Babala's Correction by Bethany Amber

perks. You’re supposed to open your legs and lift your cunny whenever we need it, which is often in this heat. Didn’t the Slavemaster tell you that?’
    â€˜I think so,’ Babala murmured meekly between sobs.
    â€˜Don’t give me that,’ he yelled. ‘Trying to get out of it with your excuses.’ The next blow was heavier still and his middle finger slipped into her cunny hole, which Babala knew was wet with her juices. As always the punishment had excited her to the extent that she was open and her clitty stiffly erect. Blushes stained her cheeks with scarlet and she licked her lips nervously, wondering if the cook noticed.
    â€˜Excited, eh?’ The cook’s breathing became noisier and more rapid. So, he had noticed! His leathery hand remained still on her beaten bottom, while his thick middle finger slipped deeper into her wetness and the ball of his thumb agitated her nubbin.
    â€˜Now why, I wonder,’ began Rata, ‘since you refused my advances, would you be so excited?’
    Babala’s sobs receded a little as naughty frissons of pleasure began to swirl in her belly, which was cupped in the smacking stool. ‘I do not know, sir,’ she answered, untruthfully. ‘Truly, I do not know.’
    The smacks began again, harder this time, and the fingers drifted deliberately lower to slick between her parted cunny lips. As they reached her flesh pouch they caressed rather than smacked, drawing up fine strings of her juices that coated her castigated buttocks, and the scarlet stains upon Babala’s cheeks became deeper as she realised that Rata could feel how very stimulated she was.
    â€˜Now will you allow me to fuck you?’ he whispered, bending to her ear. He was a handsome man - tall and dark-skinned, his biceps bulging from his sleeveless tunic and his stout thighs strong beneath the short hem. It was very obvious that he was greatly excited by what he had done to Babala. His cock tented his tunic and drove forward under the coarse fabric.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ she conceded quietly. ‘I should like you to fuck me.’ Would the Taskmaster be pleased if he heard her say that, or would he shake his head sorrowfully?
    Rata knelt behind her and kissed her flesh folds, allowing his tongue to slip deeply into her cunny, and she could not help but shudder at the sensuous lapping.
    â€˜Very hot and juicy,’ remarked Rata. ‘You wanted me to fuck you all the time.’ He gave her a light and playful slap upon her bottom, which even so enhanced the previous beating and Babala could not help but give a little mew of pain.
    â€˜But I tease you and there is work to be done,’ he continued. ‘A great deal of work for the Slavemaster’s banquet tonight.’
    Babala shuddered as she felt the cook’s hardness at her entrance. His globe was thick and it thrust into her in a rush. It opened her fully and her own juices slicked its length to ease its passage. It butted back and forth and her buttocks were slapped by the cook’s naked and hirsute belly. The hairs prickled her castigated bottom and increased the soreness caused by the beating. He clearly knew this and seemed to take great delight in rubbing his belly from side to side at the same time as thrusting his cock into her.
    Babala could not help the little mews of pain and pleasure, which issued from her full, moist and parted lips. The cook, too, was not entirely silent. He grunted with satisfaction. So noisy were their sounds of sexual activity that other cooks and other maids began to gather round the rutting couple. Not that it was at all unusual for the castle kitchen staff to indulge in copulation over the smacking stool, upon the great pine table, on the floor or against the whitewashed walls, but Babala was a new girl and beautiful at that, with her long golden curls tumbled over her pale shoulders, and the cook had spent a good deal of time upon making her compliant