INTRODUCTION - ONCE UPON A TIME

 

Once upon a time there was a poor, hardworking woodman who lived with his wife and two daughters in a cottage on the estate of a rich and powerful Count. The name of the family was Schellmeyer and the elder daughter, who was just approaching her eighteenth birthday, was named Maria; The younger who was sixteen, was called Trudi.

Though they were poor, the Schellmeyers were honest, thrifty and happy. The daughters were the apple of their parents' eyes for, though they were of peasant stock, they had nothing coarse or lumpish about them. Indeed, both were exceedingly beautiful girls.

Maria had long, flaxen hair, light brown eyes and a wide generous mouth. There was a certain open innocence about her expression which was only natural in one who had lived a simple life in the fields and forest. By contrast, her sister Trudi was dark, with deep blue eyes; but she had the same air of innocence.

However, for all their simplicity and happiness, there was always a cloud hanging over the lives of the Schellmeyers.

And this was because the rich and powerful Count, whose name was Erik Lemarque, had what was then known as droit de seigneur over the daughters of tenants who were eking out an existence on his estate. This meant that, upon reaching the age of eighteen, he had the right to have them made available to him as servants in his Chateau. Or for sexual purposes; or both.

The elder Schellmeyers had always been aware of this but the daughters were not informed until they had reached the age of sixteen years. At first, Maria had not quite understood the import of what she had been told but, as she grew a little older, the realisation of what it would mean crept over her. She found it very frightening and, at one time, thought of running away. In the end, she did not do so because she realised that, not only would that make her parents very unhappy, but, in his anger at the news, the Count could well deprive them of their cottage and their livelihood.

Sometimes, when Maria was a blossoming seventeen years, the elder Schellmeyers wished their daughter was short, thick-set and ugly. Then the Count would, no doubt, quickly return her to her parents - having no use for, or interest in, such an ugly duckling. The trouble was, Maria was quite the opposite, being exceedingly graceful and pretty, with a ripely burgeoning figure. The parents knew the Count would certainly not return her very quickly. More than likely, they reckoned, Maria would have to serve the whole three years in the Count's chateau. This was the legal period for which he was permitted to exercise his droit de seigneur. Worse, the same thing was virtually certain to happen to young Trudi, once she reached the required age.

So it can well be understood that, once Maria's eighteenth birthday had been celebrated, a deep feeling of gloom descended on the Schellmeyer's cottage. The parents tried not to think too much to what was going to happen to their daughter, knowing there was nothing they could do about it, however much they might wish to. Trudi, between times, tried to comfort her sister, saying, in her innocence, that nothing might be as bad as the family imagined. Maria kept her thoughts to herself but her apprehension increased daily. She was well aware of her good looks and mature figure ... and the implications they had.

The, one day, the inevitable happened.

A steward arrived at the cottage, from Count Erik Lemarque. Maria was ready, with a small parcel of her possessions by her side. Weeping and trembling, she said goodbye to her parents and her sister. Naturally, they too were in tears but the Steward seemed quite unconcerned by this touching scene. Doubtless he had seen it often enough before. Briskly informing Maria she would not be requiring any of her possessions, he told the girl to vault up on his horse ... so that she lay face down before him, across the front of the saddle. In this undignified fashion, with legs kicking, Maria was ridden off into the forest towards the Count's chateau.

 

***

 

It is at this point that a Wicked Fairy comes upon the scene (going by the name of Veebee!).

A wand is waved.

And, although all the circumstances remain the same, there is a time-shift from the Middle Ages to the Twentieth Century!

Now please read on. Hopefully you will take this Adult Fairy Story in the spirit in which it is written ... and thoroughly enjoy it.

CHAPTER ONE

 

Magda Creuse looked very much like everyone's idea of the top executive's perfect secretary. Or Personal Assistant, as many of them now prefer to be called.

She looked thirty-ish, was tall and slim - yet with adequate shape - had well-made, well-cared-for features, long, shapely limbs and beautiful hands perfectly manicured. Her eyes were of so deep a brown that, in certain lights, they would look black. As black as her raven-coloured hair which had a startling white streak running through it from her brow. Many thought this inch-wide band was artificial but, in fact, it was perfectly natural even if it did require occasional artificial attention. Thin gold bangles tinkled on her right wrist as she moved around the study of her 'boss', who was by way of being Count Erik Lemarque. Magda hummed quietly to herself as she rifled through some files on a broad-topped desk. Then she flicked a speck of dust off her crisp white blouse and smoothed down the sides of a tight black skirt which emphasised the seductive jut of her hips. The shoes she wore were of black patent leather which gleamed brightly and, although the thin heels of these were almost ridiculously high, she seemed to have no difficulty in moving most gracefully in them.

Yes ... the very epitome of someone's perfect secretary.

Except perhaps for one thing.

For around Magda Creuse's waist was a broad black belt ... from which hung a slim, black, plaited-leather riding switch, with a silver-chased handle!

Not, it has to be said, the sort of thing the average secretary carries around with her. But then, it also has to be said, Magda Creuse was no ordinary secretary. How could she be when she worked for Count Erik Lemarque?

The gentleman in question came in through the study door just as Magda was wondering whether or not her long, blood-red nails could do with an extra touch of lacquer or not.

"Good morning, my dear."

"Good morning, Erik."

The easy-going familiarity between the two was at once apparent. There was none of the formality that is generally maintained between 'boss' and 'secretary'. Because, of course, there was nothing particularly normal about the relationship between Count Erik and Magda.

"Sleep well?" enquired Magda.

A boyish grin lit up the Count's tanned features ... a very boyish grin, considering he was in his early forties. "Yes," he replied. "At some time I did, anyway. I was damned tired.

Magda Creuse smiles showing beautiful white teeth. There almost seemed to be too many of them, which gave her a sudden rather wolfish appearance. "I'm not surprised," she said as the Count seated himself in the huge, leathern armchair behind his desk. "That redhead will be the death of you, if you're not very careful."

"I very much doubt it," said Count Erik with a shrug. "I've run through more like her than you would believe. And I'm still perfectly capable of doing so."

"Good for you," said Magda, laying a casually friendly arm across the shoulders of the Count's fawn hacking jacket. "Anyway, I expect you'll get bored with her soon."

"Naturally," smiled Erik. "Women were born to be bored by. Eventually."

Magda shrugged. "Pig," she said expressively. But with no rancour. She and Erik lived completely separate sex lives. They were more like a happy brother-and-sister combination than anything else. Great friends. Such a relationship was easy for them both. For Magda was an out-and-out lesbian. However, she was not one who hated men. On the contrary, she liked them and got on with them very well. Perhaps, being so butch, she understood them better than most women.

"What's new?" enquired Count Erik.

Magda sat down on the upright chair by the desk and crossed one long leg over another. Erik gave a mock wolf-whistle which Magda quite ignored. She launched into a summary of the domestic doings and needs of the Chateau Lorenzi ... the Count's isolated, castle-like domain set in one of the forests which bestrew the lower slopes of the Hartz mountains.

Erik listened with unconcealed impatience. "I don't know why you bother to tell me all these things, Magda," he said at length. "You're perfectly capable of handling such mundane matters yourself."

"How like a man," sighed Magda, "How many times have you told me - especially when something has gone wrong - that you like to be kept informed of everything of importance that goes on here?"

Count Erik smiled one of those boyish smiles and waved an airy hand. "The boss is entitled to be a little perverse at times," he said.

"Perverse!" Magda threw back her black head of hair and laughed. "My God, that's a good word coming from you!"

Erik raised thin, neatly trimmed eyebrows. "Whatever do you mean?" he enquired archly. Then he joined Magda in her laughter.

"Well, that's all the nitty-gritty there is." she said, when she had composed herself..

"Anything else then?"

Magda smiled roguishly at him. "News more to your liking, I think. The Schellmeyer girl's arrived."

Count Erik Lemarque positively beamed. "Well, well," he said, "that puts a different complexion on the day. Planned to go riding this morning. I'll have to postpone it."

"Why do that?" asked Magda Creuse. "The girl will still be here when you get back."

"True, true," said Erik, pulling at his lower lip.

"You could see her this afternoon."

"I could ..."

Magda gave a little sigh. "But you'd prefer to see her now. This morning."

"That's about the size of it," said Erik, smiling happily.

"I'll arrange it then," said Magda. "There's one other thing first, though."

"What's that?"

Magda pointed to the carpet to the left of her. "Look at that."

Count Erik looked. "So?"

"Can't you see?"

"Looks like cigar ash to me."

"Well, it shouldn't be there, should it?"

Count Erik shrugged. "No, I suppose not," he said.

Magda raised her eyes. "My God, sometimes you're hopeless. Sometimes it seems you have no sense of discipline. It's lucky you've got me to run this place for you."

"I agree ..."

"One of the careless serving sluts in this place has left it there. And she's going to pay for that. Right here and now in this study. With your permission, of course."

"My dear Magda, just carry on. I'm sure you're right." He opened the cigar box on his desk and took out a half Corona ... an action, no doubt, sparked off by this talk of ash on the carpet. Grey smoke wafted upwards as he puffed, filling the room with a pleasant aroma. Meanwhile Magda had stood up and removed the receiver from the phone of his desk. She dialled a two-figure number.

"Rutha?" she enquired ... and presumably received a satisfactory answer. "Who was responsible for the Count's study this morning?"

A pause.

"Uh-ha ... well get hold of her and send her up here right away. Yes ... to the study."

Magda put the receiver down. "Esmeralda," she said. "That's a little surprising. She's been working quite well lately."

Count Erik Lemarque closed his eyes and tried to get a mental picture of this Esmeralda. But there were so many girls of one sort or another about the place it was difficult to recall one from another. No doubt he would recognise her when he saw her.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Give her a taste of this," replied Magda, tapping the handle of the riding switch at her waist. "She won't like that."

"I don't blame her," said Erik, with a faint grin.

How lucky I am to have a woman like Magda Creuse as my aide, he thought. It was like having an alter ego, not only intimately knowing one's wishes but often anticipating them. Apart from that, she ran the Chateau Lorenzi like an efficient First Lieutenant runs a ship, with only a couple of younger assistants to help her. Rutha was one, Nicola the other. In their charge they had the couple of dozen or so serf girls who were always kept at the Chateau.

A knock on the door.

"Come in!" rapped Magda. Erik noticed her fingers running up and down the plaited leather of the switch which hung from her belt. She certainly enjoys her work, he reflected, with a faint smile.

The figure which opened the door and entered was a rather plump, plain-faced young woman dressed in a coarse, sack like dress. Count Erik could not ever remember having seen her before but that was not altogether surprising. The peasant 'dumplings', as they were sometimes called (and, naturally there was always a fair proportion of these on the estate) were largely kept out of sight and engaged on menial tasks in the kitchens, doing the cleaning, collecting firewood and so on. Only the prettier girls served at table, worked as chambermaids and so on. And, of course, it was over these that Count Erik Lemarque exercised his droit de seigneur as and when he so felt inclined.

However, plain or pretty, all of the serf girls were subject to the same kind of discipline. As Magda was wont to remark, the hindquarters of young women seemed to have been specially designed by Nature so as to be capable of absorbing plenty of punishment without coming to any permanent harm!

The pale-faced figure curtsied. The features and eyes were dull. Resigned, one might have said.

"Esmeralda ... come over here!"

The girl walked slowly across the room to where Magda stood straight-backed, shapely limbs a little astride. Esmeralda avoided looking directly at the Count.

"You were responsible for cleaning this room this morning?"

"Yes ... Miss ..." The voice was rough and simple; but most respectful. "What's the meaning of this then?" Magda pointed to the offending ash.

"I ... I can't understand it ... Miss"

"You realise this is your Master's study?"

"Y-Yes ... Miss ..." Obviously the girl now knew she was for it!

"And therefore a room over which the most meticulous care must always be taken?"

"Yes, Miss ..." The pale lips trembled a little. Doubtless she had toiled hard earlier that morning ... but, all the same, no excuses for this kind of slip were ever accepted.

"Get your backside up, Esmeralda!" ordered Magda sharply.

The girl blinked several times in rapid succession, then knelt and raised her sack-like dress. She was facing towards Erik's desk but he was aware she would have nothing on under her dress. Serf girls of her type were never permitted underclothes. Magda was looking down, unfastening the switch from her belt.

"Pull your skirt up more, girl ... and get that bottom higher!"

Esmeralda obeyed and Erik could see the two curving white tops of her buttocks. It appeared to be quite an ample bottom.

"Get your nose into it, careless slut!"

Esmeralda did so. Erik saw her fingers white as she clawed at the carpet, bracing herself.

The switch whistled and bit.

It was a full-blooded cut ... and a breathless sort of whinnying sound came from between Esmeralda's clenched teeth as her head jerked up and back. Erik noted, a little amused, the ash-smudge on the girl's nose. My God, he thought, no wonder she whinnied! So would a horse have done ... and bolted into the bargain. But Esmeralda remained in position, her hands still clawing into the carpet. Her head came down and her nose went back to the ash.

A similar cut ... a similar result ...

Not for the first time, Erik remarked on the strength and fortitude of these peasant girls. Of most of them, anyway. A lot he was aware, were of Russian, Polish and even Lithuanian ancestry ... peasants bred to suffering for centuries and who thus had developed a greater resistance to it. It was a reasonable theory, anyway.

Unhurriedly, Magda continued to ply the riding switch.

Each time it bit into Esmeralda's buttocks, her gasping whinny was a little louder and more intense. Her head continued to jerk up ... her eyes staring wide with pain ... her nails clawing ever more desperately.

Three!

Four!

Five!

At the fifth stroke, the girl lost what little control she still had. Her hands swung back and round and she clasped her buttock cheeks as she swayed from side to side, uttering little gasping moans.

"M-Mercy ... M-Miss ..." she whined.

"Take your hands away, Esmeralda," ordered Magda. "You've got another to come."

Once Magda had handed out her punishment in 'Fives'; now she handed them out in 'sixes'. She realised how salutary those odd extra strokes were!

With a sob, Esmeralda removed her hands and presented her hindquarters again.

"Right up!"

Magda Creuse was a stickler for such 'niceties' during a punishment ... she never let a girl get away with anything.

With a groan, Esmeralda raised her ample posterior as high as possible. And got the sixth whiplashing stroke across it. A stroke which bit as viciously as the first had done.