Salvation – Chap 11 – Amy Jennings by Zenythmon
A dark and sadistic tale set in Victorian England , Greta Foulds fell in love with Amy the moment she set eyes on her and she
just knew that she had to spend some time alone with her. Greta had
developed a real passion for abusing and punishing little girls in her
position as governess and Amy Jennings was now about to find out just how
much.
She had mentioned this to Alice a while ago, but it wasn’t until now that
Alice decided the time was right. Still angry that Amy had interrupted
her much-needed orgasm, she arranged for Miss Foulds to spend the
afternoon with the girl in one of the private dungeons, prior to Betty
bringing her to the special punishment room later that evening.
Apart from Amy being at that awkward age, the time when her body was
growing so quickly she was always fumbling and tripping over things, she
had a look of real cuteness about her and that excited Greta’s passions.
She had waited, dreaming of the child. She had visited St Saviour’s and
watched her, asking the staff about her so she became more than just a
faceless victim, like so many of the children there. No, Amy Jennings was
different. She had come to St Saviours orphanage through its association
with the Navy after her parents died in a boating accident two years ago,
when she was just 8 years old.
Greta smiled at the girl whenever they met or passed each other. She
stroked her hair and complemented her on how fine and silken it was,
growing excited when the child blushed. Weeks after meeting her, she told
the girl to lift her kilt and watched excitedly as the little girl
obeyed, such a pretty little blush on her cute face as she did so, the
training she’d received preparing her perfectly for her new mistress’s
demands.
Such meekness and obedience brought out the dominant streak in Greta and
she had to inhale and control herself against ordering the girl to be
tied down then and there and spread for her pleasure, her little cunt
held apart by the tendons of her slender thighs and her little nipples
brought hard by the rough and repeated handling of her mistresses
fingers.
Greta had waited, but the waiting was worthwhile because, as she entered
one of the private dungeons Amy Jennings was waiting for her, struggling
not to cry as she stood in front of the woman she’d had been told to call
Mistress. All around them the screams of other children who had been
brought there to pleasure their sadistic masters and mistresses, echoed
throughout the dungeons.
Matron had brought Amy to the dungeon, drugged with her skin already
sensitised by rough massage, though this wasn’t immediately noticeable to
Greta as Amy was wearing her uniform.
Amy knew what mistresses did; they hurt you before giving you pleasure.
Miss Marchant did that, making her friends weep and sob, then making them
scream with delight so they adored her afterwards, willing to go through
the pain time and time again, if only for the overwhelming pleasure she
gave them afterwards.
Miss Foulds had waited for this unique opportunity and nothing was going
to stop from enjoying herself now. Looking around the small dungeon she
was pleased to see that all the equipment she had requested was in place.
Greta approached Amy with a smile, stroking her tear stained face and
making her turn with her back to her. Slowly, but with conviction Greta
lifted the child’s kilt to stare at her pretty bottom and thighs, before
turning her around again to gaze for a few long moments at the child’s
delicious little cunt.
“You are a very pretty little girl,” Greta told her.
“Thank you Miss,” Amy replied, her blushes betraying her nervousness.
Greta was on fire; her cunt was starting to moisten as she stared at the
child’s delicious little body, safe in the knowledge that whatever she
did, nobody would interrupt her.
“Are you ready to please your mistress?” Greta asked.
“Yes Miss,” Amy replied without hesitation.
Looking directly into Amy’s large dark eyes, she released her kilt and
led her to the couch that was placed for the adult’s comfort.
“Take your uniform off, NOW!” Greta shouted.
Amy obeyed without hesitation and in a matter of seconds her sailor
uniform was discarded and Greta was able to see just how pretty Amy was
by the light of the braziers.
“We feed you, we clothe you, we keep you warm and safe. The least you can
do is obey us in return!” Matron had often told them, often when leading
them to the whipping horse, sitting them astride it and then selecting
one of the punishment instruments hanging on the wall.
Amy had a strange fascination for watching other children being whipped,
whether it was a girl or a boy. Their punished bottoms were often enough
to catch her eye and wondered if it was the same for all of them, but
watching them struggle when the whip fell, the lines rise and brighten;
there was the real fascination.
Undressed, Amy took the usual step forward, her thighs parted enough so
the eye could slide between them and gauge the breadth of her cunt. In
her case it was quite broad, lips rounded and full towards the front.
Doctor Stevens had always complemented that she had a pretty little cunt.
He had spread her with his fingers and licked her, nodding his head then,
as if the taste of her had said something to him. His fingers had gone
everywhere and the memory of them still brought a tingle to her flesh.
She liked Dr Stevens, although some had come back from him crying and
telling of terrible devices that had been pushed into them, or attached
that had brought aches and cramps. New children often cried when first
going there, but like her, they grew used to the attention he always gave
to their privates.
“Over my knee,” Greta demanded.
Amy was familiar with the position. She had been spanked many times and
knowing what was to come, she meekly obeyed, unaware of how exciting she
looked, sliding her pale naked body over the thick cotton of her
mistresses skirts. Greta felt excitement like a rush of opium, sweeping
through her.
Her hands slid over Amy’s small and slender waist and came to lie on her
sweet young bottom, nicely round and firm, so much more alluring when it
was presented to her to spank in private.
Her heart thudding with pleasure, Greta began to spank the girl, spanking
her cruelly in her eagerness to hear the young child scream. Soon Amy was
writhing, screaming and kicking her legs wide apart after each slap, her
lily-white bottom taking on a whole new glow and parting erotically.
Greta’s hand grew sore and she stopped. She drew Amy erect and smiled
into her tear-wet face, crooning lovingly to the poor girl while she
rubbed and pinched her sore bottom. Comforting Amy gave Greta the chance
to stroke her smooth young skin, to feel her little curves, her budding
breasts, her smoothly shaven pubis and her seductive anal crease.
“Can I go now please Miss,” Amy asked hopefully.
“Oh dear no!” Greta gasped.
“It was very rude of you to interrupt Miss Marchant,” Greta told her
standing up so she could pull the child towards the whipping horse, the
stout frame ready to hold her tight for a cruel punishment, the type of
punishment Greta Foulds had always dreamt about administering. Amy began
to cry and struggled, not quite stopping herself from being pulled
towards the horse, but she did try to resist.