Subject: Nina Foxton - Femdom, Tease & Denial
From: "V.A.B." <vintageadultbooks@spambob.net>
Date: Sat, 15 Jul 2006 23:39:49 -0700
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Greetings all,
You'll find below a story that was published in the 1990's by the now defunct Masquerade Books. The story is "Nina Foxton" by Titian Beresford. If this type of material floats your boat feel free to browse through the VintageAdultBooks listings of paperback books from the 1960's through the 1990's on ABEBooks at the URL below:
http://www.abebooks.com/servlet/BooksBrowse?vendorclientid=8394952
Cheers,
V.A.B.
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Nina Foxton
by Titian Beresford
Chapter I
The London train puffs like an old gentleman after five cigars and a sherry. My boredom increases as I gaze out from the windows at meadows bright with spring flowers. The trees retain the youthful green of new leaves rejoicing at their freedom from the confines of their buds. White clouds move imperceptibly in a sky of clearest blue. Annoyed with my boredom, I concentrate rather on the dust that lies on the quilted windowsill. My coach is stuffy but I would not open the window to brave the soot. I slip out of my kidskin boots and crossing my ankles demurely, rest my silk-stockinged feet on the seats across from me. From my bag I withdraw the packet containing the letters from my aunt. I open the latest one and read. It is but a note.
Dearest Nina,
I must again apologize for not being at Wellingham to welcome you. I am sure that you will find Oxfordshire much to your liking. I have instructed Sir Albert as to the time of your arrival and he will be at the Chalgrove station with a carriage to meet you at the appointed hour. We are well here. The Massoun estate is on the Loire. What parties we have! I do wish you could be along. I'm not sure how long I will remain as Lisette is quite desperate for me to stay yet awhile. At any rate, the house is at your disposal.
With regards and love,
Aunt Judith
The compartment door opens. A conductor inquires if I would object to others entering. The train is crowded, he says. All the while his eyes are on my breasts. Then they drop to my hips ... and lower still. I spread my legs slightly. He knows his place. Does he know I would have him under me? Does he know that I would love to order him about? To see his moustache twitch with stifled words he dare not say in reply to my imperious haughty commands would be a lark. To have his undoubtedly hot cock drilling into me would be another. I nod. I will allow it because often when I am bored others amuse me. As the door closes I slip into my boots and put the letters away.
The first passenger to enter is a man of middle years and well dressed. A vicar perhaps, or a doctor ... no, I think not. A vicar it is. His eyes scurry from mine as we exchange pleasantries. Occasionally they dart furtively about my person to linger in unguarded moments on my hips and breasts. I ignore him and study my lace gloves. With my fingertip I flick a mote of dust from the quilting.
Moments later the peace of the compartment is shattered. A young lady enters practically dragging a squealling red-faced boy. She is his sister. Her eyes speak apologies for his clamor. The vicar moves beside me to allow them to have the facing seat. How generous he is. As they settle down after stowing their bags in the overhead racks, the girl speaks. They have come from the coast, she says. A very long day. A hot day to travel.
The boy continues his trantrum. I would thrash him at once. A thrashing he would not soon forget. I see in the vicar's eyes the same sentiments. I look back at the girl and reply my understanding. It is a very hot day to travel, though a fine one nonetheless. We speak of fashion. Of what they wear in Paris. I don't care for Paris, though I reply in kind. Meaningless words between strangers on a train. Silly pleasantries.
I soon grow bored again. The girl is silly and flits like a butterfly from thought to thought. There is no strictness in her. The boy has no fear of her whatsoever. He has his way. Were he my brother there would be fear of me in him. I would see to it. While the vicar keeps glancing at me now and again and the girl chatters on about bustles, my mind is active. While my lips make polite moises, my mind works on a solution to the boredom.
It would be great fun to paddle the boy and lick the tight little pussy of the girl. I will at least arrange the former. The boy's behavior is atrocious. He sits and fidgets, rolling his eyes. Now and again he reaches over to pinch his sister's hip. He bangs his heels on the wooden scrollwork beneath the seat cushion. The vicar gives the boy what he imagines is a withering glance. The boy sticks out his tongue and pulls at the lace on his sister's dress. The vicar is a man of hopeless conceit. I encourage the boy. I smile as his fingers pull at his sister's lace. He does it again only this time harder. He winks at me and his sister's lace tears. She shouts at him with tears in her eyes. "George! How could you do such a beastly thing! You have ruined my dress. You have been acting just awfully. Now what am I going to do?" She goes on and on with a veritable dirge about her dress. The vicar mumbles his sympathy and tries again to stifle the boy with a glance of godlike authority. I speak then. The time is proper and an end to my boredom is in sight.
"I am by profession a governess and much experienced in curbing wayward impules within the young. I am sorry to say that your brother desperately needs a caning. A caning properly administered by a knowing and skillful hand could do a great deal to alleviate your present burden. It would turn this rascal into a young gentleman and make the rest of your trip lightsome and easy compared to what it has been."
The vicar nods his approval.
The young woman inquires, "Have you a cane, Miss?"
"I have no cane, however I am certain that a strap from one of the bags overhead would most admirably serve the purpose." The young lady stands up, and assisted by the ever-so-gallant vicar, she obtains the leather strap.
The leather is supple and fine and I look forward to putting it to good use. "Now if you please, perhaps you could take down the young man's trousers. He may then be laid across the seat where he now sits."
The boy's sister, again with aid from the vicar, does as I request. I then indicate to her that I am going to stand to carry out the strapping and suggest she sit in my seat to watch. She does so, evidently much relieved that someone is taking her brother to hand. The white bottom of the boy - now fully exposed - begins to flex nervously and he gasps out his too-late apologies. He is determined not to blubber. I can tell that by the set of his jaw. He is going to play the man. I am amused. Standing between the seats I bend over slightly at the waist to get a good angle with the strap. My bottom is thus thrust nearly into the vicar's face.
I am sure the vicar is not watching the strapping. His mind is now on other things, such as the desire the proximity of my shapely buttocks has stirred in him. I bring the strap down across the boy's backside. It lands with a loud crack. I continue. I feel my face flush as my arm takes up the familiar rhythm. Over and over again I bring down the strap. At a command from me the sister leans forward to hold her brother's arms. She holds him still. There is satisfaction in her eyes. The boy has lost all pretense now. He is shameless in his blubbering. I take my task very seriously. He is now quite beside himself. His bottom is crimson and ripples from the force of each blow; my strokes even begin to move down the backs of his thighs.
At last the vicar tenses behind me. Even the girl's eyes are almost ready to question. After giving one extra hard stroke for good measure, I cease. I would have gone on. The boy is not yet broken, though his wails are pathetic and loud. However, the strong must at times make allowances f
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