until you squirt your juices all down this girl's expectant face. It's no lie to say that I was drawn to your potential immediately: your chaste demeanour, that lovely brunette mane of hair of yours, those sculpted features and, above all, your shyness called out to me, Amanda. And yet, your timidity was such that you seemed almost fawn-like in your anxious desire for escape from company, looking away and blushing at every turn. Yes, I saw that hunted look straying across your pale face. It made it abundantly clear to everyone who called in during the days after your arrival, that you wanted to hasten away given the first opportunity.

Given that delicate reserve, I am quite sure that you would have been very hard to get to know had it not been for our shared delight in reading, gardening and, unbeknownst to the few friends you had left in her home town, a latent fondness for the most entertaining, masochistic, surrenders.

Well, Amanda, a year later, do you still recognise the sweet innocent that you were? Over the last twelve months I seem to have cultivated in you a submissive temperament of the most delightful and perverse kind. And yet, given the right situation you still manage to turn on that guileless charm, whenever I wish to inveigle another wealthy potential donor into my select group of munificent lady patrons. You really were quite the find I have to say.

Gertrude once asked me how I managed to turn you so completely, while leaving your maidenly exterior so apparently unstained by the inner turmoil engendered by the opportunity to surrender. You have to forgive her sometimes. For Gertrude, submission is really about one-sided conquest. She is in charge. She is certain in her approach. And she rarely entertains any variation on her directive philosophy. Empowerment for her means disempowerment for those who fall under her spell.

For me conquest and control is far more subtle. It is a matter of getting a woman to look within herself to find the image of Sapphic surrender staring back -- quiet, still and embodied in her perception of the mistress who took her there in the first place. And I'm really rather glad that you chose my way, you darling girl. Let me just tweak those excitable nipples once more. There's a good girl. Lean up and let your mistress have the entire run of your gorgeous, little body.

What delicious handfuls your lovely little teats are, my dear heart. The way those rose-pink areola distend when they are tugged sharply. See how the blood rushes to them, faster than it does to your dear little face when you are accosted by one of my close friends. I really must acquire those lovely clamps that dear Gertie recommended. She has purchased a set for Alexandra that are utterly enticing...yes, shudderingly so. I wonder how you'd look accessorised in a matching set -- no don't start away from me dear. I want to push my fingers into your sweet cunt until you come at least three times in a row during the next few minutes...ah here comes the first one -- what a clever pet it is!

Please don't hurt this girl, mistress. I am still very tender from your dear friend's attention. Did you know that she tried out Alex's clamps on the both of us, last time you leant this girl to her? Of course you do, mistress. I've seen you looking through the pictures that Veronica took of Alex and I clamped together: two little slave girls, ready to pleasure their betters in whatever way you see fit. Oh mistress: that thought and your fingers make me want to come for you. Please may I come; please mistress, please mistress, please, please, please...

Are you done yet? Excellent; now where were we? Ah yes...books, as I recall, were the first key to your door. James and I shared an interest in rare and antiquarian tomes. Your papa buys and sells them for a living. I collect as an adjunct to my academic work. A brief discussion on the extent of his library soon after you moved in, gave me the opportunity I needed to invite you and your dear daddy round to view my own not un-sizeable collection. You both seemed pleased to find me such a hospitable neighbour and, over tea, a succession of sandwiches, cakes and sweetmeats I gradually encouraged you out of your respective shells. James was evidently impatient to see my collection. I think you simply wanted to explore the four storey house.

Youth won out, of course, and so, once tea had been consumed, I gave both of you a tour of the old place, excluding my special playrooms. I was quite sure they would be appreciated in due course, by you, my dear sweet Amanda, at least.

Our little expedition around the old house allowed you to regress to a childlike wonder as we wandered from room to room. I had spent a lot of money on the place. Favours had been called in to get it into tip-top condition. You seemed quite bedazzled.

I remember you telling me later, in my bed, how you quietly explained that you were not used to such a feminine household. You remember don't you, pet. It was the night when you were kindly offering up your soft behind as an escritoire (when I was writing out those invitations to your first public sodomy). You certainly remember the sodomy. And stop grinning already, you disgusting little slut.

You said that you were accustomed to the rather more perfunctory male-oriented function décor that had suited your father. He had lost interest in many of his surroundings since he'd separated from your mother some few years before.

You had travelled with him from short term lease to short term lease, feeling perhaps a little lost away from the bosom of your family -- yes darling, talking of bosoms -- I would be very pleased if you would suckle my tits like a good girl. There you go, that's a lovely child: push your face between them and excite them with that lascivious and talented, little tongue of yours. Oh! That's quite wonderful, you clever thing.

I do love contrasts and can, thanks to my many patrons, afford the best designers. My pretty, new acquaintance (yes, that's you Amanda -- don't blush so and do carry on suckling) was quickly able to gasp in admiration at the sheer voluptuousness of rooms I had carefully furnished and fitted during my five year tenure there.

James was polite, but you, dear pet, were utterly effusive in your admiration, hastening from room to room, gasping at the contrasts. Soon you were reduced to just clucking at the fabrics and furnishings that most caught your eye. Eventually, I brought you both up to the top of the old house and pulled open the curtains to demonstrate how lucky they were to be so far from the urban hub.

"You can see four counties from here," I said, presenting the view proudly, as if I owned everything on the horizon (which, thanks to various titles acquired through my tenure I now have aspirations to do). "And no one looks onto this property. The lake stops them building further out."

"Privacy is a rare quality," James commented dryly, stooping slightly to accommodate his six foot frame beneath the low attic ceiling. He was still evidently impatient to see the bait of antiquarian books that I had tempted him there with.

"Privacy can be purchased," I smiled and proceeded to tell him how I had recently managed to take ownership of the lake and the surrounding properties. Your girlish excitement was sweetly evident, pet. You ooohed and aahed at the prospect of sun-bathing. James smiled to realise his own property was safe from any developers aspirations -- well safer than his precious daughter at least, I decided.

"I can see the whole of our garden from here, Daddy," You piped up and then leant forward. "Look: there are the apple trees in our garden; we are even higher up than their tallest branches here. Your garden is lovely too, Mrs Anderson; and the lake looks wonderful. It's so deliciously blue!"

"It's Miss Anderson," James chided you. And it was quite lovely to see the virginal blush on your cheeks as you reddened with embarrassment at this minor telling off.

"Jane will do perfectly well for now," I reassured, slipping my arm into yours. You took my arm gratefully, almost childishly so. Then you squeezed my arm and clung to me in a sisterly embrace, inordinately pleased by my affectionate gesture. Oh the possibilities.

This girl is ever so pleased that you see possibilities in her, Miss Jane. It is such a pleasure to do you the services that you desire without you even having to whisper one word of direction. It makes me so proud to know instinctively now, just how you wish me to perform, which orifice you need me to stimulate and how I can surrender and please and assuage your overwhelming desires. You have trained me so well my mistress. How can I help but be grateful to you for fulfilling all those possibilities that your mind's eye presented to you on that summer day when first you decided to take possession of my heart, my mind, my soul and my as at that date unused cunt.

"Oh look daddy, there's a swing. Mrs...Jane has a swing. Why can't we have a swing too? And there's someone on the swing...a woman -- no a girl -- she looks about my age...and she has lovely blonde hair too... "

You broke off breathlessly and turned to me inquisitively.

"That's Alexandra," I smiled. "She likes to be known as Alex. She used to live where you do. Her mother and I are great friends. She's very nice and just a few years older than you. I invited her round to join us after tea. Why don't you go and meet her?"

"Oh can I? Please, please, please Daddy." You cried out, all trace of shyness evaporated. You were almost jumping up and down on my arm with excitement. Your father nodded wearily and you rushed out of the room ahead of us, leaving me to usher James back downstairs.

It was his turn to be delighted when I led him into my library. It was all I could do to restrain him from climbing up the shelves to see what treasures they held. He turned to me as if seeking permission, just like his daughter, but the excitement was contained, adult and mature. I didn't have his measure at that early stage, so just opened my arms as if to offer the run of the place to him.

He accepted my offer with a shy smile, but in a trice he was lost in that impenetrable world of his, all thought of social pleasantry gone. It was as if I'd left the room: the host abandoned to her own devices. What else could I do but clear the tea-things and stare out of the kitchen windows at the two young women dancing round the swing, twenty yards or so down the garden?

I have to say that you made a very sweet contrast. You are slightly shorter than Alex and thinner too. You both wore similar clothes: short skirts that rode up, blouses that billowed and cardigans that flew open as you danced around, hand in hand. I approved.

I'm a traditionalist. Jean and crop-tops are for street urchins who hold absolutely no interest for me. Sensible dressing and sensible manners, even if offset by girlish excitement, is my thing. Excitement can be channelled after all. And even the most head-strong girl can be tamed, much as you sought to tame the gusts of headwind that blew those flimsy skirts up, revealing your pink and Alex's mauve underwear: as delicious a pastel contrast as I had ever observed; and yes I did observe. In fact, as you know now, I looked and savoured and plotted.

This girl knows how much of a traditionalist you are, mistress. I remember your frown when you found me wearing jeans and a T-shirt in the garden one day. You sat away from me, your irritation quite visible. I had wanted to do some gardening, clearing through the brambles that had grown up between our two gardens since Alex had moved on. I know that the thought of those thorns pricking and scratching my flesh excites you, mistress, but it would have interfered so much.

Yes, mistress, I know that you like to interfere with me too. I knew that even before you reproached me for my "peasant-wear" that day. Your hands had been slowly straying up my bare legs for weeks. Every afternoon, when you came across to chat with me, while daddy was busy with his books, I wondered how far you would go. It was like watching Ivy climbing up a trellis, winding its way round the white battens and increasing the pressure, as you squeezed my thighs more and more every time we came into contact.

I know that I pretended not to notice the way your fingers climbed up ever higher, but I was quite sure that you had more in mind than brushing away crumbs from the very first time you brushed crumbs away from my girlish thighs.

I was quite shocked when you insisted I take my jeans off though. I thought you to be such a nice woman and there you were demanding that I sit next to you in just my little black panties and 'T' shirt. Actually, you didn't think much of the 'T' either, but you were quite delighted to see that it matched the knickers. I don't think anyone else has ever stared so hungrily at me as you did that day.

I could even feel your eyes boring into the back of my head when you tugged me over your lap and gave me the first of many spankings for my careless dressing. And my poor, little, bruised bottom felt it all through the afternoon and into the evening. Why, I even had to sleep on my tummy, because you had been so thorough in your attentions, mistress. Having had you round for that introductory tea, it was not long before James returned the complement. I look back at my diary entries of the time and see that I wondered whether you had pressed her father in the hope that you might get re-acquainted with Alex. I was uncertain: perhaps, I wrote, James simply felt an obligation or an opportunity to foist his tomes upon me.

It didn't matter. I had my own agenda and so in late March I finally allowed James to inveigle me into his own study to check out the prizes there. I was quite interested to find that we shared the same tastes in literature. I allowed my longer term objective to drift and pleased him by my interest in his precious collection. It's easy to admit now that I was collecting at the same time for myself.

He might want me to identify potential acquisitions, but I only had one in mind. Patience is a virtue and I was quite happy to window shop, while you warmed to the spring sunshine, sitting on a bench sometimes with your books, sometimes chatting with Alex just outside the French windows.

James was always the more focussed on the books. It was inevitable given his trade. Yet, I could tell he wanted to share more than just this hobby with me. He would sometimes look away into space or appear momentarily distressed: that little boy lost look in fact. Yes, I did wonder why, but I held my peace.