Elizabeth Berisford was impressed. The room into which the pertly attractive, yet
deferential, maid had shown her was large and luxurious. Its owner rose to greet her with
a welcoming smile.
“Mrs Craddock?”
“And you are Elizabeth Berisford. Tamara Joslyn told me to expect you. Please sit
down.”
Elizabeth sat in the comfortable chair in front of the great Chippendale desk. Mrs
Craddock was not at all what she had expected. She was in her late fifties or early
sixties, with a comfortably rounded, motherly figure and a face which had clearly once
been beautiful. Even now it combined attractiveness, tranquillity and decency in equal
measures. Elizabeth had expected a hard faced woman, brash and demanding but this
obviously wealthy and sophisticated lady was the antithesis of that vision.
Elizabeth Berisford was a beauty - a famous beauty. She was twenty-six years old,
the daughter of a wealthy peer. Red haired, five foot eight inches in height with a
figure, which was a little too full for a supermodel, but magnificent to the eye of any
red blooded male. Her lovely face, with its high forehead, deliciously straight nose,
wide, sensual mouth and determined but shapely chin, was framed by a thick mane of red
hair. Stunning green eyes, large and almond shaped, could spit fire or soften with
passion, with many variations in between according to her mood. The daughter of a life
peer rates high in British Society but does not normally reach the apex of that odd and
restricted body. But the particularly striking beauty which Elizabeth possessed drove her
effortlessly into the upper echelons; so much so that she was able to decline the proposal
of a Prince of the Blood, whom Elizabeth considered a prime wimp and a lousy lay.
For all her perfect beauty, Elizabeth knew she was flawed. It accounted for the
fact that her expressions were often tinged with sullenness. She loved respect, pomp and
luxury and would have adored the life of a Princess, but she knew that while her Royal
husband would have total freedom, she herself might just as well be a harem wife. The
unwritten laws of the Court said that the wife of the Prince could not indulge in illicit
affairs while her husband could do so as much as he wished. Given the lifestyle offered,
many women - perhaps even most women - would have accepted the bargain. For Elizabeth it
was impossible.
She had hardly known Tamara when they met in a night-club. Both were disillusioned
with their drunken escorts who were acting outrageously with the club hostesses, who
happily accepted a degree of public groping which the two Society women were not prepared
to tolerate. Both Tamara and Elizabeth were themselves soaked liberally with an intake of
champagne and, left to themselves, they had exchanged confidences in a way which Elizabeth
now largely - though not entirely - regretted. Men, Elizabeth had said, went to brothels
for satisfaction. Why should a woman not enjoy the same privilege? Men could act out their
inmost fantasies - for a price. Why could a wealthy woman like Elizabeth not do the same?
And somewhere in the alcohol induced conversation Tamara had indicated that was
exactly possible. She had herself done it. She knew a discreet lady who, for a fee - a
pretty considerable fee, Tamara had stressed - could make even the most extreme of female
fantasies come true.
The telephone number had been passed just before the disgraced male escorts
returned to their table with the proposition for a six-some in an upstairs bed within the
confines of the club. Tamara and Elizabeth had walked out of the club, apparently in high
dudgeon, though more truthfully, anxious to pursue their conversation. They shared a taxi
back to their flats. On the way Elizabeth had probed further. Was Tamara’s contact really
discreet as well as reliable? What sort of money was involved? Could one really discuss
ones innermost needs and fantasies? Elizabeth had only gone so far in describing her needs
to Tamara.
Tamara had given satisfactory responses and a fortnight later, Elizabeth found
herself sitting comfortably, though somewhat tensely, in this beautiful room. Certainly
the woman on the other side of the splendid desk oozed trust and reliability. Nevertheless
this was a delicate matter and Elizabeth was cautious.
“Did Tamara mention my - problem?” she murmured, hoping that the other would launch
into a tariff of possibilities. She was to be disappointed.
“Indeed she did,” Mrs Craddock nodded. “But from experience I know I must hear
direct from the client. The only thing I will say is that a lot of delightful ladies have
sat in that chair and, so far, I have managed for them to achieve a high degree of - ah -
satisfaction.” She smiled encouragingly as she said the last few words, making it clear
that the double entendre was not unintentional. “And please understand that nothing you
say will surprise or shock me. I may be somewhat advanced in years but I run this as a
straightforward consultancy and my own personal experience was not gained by theory. I
practised what I now preach - which is a woman’s right to complete sexual satisfaction.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said, squirming slightly on her chair and flushing. “I’m highly
sexed - maybe oversexed, and the blunt truth is that I can’t stop thinking about it and
fantasising about it.”
Mrs Craddock nodded sagely. “That’s not in the least unusual.”
“But I seem to take it to extremes,” Elizabeth said desperately, but she began to
experience a sense of relief at being able to communicate her problems to this obviously
interested and caring woman.
“Tell me - tell me exactly what it is like.”
“I get - you know - very wet. If a man brushes against me in a crowd my whole body
seems to vibrate. And the fantasies just pile up and up ...”
“Tell me about the fantasies.”
Elizabeth gulped then the words came out in a rush. “Abuse - violence - perversion
- always with strangers.”
“Does crude language excite you?”
Elizabeth gulped. “Yes. Very much.”
“You’re excited by the idea of a man telling you what he wants to do to you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you think you could be submissive?”
Elizabeth stared. Her mind grappled with a recent experience but she decided not to
volunteer it for the moment. Her reply was probably too definite and she saw the flicker
of doubt in Mrs Craddock’s eyes. “Submissive - no, certainly not. The men in my life seem
to think I’m something of a bitch.”
“In your present life,” Mrs Craddock corrected gently. “In summary, then, you seem
to want a lot more sex, rougher sex with more demanding men who are strangers. And you
want everything realistic.”
Elizabeth forced a shy smile. “It sounds awful when you put it like that. Perverted
... “
“Perversions are something that some people approve of and others don’t. It’s just
a word that fools use. In my view the rule is that if you like it or it excites you, then
do it.”
“So can you help me?” Elizabeth gulped.
“Probably. Let me see, I imagine you find sex with men in your own circle
disappointing,” Mrs Craddock assumed a benign expression. “Because that is not the sort of
sex you want and the men probably treat you like a Goddess - which is the last thing you
want. Beauty can be something of a curse, you know. Men - and even women -worship beauty
and think it should be treated like fragile china. It’s often untrue. I think that you
need certain coarseness, a certain dominance. To be fucked by something rampantly male and
quite uncaring about your more delicate feelings. Perhaps whipped?”
Elizabeth was becoming sexually aroused. The familiar wetness in her crotch was
developing and it felt as if a trickle was running down her inner thigh. There was
tightness in her chest and a slight constriction in her breathing. Moreover there was some
truth in what the other was saying.
“I have fantasised about whips but I don’t think I could take a beating in reality.
I hate pain. I’m not even certain that I’d want all my fantasies turned into reality - it
could be just too much. I just don’t know! I can’t tell you some things I fantasise about.
Probably I wouldn’t like a really brutal man if it really came about but a bit of roughing
up could be appropriate.” She put a hand to her flushed cheek in a gesture of
embarrassment. “I suppose I sound mixed up - not knowing what I really want except that
what I’m getting now is hardly leaving me happy and fulfilled. But I would like more sex -
lots more sex. But I don’t want a lot of involvement - just plain, raw sex.”
Again she was not being entirely frank. She had in recent months experienced crude
sex with a man in unusual circumstances. Exactly the sort of man Mrs Craddock had
described. Coarse, brutal and with an absolutely huge penis that seemed insatiable. That
was over and she hungered for something similar. But she also realised that danger was
present in such episodes. She wanted more of the same but on a controlled basis.
“What you want is quite clear to me. Nor is it unusual. Please forget that dreadful
word ‘perversion’. Tell more about these things that you say that you can’t tell me
about.” Mrs Craddock smiled as she said it but there was certain tenseness about her body
language that indicated more than an academic interest.
Elizabeth moaned as she felt the sexual excitement rising within her. She felt her
defences crumbling. “I just can’t. Sometimes I want dreadful things done to me. I try not
to think of them but they just flood into my mind. Sometimes I can’t think of anything
else. Can you help me? Is there anything you can do?”
“I can. Now, please take off your clothes.”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “Is that - is that necessary?”
“It’s essential. And you may feel freer without your clothes though that’s not the
main reason. The more I know about you the more I can help you. Clothes are a fine
camouflage, particularly the sort of designer stuff that you are wearing. You want reality
and I need to see your reality.” Mrs Craddock smiled. “I am after all an oldish lady - if
you go through with what we shall plan together you will be stripping in front of a much
more intimidating audience.”
A shiver ran down her spine then, slowly, Elizabeth rose and began to remove her
expensive clothes, folding each item carefully and placing it on a nearby table. The pile
of clothing rose until she was left wearing white panties - dampened at the crotch - and
bra, self-suspending stockings and her Gucci shoes. At that point she looked appealingly
at Mrs Craddock who smiled back encouragingly.
“Shoes and stockings as well, dear! I want to see even the shape of your feet.”
It was not her feet that were concerning Elizabeth but her buttocks. They were
splendidly rounded but the cleft was wider spread than usual and slightly shallow. The
inner skin was also darker. It was a feature which caused teasing at school in the shower
rooms. She had tried to hide it even when having sex. Except with Billy, of course. She
had flaunted it at him at his demand - but Billy had been different. The flaw - which was
the way Elizabeth normally regarded it - meant that when stooping forward even slightly,
both her sex and anus was flaunted and the dark skin, contrasting with the creamy
buttocks, gave the impression that her bottom was soiled though she was always
scrupulously clean.
She exhaled slightly then reached behind her and unfastened the bra. It fell away
from the splendid breasts, which dipped slightly and swayed seductively. Mrs Craddock
blinked as her eyes took in the splendid breasts, thick, erect nipples and the broad, pink
aureoles. Elizabeth placed the garment on the table then sat on the chair, removed her
shoes and stripped off the stockings. Clad only in white panties she turned to face the
older woman who was watching, poker faced.
“Now the rest.”
Already embarrassed by the darkened, wet patch of her only garment, refusal hovered
on the girl’s lips but suddenly she capitulated. She slipped off the panties and, only
half turning at the waist, flung them at the pile of discarded clothes. Her full breasts
swayed and bobbed as she moved and her diaphragm dilated and contracted with the heavier
breathing that the situation generated. The nipples were large and red, sharply erect with
wide aureoles contrasting marvellously with the creamy skin. Redheads often had poor skin
but that of Elizabeth Berisford was flawless - from the front. Mrs Craddock frowned. The
way Elizabeth had stripped and tried not to expose her back was a clear indication that
there was something of which Elizabeth was ashamed.
Naked, she stood defiantly in front of the older woman, though she had difficulty
in keeping her hands at her side rather than use them as a final concealment. From the top
of her immaculately coiffured hair to the red nailed toes of her slender feet she could
hide nothing of her frontal charms. Her body curved seductively. The marvellous diaphragm
tapered down to a tiny waist that then curved gently outwards to the full hips - probably
a trifle over full. It was a flaw which added rather than detracted to the overall
impression of unusual sensuality. The thighs were slender and the legs long and shapely.
The tuft at her mound repeated the in a slightly lighter tone, the thick red hair of her
head. It was neatly trimmed to accommodate a modern swimsuit but Mrs Craddock saw that if
allowed to grow it would be full and curly. As it was, the tight lips of her sex were
revealed through the growth and between them, protruding slightly, the inner flesh, which
was as red as the taut nipples.
“Good. Now please turn around.”
Elizabeth realised that there was no point in holding back at this point. She
turned with a quick, almost defiant, movement and the older woman stifled a gasp of
satisfaction as she saw what Elizabeth regarded as a flaw. Fantastic!
From the rear, Elizabeth Berisford could hide nothing. She was naked in the fullest
sense of the word. By clenching her buttocks tightly she might achieve a partial
concealment but not for long. She had the sense not to try. The dark brown skin within the
cleft emphasised the carnal organs, suggested obscenity, stripping this magnificent woman
of all vestiges of her privacy.
Mrs Craddock rose and walked around the desk. She stood in front of Elizabeth who
tried not to meet her eyes.
“You are a very beautiful woman and we shall work hard to help you achieve what you
desire.”
Involuntarily she touched Elizabeth’s left breast but the girl shied away slightly,
looking worried.
“Stay naked!” Mrs Craddock again sat behind the desk. “Just one or two other
questions; again, I’m afraid, a little intimate. Do you practise oral sex?”
Elizabeth flushed. She sat, then found herself having to decide whether to cross
her legs or just keep her knees closed. “Sometimes - with a condom. It helps get a man
erect. Some of them can’t -”
“Yes, yes. I didn’t just mean oral stimulation. I meant to ejaculation.”
Elizabeth reddened again. Mentally she excluded her performances with Billy. “Well,
I usually avoid ejaculation in my mouth, even with a condom.”
She felt further humiliated by the fact that she could smell her own excitement and
knew Mrs Craddock would smell it as well. Given the fortune she spent on deodorants and
perfumes she felt that she should have been spared that humiliation.
“Anal sex?” Mrs Craddock enquired.
“No.” Elizabeth’s face assumed an expression of distaste though inwardly her
heartbeat quickened. One could not tell a new acquaintance everything. “It must be a bit -
dirty - unless it’s planned, of course. Unpleasant and unhygienic. Disgusting.”
“Quite so. But some like their sexual behaviour dirty and smelly.”
Elizabeth’s mind flashed back to the episode of a few weeks before, when she had
sensed that she was on the verge of being buggered - and hoped it would happen. Again she
was being less than honest.
Mrs Craddock smiled that motherly, disarming smile. “I don’t like the word
‘disgusting’ any more than I like ‘perversion’. But there is more to sex than just opening
your legs and laying back. I would never suggest anyone indulging in anything they would
not enjoy but I suspect you are a little more adventurous than you are saying. I certainly
hope so. The best advice I can give is for you to follow your instincts of the moment.
Often, you will find that variety adds zest. And, of course, you should aim to please an
active partner.” She waited with her head cocked as if expecting an answer.
Elizabeth nodded though her face was red. She was still more than a little reticent
to discuss detail but she did understand that there was no point in acting like a vestal
virgin.
“Now.” Mrs Craddock folded her arms and rested them on the desk. “Have you ever
considered or fantasised about being a brothel girl?”
Elizabeth gaped and flushed again. “Well, yes, but - “
“You want a succession of sexual encounters with men who you do not know and who
will treat you as a sexually desirable woman rather than an awe-inspiring beauty. They
will certainly sometimes be rough - but in a well run brothel you will be discretely
protected, so real danger will not exist, though you might well be stimulated by a sense
of danger. We can adjust the flow of clients to your requirements and you will certainly
get all the casual sex you can handle. Once you have had experience we can discuss other
approaches but a brothel seems to be a sensible beginning.”
Elizabeth gazed at her with wide eyes. “You want me to become a whore?”
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