Under a Stern Reign by Raymond Wilde Page B

Perhaps there was nothing much to fear, after all.
    The count turned to face them, and Elise stopped just in front of him. She stood proudly, mirroring his stance, her hands behind her back, her shoulders set proudly. Genevieve took her place beside her, and on the armchair she noticed a leather riding-crop with a loop at the tip.
    The count wore no wig, and she observed his short greying hair and brown eyes, seeking some trace of compassion. But there was none to be found, his stare cold with determination.
    Genevieve stole a sideways glance at Elise, who still seemed to be in perfect control of her emotions. How could she be so calm and collected?
    â€˜I find it hard to believe that one of the de Montvert stock could turn out to be such a depraved little hussy,’ the count said to Genevieve. ‘You have brought depravity to my home and corrupted the girl I have raised as my own for seven years.’
    Genevieve couldn’t believe the unjust severity of the charge. Her heart began thumping as she vainly sought some way of explaining what the count had witnessed without blaming Elise. But her guardian turned away from her and addressed his stepdaughter.
    â€˜You know what to expect,’ he said.
    Genevieve heard a rustle and looked at Elise, shocked as the girl unbuttoned her bodice and removed her clothes.
    â€˜You should be ashamed of yourself for allowing this wretch to corrupt you in such a way,’ he went on. ‘As you know, there is only one way to deal with this sort of disgraceful behaviour.’
    The count turned again to Genevieve. ‘Take off your clothes, too,’ he ordered, and a wave of panic flooded her, a hot flush colouring her cheeks. ‘And hurry up about it!’
    The poor girl reddened and anxiously began fumbling with the buttons of her bodice. Elise, meanwhile, was already naked, the fire dancing on her creamy thighs. Her proud breasts swayed firmly as she kicked her dress and underwear to one side, and moved to the armchair.
    Not wanting to incur the count’s wrath any more than she already had, Genevieve hastened to undress too. Despite the heat of the fire she shivered and crossed her arms over her breasts, her nipples hardening.
    The count manoeuvred the armchair to face the fireplace, and then the writing desk too.
    â€˜Over the chair with you, Elise,’ he instructed, and his stepdaughter bent gracefully, her hands placed firmly on its arms as she bent over its back.
    Gazing at the shapely buttocks, Genevieve could make out the pink cleft of her sex, the same wet lips she had been introduced to the day before, causing all this trouble now. It glistened with moisture, inviting her...
    Count de Tranville held the crop. He lifted his arm, and then brought it down with a sharp sweep across Elise’s bottom. Genevieve’s heart jumped at the sound of the assault, and she watched as her friend’s lovely bottom twitched in a brief spasm at the impact. She looked in horror at a burning red line striping Elise’s poor buttocks. A second strike followed, sweeping down with the same ferocity. This time a faint yelp came from the bent girl as her buttocks quivered again.
    â€˜Enough,’ the count panted after administering a third cruel swat.
    Elise raised herself slowly from her position. Her face glowed red and perspiration beaded her forehead.
    Genevieve gazed at the girl’s heaving breasts and then tried to cast a look of sympathy to her, but Elise’s shining eyes turned immediately to the count. He turned to face Genevieve.
    â€˜Now you,’ he said. ‘Take her place over the armchair.’
    Genevieve felt her legs trembling almost uncontrollably, but the pulsing rhythm was between her thighs again. She couldn’t move.
    â€˜I knew a little hussy like you would have problems taking her medicine,’ Count de Tranville said, then without warning he grabbed her wrist and as she squealed an incoherent protest he pressed