Elizabeth undressed slowly. It was not that she wished to tease us; rather that she was excruciatingly embarrassed. Everything about her look and demeanour confirmed it: her neck and face were scarlet, her hands were shaking and she kept her eyes firmly glued to the floor. I glanced over at Freddie, thinking to share a conspiratorial wink, but he looked almost as disconcerted as my ward.
The three of us were in the nursery, where Dobbin waited patiently, perched atop a pair of stout wooden boxes. The stirrup leathers had been extended as agreed and two shiny brass rings gleamed on his saddle, sewn in place by Elizabeth. Her riding crop lay on the table, but I made no move to retrieve it, having decided to deliver the two dozen at the very end of her ride.
I was obliged to help my ward with her stays - she was trembling so badly she couldn’t manage them unaided - and when she was naked I decided to have a little sport with her. In accordance with her wishes I had extracted Freddie’s promise that he wouldn’t touch her in any way, but that didn’t preclude him from ogling her or making comments.
‘So, Freddie,’ I said, turning to my godson with a grin, ‘what do you think of my eldest ward? She’s beautiful, is she not?’
‘Indeed she is, sir,’ he said. ‘Very beautiful indeed.’
Though he glanced at her it could hardly be called ogling, and having spoken up he immediately dropped his gaze. At his age I would have been positively drooling at such a sight, but perhaps the lad just needed a little encouragement.
‘Look at those tits, Freddie,’ I said. ‘Did you ever see a firmer, prouder pair? And as for that wonderful bum, don’t you wish you could lay a few stripes across it to hear her squeal?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said respectfully.
It wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped for, I have to say. I’d thought we would have fun at her expense, discussing her most intimate parts in lascivious detail, peeling away her dignity as she had peeled off her garments just moments before. The lad seemed positively solemn, however, and there was little I could do but press on and hope he would feel easier in his mind as the session progressed.
‘Very well, Elizabeth,’ I said. ‘It’s time to find out who was right about the wooden cocks. Will our heroine be able to take them, or won’t she? Myself, I’m all agog with anticipation. Come, my dear - open wide.’
I held up the brown phallus, the one intended for her rectum. From the look on her face it might have been some loathsome, odious reptile. ‘Uncle...’ That one word seemed to use up what little energy she possessed, for though I waited there was nothing more to come.
‘I know,’ I said, ‘it’s an awful thing to have to do, especially in front of Freddie who always speaks so highly of you, but do it you must - you know that, don’t you?’
Though she seemed close to tears, she nodded and lifted her chin resolutely.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘So be a brave girl and bend over.’
She glanced at Freddie in an agony of shame and leaned forward. I touched the tip of the phallus to her anus and pushed. Her sphincter resisted, but the wooden cock had been well greased with lard and the tip was nicely tapered and smooth as glass. I shoved hard - and as the thing slid inside her, Elizabeth cried out and almost fell forward. I grabbed at her but Freddie was quicker, catching hold of her shoulders as she stumbled. He helped her to stand up straight, concern written all over his face, while I eased the phallus deep inside her.
‘There now,’ I said brightly, once it was done. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
The ebony phallus, though larger, was a little easier. Elizabeth was no virgin (though neither was she a wanton trollop like Victoria) and once again brute force and a liberal coating of lard did the trick. Elizabeth stood there with both orifices filled, unhappier than I had ever seen her and plainly in considerable discomfort. She proceeded to don hat and riding boots - the latter requiring her to bend over, much to her distress and my amusement - and turned to face Dobbin.
‘You’re forgetting something,’ I said, holding out my hand to show the worn die she had insisted on using rather than risk anything of mine. ‘Squatting down to roll won’t be easy in your present state, so I suggest you just let it fall. I’m sure Freddy will be happy to read off the number.’
I passed the die rapidly from right hand to left with a magician’s flourish, then offered it to her. As a boy I had been fascinated by the conjurer’s art and practiced for hour upon hour, till I became competent enough to amaze and delight young Jessie the scullery maid with my tricks. My sleight-of-hand with the die was merely a charade, however, to tease Elizabeth and make her wonder. She looked at me with intense suspicion, then at the die, and finally at Freddie. His sincere expression must have reassured her, for she tossed it on the floor at his feet.
My godson picked it up carefully and held it out for us to see. ‘Three,’ he said.
I was a little disappointed, I have to admit; a five or a six was what I’d been hoping for. Still, I suppose one shouldn’t be greedy. Fate had decreed it would be three hours, so I would just have to make the best of it. Elizabeth didn’t appear exactly overjoyed either, for three hours is a long time when one is in pain, and the phalluses had felt very tight when I put them in.
With no more reason to delay my ward walked stiffly to Dobbin. She swung her leg carefully over his back and settled herself gingerly into the saddle. I lifted her feet into the stirrups, drawing a soft groan from her lips. Next I took the two pieces of fine silk cord from my pocket and proceeded to tie the ring at the base of each phallus to the matching item on the saddle. And now, finally, we could make a start. I looked at my watch and nodded to Elizabeth, who slowly and with little apparent enthusiasm began to rock.
I greatly enjoy riding. Outside of sex and thrashing a nicely rounded bottom, few experiences can compare with it; certainly I wouldn’t wish to be without Whiplash, my spirited black stallion. Riding may be wonderful indeed, but I never knew till that day in the nursery that watching someone else ride can be equally stimulating.
Elizabeth took things easy at first, clearly attempting to pace herself. I made no objection, for she had many miles still to go and the way ahead was uncertain. Though she didn’t hurry it was plain to see she was suffering right from the start. Her face was strained and the blush that had lasted all through the preparations was quite gone: indeed, she looked decidedly pale. The reason wasn’t hard to deduce, of course - her orifices were being stretched and the pain simply wouldn’t go away. She could bear it now, perhaps, but pain is insidious, eating away at the will and eroding our ability to resist. An hour from now - two hours - things would seem very different indeed to poor Elizabeth.
As if that wasn’t enough, she had a further problem. Dobbin’s motion resulted in some slight movement between my ward’s hips and the saddle, and since the phalluses were held down, they slid in and out of her body constantly. It was no great amount, perhaps an inch at most, yet it was significant. She was being constantly galled by this incessant movement and I knew it was only a matter of time till she grew sore.
Freddie, I have to say, was looking no happier than before, and I began to wonder about him. Many spankers of my acquaintance take great delight in degrading their victim, revelling in the sight of cheeks aflame with embarrassment and the humiliation in her eyes. Others have little interest in such amusements, however. For them cane, strap and paddle rule - everything else is simply a waste of a good slave. Perhaps Freddie was one of this latter type; a flogger, pure and simple. There could be no doubt he enjoyed handing out a good thrashing, as his treatment of Irene Hammond proved, but watching him now it was equally clear that a performance such as this held little interest for him. Disappointing, but there it was.
With every minute that passed Elizabeth’s difficulties increased, and with one hour gone she was shifting constantly in the saddle. She tried rising in the stirrups, then sitting down, leaning forward and back, but no matter how much she changed position the relief she sought clearly eluded her. Inevitably the rocking slowed. She had done well to drive herself so far, but now she needed my help. I took hold of the horse’s head and began to increase the swing, causing Elizabeth to let out a despairing groan. ‘Uncle, please! I can’t bear it.’
‘You must, my dear,’ I said simply.
From time to time I took out my watch and glanced at it, and whenever I did I saw Elizabeth watching me, desperate to know how much time remained. On the third occasion I shook my head as I returned the watch to my pocket.
‘You must forget about time,’ I said. ‘Take each moment as it comes. For any sufferer watching the slow crawl of hands around a clock face is a sure road to madness.’
Ten more minutes passed, then ten more, with the only sounds in the room my ward’s laboured breathing and the creak of her wooden steed. Shortly after the two hour mark, with Elizabeth clearly in great distress, Freddie stepped forward.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘surely she has suffered enough? Can we not release her from this torment?’
‘No, Freddie, we cannot. The game is of Elizabeth’s devising and she plays it now of her own free will. It would be most unfair not to let her see it through.’
‘But she couldn’t have known she would suffer like this, could she? No one could, who hadn’t experienced it. Ask her, I beg - you’ll see she wants to stop.’
‘Of course she does,’ I said. ‘She longs for it more than anything in the world, which is why she needs our help. If we allow her to stop now she will feel vastly relieved, and would perhaps remain so for the rest of the day; but tomorrow Elizabeth would be ashamed of her weakness - and that shame would never go away. The memory of her failure would haunt her the rest of her life.’
‘We could command her to stop, sir,’ he said, his voice rising in agitation. ‘I could lift her off, by force if necessary, then the weakness would be mine and not Elizabeth’s. She would have nothing to be ashamed of then, would she... not if I made her do it?’
He spoke with such fervour that the truth finally dawned on me. He’d said he liked her, but it was more than that. It was too soon to speak of love, perhaps, for they’d known each other a few weeks only, but already Freddie was looking on Elizabeth as more than just a friend.
‘You think my ward so shallow she would believe that?’ I asked. ‘Shame on you, Freddie, for demeaning a young woman you said you liked. Or perhaps I misheard, and you said no such thing?’
‘I do like her... I like her greatly...’
He couldn’t go on - I imagined he was struggling to get his thoughts and feelings straight in a taxing and thoroughly bizarre situation. Now that I understood things a little better I was sorry I’d bullied him into coming along, for the experience was testing him to the limit. I did think briefly of telling him to go, but that would be as bad as allowing Elizabeth to stop. Young people need to learn that tasks we set ourselves must be completed if we are to have any self respect.
During my exchange with Freddie I had continued dragging at the horse’s head to maintain the swing, and after a time I heard Elizabeth begin to moan. At first it was no more than a murmur in her throat, faint and intermittent, but as the minutes passed it grew steadily louder and more persistent till it became an unending song that told of her misery and pain. Yet she did not speak to me or look at me again. Her eyes were glazed and distant, staring off into nothing, and her mouth hung open, pink tongue quivering. Her body shone with perspiration and tiny rivulets ran down from her throat, coursing over her breasts and ribs. And still I drove her on.
I glanced at my watch and saw there were just ten minutes to go.
‘Freddie,’ I said, ‘take the horses head and maintain the swing.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. There had been a slight hesitation in his reply, and there was another before he did as I commanded. As he took over I saw the movement slacken considerably, but made no comment.
‘Elizabeth?’ I said. ‘Niece?’
She was almost beyond hearing. Pain had driven her into a private place and I had to call to her again. ‘Uncle?’ she murmured. ‘What... is it over?’
‘Almost,’ I said. ‘The last few furlongs, at least. Can you pick up the pace, Elizabeth? Can you gallop him?’
‘I’ll... I’ll try.’
Freddie shook his head. ‘Sir...’
‘No, my boy. Let her play out the hand as best she can.’
He seemed inclined to argue the point, but I looked at him and he clamped his jaw. I went to the table and retrieved the riding crop Elizabeth had brought along. Thus armed, I stood behind the horse and readied myself. ‘Faster now,’ I said. ‘Work him faster, Freddie.’
My godson was clearly reluctant and I feared outright rebellion. Then Elizabeth herself took charge, pushing with her hips, though what that effort cost her and from where she found the strength, I could not imagine. The rocking horse dipped violently forward and back and Elizabeth began to wail pitifully, but neither her efforts nor the wooden creature’s wild motion slackened. Though I couldn’t see her face it must surely be twisted in agony, for Freddie’s own expression reflected her torment.
‘That’s it!’ I cried. ‘Go on, Elizabeth! Drive on, brave girl!’
I raised the crop and struck my ward hard across the buttocks. She shrieked and half rose from the saddle. I struck her again and again, two dozen times in all, each cruel stroke drawing forth an agonised cry. Finally I cast away the crop and threw up my arms.
‘Stop!’ I cried. ‘It is done! It’s over.’
The violent motion slowed; then slowed further, till finally it stopped altogether. Elizabeth fell sobbing on Dobbin’s neck, while Freddie looked stunned, as though all this was utterly beyond his comprehension. As for me, I felt entirely drained, I must confess.
We lifted Elizabeth off her mount, Freddie and I, and she stiffened and cried out as the phalluses were drawn from her. ‘Let’s get her over to the couch,’ I said.
We lay her down and I proceeded to examine her front and back. Unsurprisingly she was dreadfully inflamed and could hardly bear to be touched between her legs.
‘You have to endure this too, Elizabeth,’ I said. ‘It’s for your own good.’
I had brought along a jar of soothing ointment, for I guessed it would be needed. I smeared some on my finger and pushed it into her anus, sliding it slowly in and out. She did bear it, though Freddie had to hold her hands and she sobbed most pitifully till the compound started to take effect, cooling and calming the raw flesh.
‘How do you feel now, Elizabeth?’ Freddie asked, his voice full of concern. ‘Is that helping?’
‘A little,’ she murmured.
Having dealt with her back passage I turned my attention to the front, applying the ointment first internally and then externally, for her labia were red and sore from the chafing received during the long and arduous ride. While I was treating her I took the opportunity to stroke her clitoris with my thumb, gently but persistently. At first she was suffering too much to notice, and even when she realised what was happening she had little strength left to stop me. Her body’s needs soon asserted themselves in any case and, as I continued thumbing her diligently, her hips began to rock back and forth, a flush returned to her cheeks and she sighed. She didn’t look at me, however - it was my godson whose eyes held her own. They gazed at each other so longingly, these two, I began to feel like an intruder.
‘Freddie,’ I said, ‘take over here.’
‘Sir,’ he protested, ‘I promised not to touch her...’
‘This is medicinal,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t count. The poor girl needs this to ease her suffering.’
He took little persuading, in fact, and was soon kneeling in my place, his thumb doing sterling service on that sensitive nub.
‘Oh Frederick,’ Elizabeth gasped, her movements becoming urgent. ‘Frederick!’
‘Elizabeth,’ he murmured, his thumb flicking rapidly now, ‘dear girl.’
So absorbed were they in each other I doubt they even saw me leave. With Elizabeth in her present ravaged state I thought it most unlikely they would attempt intercourse, but there were other ways to achieve mutual satisfaction. Whatever they might choose to do was none of my business, however, but entirely their own.
Later that same evening, as I had just finished writing up the account of Ride-a-Cock-Horse in my journal, there came a knock at the study door.
‘Come in,’ I said, putting the book away and locking my desk.
It was the governess who entered, looking so distressed my intended cheery greeting died on my lips. There was a red mark on the left side of her face, high up on the cheekbone, and I wondered if she had fallen.
‘My dear Mrs Hammond,’ I asked in concern, ‘whatever has happened? Is that a graze on your cheek?’
‘I’m afraid it is, sir,’ she said, clearly put out. ‘I was in a fight.’
‘Good God! A fight, you say? Did you win?’
‘I’m sorry, sir; I meant I was in the middle of a fight. Molly and Mary were fighting and I tried to stop it. It was Molly who struck me, though I’m sure it was unintentional.’
She proceeded to relate the whole astonishing story. The fight had started when Molly teased her sister, claiming Freddie preferred her to her twin. Mary disputed this, at which point a heated argument ensued. Molly then hit Mary and battle commenced. Mrs Hammond appeared on the scene and attempted - bravely but probably unwisely - to place herself between the two protagonists, catching a stray blow for her pains. This accidental assault on the governess defused the situation and both sisters quickly calmed down. Molly, in a fit of remorse at having struck her superior and no doubt fearful of the consequences, promptly confessed all. She admitted she had started the argument and thrown the first punch, at which point Mrs Hammond marched the pair of them down the hall and told them to wait outside the study.
‘They’re out there now?’ I asked.
‘They are, sir. Shall I bring them in?’
‘Not yet. It will do them good to stew for a while.’
I rang for Alice, for I wanted Freddie to be in on this. As the unwitting cause of the argument he was already involved and I had promised him we would share the Tavistock sisters’ next punishment. Clearly, that was now imminent. Alice was dispatched to seek out my godson, who soon put in an appearance. He greeted Irene Hammond politely, for he’d been most courteous to her since the unfortunate incident in the classroom and she to him. I apprised him of the situation with regard to the Tavistock twins and was pleased to note he looked more than a little uncomfortable at being the cause of the trouble.
‘Though I don’t hold you personally responsible for this fracas, Freddie,’ I said sternly, ‘there is a lesson to be learned here. Young women see things differently from us and we should be most careful what we say to them. Utterances such as “dear girl” can be misconstrued and tender hearts are easily broken - you take my meaning?’
I was reminding Freddie of his fond murmurings to Elizabeth following Ride-a-Cock-Horse and clearly he understood, for he nodded earnestly. ‘I meant every word, sir. I care for her, truly I do.’
Irene Hammond, unaware of what had transpired in the nursery and oblivious to the side play, gave a strangled gasp.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Hammond,’ I said, ‘he doesn’t mean Molly - or Mary, come to that.’
I studied my godson’s anxious, honest face and decided he was telling the truth. I felt a little easier in my mind, for I was responsible for Elizabeth’s health and welfare and had no wish to see her hurt. (The spankings and humiliations to which I subjected her were altogether a different matter, naturally).
‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’m very glad to hear it, Freddie. We’ll speak of this later, you and I, but now let us deal with this unhappy incident. Would you call the pair of them in please, Mrs Hammond?’
The sisters were duly ushered in, looking rather sheepish. They stood side by side facing the three of us, their afternoon uniforms - black dresses, white aprons and white caps - considerably torn and tattered. I realised it must have been a furious fight and was impressed with Irene Hammond’s willingness to enter the fray.
‘Mrs Hammond has explained the circumstances to me,’ I said. ‘I understand that Molly has admitted starting the argument and striking the first blow.’ I paused and looked from one to the other. ‘Which of you is Molly, by the way?’
‘I am, sir,’ the maid on the left said meekly.
‘Then you are the one most at fault. However, in our customary fashion I shall punish you both equally.’ I gave Mary a long look, but there was no indication she objected to this patently unjust treatment. ‘I trust you both appreciate how wicked you have been. That you should argue is bad enough, but fighting is utterly inexcusable. The worst aspect of this whole disgraceful affair, however, is that you injured Mrs Hammond, in consequence of which your punishment will be very severe indeed!’
I glanced at my fellow judges as I said this. Freddie appeared more than a little pleased at the prospect of handing out a sound thrashing, albeit jointly, while Irene Hammond was still looking rather discomposed from her assault. As I wanted a word with Freddie before we got started, I told the Tavistock twins to return in half an hour. Irene Hammond also took her leave, having received my permission to retire to her room to recuperate.
Alone with my godson, I gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘Well, Freddie my boy... I hope your arm’s feeling strong.’
‘Strong enough, sir,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Strong enough.’
I had once watched my grandfather thrash twins, none other than the infamous Hetty and Peggy Bailey. Daughters of one of his tenant farmers, they were wild, unruly girls whose mother had run off the previous autumn with a tinker. Perhaps it was this lack of maternal influence that accounted for their indecorous behaviour, or possibly it was merely their naturally fractious natures. Whatever the reason, their father - almost at his wits end with the pair - brought them up to the big house, though he was obliged to bind them and throw them into the back of his hay cart to get them there.
Never one to refuse a challenge, my grandfather agreed to take the two of them in hand. Knowing they would undoubtedly bolt if freed from their bonds, he had them carried to the stables and tied face down over bales of hay. I was surprised at this, for I had never before seen my grandfather resort to physical restraints in this way. He was a powerful figure of a man, easily able to dominate most young women by force of personality alone. One bellow from those mighty lungs was enough to stop any maid dead in her tracks, rigid with fear, unable to move even if she wanted to.
The Bailey girls were not so easily cowed, however. They struggled and cursed their father as he lifted them from the cart and cursed the grinning grooms who manhandled them into the stables, sneaking a crafty feel at breast or groin when they thought no one was looking. They even cursed my grandfather - a most risky venture considering his fearsome reputation as a flogger.
With the miscreants secured in two vacant stalls, he sent everyone away but me and together we searched around for a suitable implement. We found a loose stave from a broken barrel, which my grandfather tested in the conventional manner, nodding in approval at the meaty thwack it made against his palm. Suitably armed, he put his hand on my shoulder and together we studied the appealing sight before us. The Bailey girls lay spread-eagled over the hay bales, bottoms elevated, their wrists tied to a low rail on the wall, their ankles to the corner posts of the stalls.
‘Two for the price of one, Jamie,’ he said. ‘Can’t say fairer than that, eh, my boy?’
I nodded eagerly. It was indeed a most exciting prospect, though I somehow doubted our two victims would view it in such a light.
My grandfather pointed to the girl on the left. ‘You get that one ready while I see to this one here.’
I had been helping my grandfather for many months now and knew well enough what to do. I squatted down beside my allotted charge and dragged up her skirt - and promptly jumped up in surprise. ‘She isn’t wearing any drawers, grandfather!’ I exclaimed.
‘Neither is mine,’ he replied. ‘What a shameless pair of hussies!’
Tutting and clucking at this impropriety he proceeded to whack them, three strokes for one then three for her sister, alternating back and forth. It was not a particularly fierce beating - in fact I had never seen my grandfather strike so gently. The strokes were by no means featherlight, I hasten to add, but fell far short of his usual scorchers. What I failed to realise at the time was that a heavy object such as a barrel stave possesses considerable momentum and the pain it causes seems out of all proportion to the force used. Even so, considering the twins’ intractable natures, I had expected something far harsher.
If the Bailey girls thought their treatment lenient, they didn’t show it. They shrieked and cursed, struggling wildly but in vain to free themselves, while I sat cross-legged on the floor and enjoyed the show. The relative gentleness of their punishment was offset by its duration: my grandfather’s strength and stamina belied his years and he could keep this up till the cows came home. The beating went on for a very long time, but finally he stopped and took a step back. Much of the spirit seemed to have gone out of the two miscreants. Moans and groans had replaced curses and they no longer fought to get free, rather they lay there, writhing feebly in an attempt - equally futile - to ease their burning bottoms.
‘That’s it, Jamie,’ my grandfather said. ‘They’ll have to stay like that for the night. We daren’t risk untying ‘em, for they’d be sure to make a run for it. We’ll come back in the morning and see how they’re doing. Sessions like this, morning and evening, ought to do the trick. It might take a fortnight or more, for they’ve got spirit these two, and wenches with spirit take longer to break.’
I began to see the light: this had been just the first in a whole series of spankings. My grandfather was planning to wear them down gradually, crushing their unruly spirit little by little over a period of time with a number of moderate beatings, as opposed to a single hard one.
It soon became clear that the prospect of further punishment held little appeal for the twins. ‘Oh, sir,’ one of them cried, ‘we don’t want any more! We’ve learned our lesson good and proper, haven’t we, Peg?’
‘Indeed we have, sir,’ the other chipped in. ‘You’ll not hear another peep from us, we promise faithful.’
My grandfather chuckled. ‘Listen to the pair of ‘em, Jamie-boy. Little angels, and all after one gentle spanking. It’s a miracle, that’s what it is.’
He took up the barrel stave once more and proceeded to give them another dozen apiece, which soon had them moaning and groaning all over again. Then, still chuckling, he put his arm around my shoulder and steered me towards the door.
‘Shouldn’t we cover them up, sir?’ I asked as we went out, thinking it was rude to lay like that with your bottom on show for anyone to see.
‘I think they’re happier as they are,’ he said, ‘with their bums hanging out in the cool breeze. And if the stable lads should happen by and find the sight just too tempting to resist... well, that’s a risk they’ll have to take. No one asked ‘em to be bad girls, did they?’
Back in my room I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of the two girls, tied up and helpless, and eventually I crept down the stairs and out across the courtyard to the stables. The Bailey twins were still there and they were alone. I knew they weren’t asleep, however, as from time to time one or the other would utter a soft groan.
As a special treat the grooms sometimes let me feed and water the horses. It occurred to me that the girls might also be thirsty - they’d been there for hours and hours with no one looking after them, so far as I knew. I went closer and the nearest one turned her head and looked at me. ‘Are you thirsty?’ I asked. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’
‘God bless, young master,’ she said, ‘we would that!’
I filled a ladle at the water butt and squatted down to hold it to each of their lips in turn. They drank greedily and it took two more trips before they’d had their fill. I thought I should go back to the house then, but first I went around behind to see how their rear ends were faring.
‘Your bottoms are very red,’ I said. ‘I expect they’re still hot, are they?’
‘Like lookin’ at our bums do you, Jamie-boy?’ one asked, having obviously picked up on my grandfather’s pet name for me.
‘Yes,’ I said solemnly, ‘they’re very nice. Nell has a nice bottom too. Hers is sometimes even redder than yours, when she’s been very naughty.’
‘Untie us,’ the Bailey girl said, ‘and we’ll show you somethin’ even nicer, won’t we, Het?’
‘We will that,’ her sister said. ‘We’ll show you our furry kittens. You can even stroke ‘em if you want. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘All the lads like strokin’ our pussies,’ the first one said, and the two of them laughed.
I thought I would like to see their kittens, but remembered my grandfather saying the girls were to stay tied up all night. I could never go against his word. ‘I’ve got to go back now,’ I said.
They called after me, laughing, saying something about their pussies. As I crossed the yard to the house the mocking laughter followed me.
‘Severe, certainly,’ I said to Freddie, ‘but we also have to be fair. By that I mean we can’t afford to show any favouritism. Definitely you mustn’t show any - we don’t want another war breaking out, do we? Whatever you do to Molly, you have to repeat it exactly with Mary and vice versa.’
My godson nodded glumly, clearly holding himself partially responsible for the quarrel and subsequent brawl and feeling guilty in consequence. I thought he was being rather hard on himself, personally, but said nothing. Resolving one’s doubts about oneself is an important part of growing up.
‘But most definitely severe,’ I said. ‘I intend this to be a punishment they’ll remember the rest of their lives.’
‘How many strokes, sir, have you decided?’
‘Not exactly. I thought we might leave it open-ended. You know - just keep going till we feel it’s enough.’
My grandfather had occasionally handed out such a punishment, which in many ways was harder on the penitent than the more usual sort with a fixed number of strokes. With no finishing line in sight, the session could seem interminable.
‘When I say “severe”,’ I added as an afterthought, ‘I’m speaking in layman’s terms, of course. Are you familiar with the usual flogger definitions, Freddie?’
‘I don’t believe I am, sir.’
I explained it to him, as my grandfather had explained it to me many years before. I told him a hard stroke is generally accepted as one that tests to the utmost limit the victim’s resolve to hold her position. With a severe stroke, she would find it impossible to do so and some form of restraint would be required - ropes, straps and suchlike, or else a third party might hold her down.
‘When I said the twins’ punishment should be severe,’ I concluded, ‘I was being careless with our mother tongue, for I should have said hard. I don’t wish to tie them up, but I want to take them very close to that point. And we make it a long session - a hundred hard strokes are just as effective as thirty severe ones.’
‘A hundred?’ he said in surprise.
‘I don’t see why not: a century is no more than they deserve. I intend this to be a punishment they never forget. Fighting in the house, indeed!’
But it was Mrs Hammond’s injured face I was thinking of as I spoke. Only one person at Bleekston Hall was entitled to put marks on that particular lady; and the cheeks I would rather bruise are in any case lower down and at the rear.
We agreed to deal with the warring sisters in the library as I felt the study was rather cramped. Freddie and I might well be swinging simultaneously at some point and a clash of canes would make us look like incompetent fools.
Prior to the start of the session I had the Tavistock girls carry through to the library my entire day collection of spanking implements: three each of canes, tawses, paddles and rulers, plus two lashes and a quirt. As the crime was theirs, it seemed only fair they should do the work; and seeing their anxious faces as they surveyed this fearsome array did add a certain piquancy to the preparations. We also took along a selection of items from my main collection for good measure.
My godson’s face was a picture as he stepped into the room adjacent to my study. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, catching sight of the eight hundred or so items. ‘Sir, what... where... good God!’
‘Don’t stand there goggling and blaspheming,’ I said, ‘just grab anything you think might come in handy.’
He reached out as though in a trance and I realised my mistake. ‘Not that one!’ I said hastily. ‘It’s over three thousand years old and priceless. You never knew the Pharaohs were spankers, did you, Freddie? Here, let me choose.’
We thrust the additional items into our victims’ arms and steered them towards the library. I told them to put the implements on the table, after which they were ordered to strip.
‘Please sir...’ one of them mumbled.
‘Yes, Molly?’
I knew it was she, for Molly was the dominant twin. She was the one who always spoke first, making it possible to tell one from the other whenever they were talking, though I seemed to be the only person in the household to have realised this.
‘Will you be punishing us all by yourself, sir,’ she asked, ‘or will Mr Frederick lend a hand?’
‘Mr Frederick will most certainly be lending a hand,’ I said. ‘Also a cane, a paddle, a tawse and possibly a whip or two I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, with a shy glance and quick little smile in Freddie’s direction.
Was that it, then? She was more than happy - they were happy - to submit to a harsh beating just so long as handsome Mr Frederick was the one giving it? I’d thought them strange enough before, God knows, but this was ridiculous.
‘Get undressed, both of you!’ I snapped. ‘When you’re naked bend over and grasp your ankles.’
As they started to strip I moved close to my godson. ‘I’d like you to lead off, Freddie,’ I murmured quietly. ‘So would they, obviously. I suggest you begin with a paddle to get them good and tender, then switch to something sharper - a cane or crop, say. That should get them squawking nicely. And don’t forget what I said about being even handed!’
‘Understood, sir.’
The Tavistocks divested themselves of the last of their clothing and took up the prescribed position, so close together their hips were almost touching. I drew a chair up behind them, close enough to ensure I had a good view of their posteriors without getting in Freddie’s way, then sat down to watch my godson at work. Though several options were available to him, Freddie chose to deliver a single blow to each maid in turn. He stood just behind the twin on the right and swung his arm as though he meant it. Slap went the paddle - a reassuringly firm sound.
‘Aaahhhh!’ gasped his victim.
He took two short steps to his left, paused, then swung again. Slap!
‘Aaahhhh!’
And so it went on, back and forth in this fashion. Rushing things that should be taken slowly and savoured with great relish is a common fault among the young, so I was pleased to see that Freddie took his time. After a while the Tavistock buttocks had turned deep pink, the colour evenly distributed and identical so far as I could see. Each twin gasped and flinched at the stinging contact and swayed forward just a little. That was all - but then it was early days. Though I couldn’t see their faces I imagined eyes would be watering about now. Early days it may be, but my godson wasn’t stinting; and I was pleased about that, too.
Ten minutes later Molly and Mary were still gasping and flinching as the paddle slapped home, but the gasps were more heartfelt and the flinches more pronounced. Their bottoms, I noted, were positively crimson. Freddie’s rhythm hadn’t changed and he showed no sign of boredom or fatigue as he continued to slap them. Just when I was starting to wonder if he would ever stop, he lowered his arm and stepped away.
‘Stay in position,’ he commanded.
He walked to the table and swapped paddle for cane - one that had come from my main collection. I knew it well, for it boasted a highly distinctive end, curled round and around like a ram’s horn. It once belonged to the headmaster of a well known boys’ preparatory school and had thrashed literally thousands of posteriors in its time. I had acquired it upon the headmaster’s retirement and felt sure the old fellow would be pleased to know it was still providing sterling service.
‘I shall give you twenty each with this particular rod,’ Freddie announced, having resumed his place, ‘one stroke at a time as before, and I want you to count them, understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the one on Freddie’s left said.
‘Which twin are you?’ he asked, tapping her rump with the cane.
‘Molly, sir.’
‘Very well, Molly; I shall start with you. Remember to speak out clearly, now.’ He raised the cane, paused, and lowered it again. ‘These strokes will be firmer - considerably firmer, in fact. Grasp your ankles tightly and remember not to rise until I give you permission.’
With that he proceeded to cane them. He hadn’t lied about the firmness of the strokes and Molly yelped as the first cut keenly across her tender rear end. We had to wait a good few seconds for the count. ‘One, thank you sir.’
Freddie stepped to the side and repeated the stroke precisely with sister Mary and obtained precisely the same result - yelp; pause; ‘One, thank you sir.’ Freddie stepped back and it was Molly’s turn again.
I watched with keen interest as the count climbed slowly. My godson’s technique left little to be desired, for timing, delivery and accuracy were all exemplary. He knew the protocols - such as counting the strokes and not rising without permission - and knew also how to instruct the penitent in what was required of her. Though natural flair and ability undoubtedly played a part, there had to be more to it than that. Someone had coached him, of that I was certain.
The twenty strokes apiece were duly delivered and Freddie stepped back. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Mary, Molly, you may stand up straight and turn around.’
They did so, affording me a view of their faces for the first time since the punishment began. They were pale and tear-streaked - which was only natural - and not at all happy. It was clear their enthusiasm for being beaten by my godson had faded and died, yet there they stood, arms by their sides, patiently awaiting the next instruction. If I was impressed with Freddie, I couldn’t help but be impressed with the pair of them, too.
‘Molly, Mary,’ Freddie said, ‘you may rub your bottoms.’
They did so, vigorously, as though friction alone might extinguish the fire in their behinds. Freddie returned the cane to the table and turned to me. ‘I believe it’s your turn now, sir?’
I went over and sifted through the various implements, touching first one then another, keeping the twins waiting. Out of the corner of my eye I saw them watching me anxiously. Finally I decided on the heavy tawse. I picked it up, grasping it firmly, and brought it down on the edge of the table with every ounce of power I possessed. The bang it made was phenomenal. Freddie jumped and muttered under his breath - indeed it startled even me, who was expecting it. The Tavistock girls whimpered and swapped frightened looks.
‘Yes,’ I said, regarding the pair of them with a certain malicious glee. ‘Now it’s my turn.’
A change of flogger seemed a good excuse - if indeed one were needed - for a change of position, tempo and style as well as implement. Accordingly I brought out two chairs and had our victims kneel on the seats with their hands on the backrests. I decided to give them three strokes at a time, rather than singletons as before, and quicker ones too. Freddie had made a good if leisurely start - now it was time to pick up the pace.
‘Molly, Mary,’ I said, ‘you’re fond of singing, are you not?’
Their very first punishment, just one day after arriving at Bleekston Hall, had been on account of Molly singing loudly outside my bedroom door at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning. Though frequent thrashings had largely cured them of the habit, they would still occasionally forget themselves and burst into song for no good reason at all.
‘Singing, sir?’ Molly said. ‘Why, yes we do.’
‘But you told us not to,’ Mary added.
‘So I did,’ I said. ‘But now I want you to sing, just this one time. What songs do you know?’
‘Well, we like hymns, sir, especially the psalms.’
‘And popular songs, too.’
‘Let’s have a hymn,’ I said. ‘Something rousing: how about Onward Christian Soldiers - do you know that one?’
‘Yes, sir. It’s a good one, that.’
‘It’s one of our favourites.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘I expect you know it all the way through, in that case. I want you to sing it now and don’t stop, no matter what happens, you understand?’
They nodded and without further ado launched into the hymn. They had rather good voices actually, strong and tuneful, and with Mary singing the descant it was most harmonious and pleasant. For the whole first verse it remained so, but when they got to the refrain the performance deteriorated rapidly. That’s when I started on them with the tawse.
A good two hours later we finally took pity on them and allowed them to depart, stiff, sore and in floods of tears. So distressed were the pair, they didn’t even ask for their ‘treats’, which was a measure of just how unsparing Freddie and I had been, if any were needed.
‘I rather think,’ I said to my godson when we were alone once more, ‘we have seen the last of brawling in the house. Thank you for your assistance, Freddie.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Your handling of the pair was exemplary,’ I said. ‘Amazingly accomplished, in fact, for someone who has never received instruction in the noble art.’
He looked puzzled for a moment, but then his face cleared. ‘I did have a teacher, in fact,’ he said with a smile. ‘One of the very best.’
‘Ah, I guessed as much.’
‘I admitted spying on you and Polly, but it wasn’t a full confession. The truth is, I spied on you every time I came to stay - I must have witnessed dozens of punishments in all. You were my instructor, sir, though an unwitting one; and I have to say I couldn’t wish for a better teacher.’
Realisation dawned, rather late in the day. ‘Nor I a better pupil, my boy,’ I chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. ‘I only wish I’d known at the time, then I could have arranged your education along more formal lines, as my grandfather did with me. But perhaps it’s not too late, even now. I suggest we return these implements to the study so I can give you a guided tour of my special collection. History has so much to teach us, I always think.’
A few days after the twins’ punishment Freddie came to see me to announce that he was leaving. ‘I must see my father, sir,’ he said. ‘He and I have to decide what it is I’m to do.’
The need to earn a living was foremost in my godson’s mind. Following his confession that he cared for Elizabeth, we’d had a man-to-man talk, during which I’d made it plain that he had to find the means to support himself if he wished to court her.
The whole household turned out to see him off and there was more than one tearful female eye in evidence. Alice was weeping openly as though it was her own young man who was setting out to seek his fortune - and perhaps it was in Alice’s mind, for females seem to see things not as they are but rather as they would wish them to be. Elizabeth, who had the most cause to be upset, appeared the least emotional, but I knew she was holding it all inside for the sake of her pride.
That my godson and my ward were fond of each other was undeniable, but would affection grow into love? Only time would tell, and the first test would be this separation, for neither of them knew how long it might last.
I’d arranged for Foster to run Freddie to the station. Elizabeth watched the carriage all the way down the drive and stood there still when it was long out of sight and everyone else had gone inside. ‘Will I ever see him again, I wonder?’ she murmured, so softly I couldn’t be sure if she was talking to me or to herself.
‘What did he say to you?’ I asked.
‘He promised he would come back. He told me life would be empty and dull till he could see me again.’
I nodded. ‘I’ve known Frederick all his life. If he promised to come back, Elizabeth, then he will, trust me.’
She turned to me and forced a smile. Though she trusted me not at all in so many things, in this I knew she would.
Life for all of us seemed empty and dull in the days following Freddie’s departure. An air of melancholy pervaded the place and I was surrounded for the most part by sighing females with gloomy faces. The invitation that arrived one morning was welcome indeed, therefore, and I immediately sent for Elizabeth and Mrs Hammond to give them the good news.
‘Lord and Lady Newburn have asked me to spend a few days at their place in Kent,’ I said. ‘You’ve never had the pleasure of meeting them, Elizabeth, though Mrs Hammond certainly has.’
The governess had been my companion at the Festival of Flogging and Fornication - generally referred to as FFF - a few months back. Lord Newburn, Nigel, had also attended, accompanied by his wife Belinda.
‘Lord Newburn has organised something called Spankers Seven Exiles, which is a sort of FFF in miniature. My friend Humphrey Porton-Jones is invited too. I’m sure you remember Humphrey, Mrs Hammond?’
‘I do indeed, sir.’ A faint flush rose to her cheeks as she spoke, for Humphrey was a charmer, and he and Irene had clearly been attracted to each other. As part of the FFF agenda they had spent the night together and seemed particularly intimate thereafter.
‘It’s just the three of us,’ I said, ‘Nigel, Humphrey and me. The other members of Spankers Seven aren’t invited - that’s why we call ourselves the Exiles.’
We hadn’t been exiled, of course; that was just our private joke. I had always been on amiable terms with Humphrey and Nigel who, along with Belinda, were my closest friends. We held ourselves a little apart from Percy and the rest, and had been meeting independently like this for years.
‘As with FFF,’ I went on, ‘I shall need to take along a companion. Since the basic formula remains the same - flogging and fornication - and since maturity and wit are called for, the choice again comes down to one of you. Since Mrs Hammond drew the short straw last time I’ve decided it is you, Elizabeth, who will accompany me.’
Her face fell - in fact she looked totally aghast. ‘But uncle... I cannot. You know I cannot!’
‘I’m afraid you have no choice, my dear, for my mind is quite made up. It would be most unfair to expect Mrs Hammond to attend two of these gruelling functions in a row. And there’s another reason - one that I was reluctant to bring up, to be honest. Your management of household affairs in our absence last time left much to be desired. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that Alice and Rose suffered greatly as a result of your own ineptitude.’ Before she could respond I turned to the governess. ‘I wanted you to know in advance, Mrs Hammond. Elizabeth and I will be leaving just as soon as I can make the arrangements. Thank you.’
She departed, looking rather relieved - which was more than could be said of Elizabeth. The moment the door closed she erupted. ‘Uncle, how... how could you even contemplate such a thing? You know that Frederick and I are promised to each other!’
‘Calm yourself, my dear,’ I said, holding up my hand, ‘and allow me to explain. Firstly, I know of no such thing. No, wait... let me finish. There has been no mention of an engagement, so at this present moment you are free to dispense your favours as and when you see fit.’
‘Uncle...!’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I am simply stating fact. However... however, I understand that you wish to stay true to Freddie and I respect that, which is why I make you this solemn promise - you will be under no obligation to engage in sexual activity for the duration of your stay. Absolutely no obligation whatsoever, you understand?’
For a moment it seemed that she didn’t - or did, but wouldn’t trust me. Doubt and suspicion showed clearly in her face.
‘I swear it, Elizabeth,’ I said, ‘you’ll remain chaste as a nun if that is your wish.’
She continued to stare at me as though trying to read my mind. Finally she gave a curt nod and I knew she had decided to take it at face value, for the moment at least. ‘What about the flogging?’ she asked. ‘I take it the dispensation doesn’t extend that far.’
‘No, it doesn’t. You’ll certainly be caned or spanked, probably a number of times. I doubt any of them will be severe, however, for Nigel and Humphrey are not cruel men - rather the opposite in fact. Ask Mrs Hammond if you wish; she’ll confirm I’m speaking the truth.’
Again she nodded, though I knew it was unlikely she would talk to the governess about this or anything else, distant as the two of them were.
‘Do you believe,’ I asked, ‘that Freddy would object to a man, or even men, spanking you?’
She gave the question a deal of thought before answering. ‘Probably not,’ she admitted finally.
‘Neither do I,’ I said, pleased she could be honest with herself and with me. ‘Can I assume, then, that you are happy to accompany me?’
‘Not happy, uncle,’ she said. ‘Far from happy. But it seems I shall be doing so regardless, doesn’t it?’
She left without another word, her disapproval plain to see. I wasted no time in penning a letter to Nigel accepting his kind invitation and included a separate note to Belinda, Lady Newburn, saying that I intended to bring along my eldest ward as my ‘slave’ and explaining the situation with regard to Elizabeth and Freddie. I hoped in this way to avoid an awkward situation, for though I was confident Nigel and Humphrey would never force themselves on any woman, making Elizabeth’s self-imposed celibacy plain from the start seemed the fair and sensible thing to do. After all, misunderstandings can occur, even amongst friends.
I hoped they wouldn’t object to my bringing a celibate along to an event with fornication very much on the agenda. We were friends, of many years standing, and friends make allowances for each other. Even without Elizabeth there would be no shortage of female company. Belinda aside, there would be Humphrey’s companion - possibly Donnett, his companion at FFF, or it might be his housekeeper Queenie Bryce. Nigel’s own housekeeper, the buxom Mrs Kitson, was extremely beddable and there were half a dozen maids into the bargain. All in all it promised to be a most stimulating affair. I could hardly wait!
As Humphrey lived just fifteen miles from Bleekston Hall we generally travelled together on occasions such as this. We boarded the train at different stations, however, and Elizabeth and I were already settled in our compartment when Humphrey and his companion came aboard. He had indeed brought along his housekeeper, whom I had known for many years. Of average height and unremarkable build, neither plain nor pretty, Queenie Bryce was a woman who seemed perfectly ordinary in every way - until one looked into her eyes, which were the most wondrous blue. She had another quality too, one that made her a spanker’s dream. She accepted a hard punishment - brutally hard, even - with no fuss, no complaints and absolutely no hint of rebellion. At the FFF of ‘89, I watched Jasper and Percy take it in turns to thrash her till her buttocks were raw, clearly determined to break her. Suffice it to say they failed.
‘Queenie,’ I said, ‘a pleasure to see you, as always.’
‘Thank you, Mr Montague,’ she said, in her quiet, unassuming fashion. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you too, sir.’
They settled into their seats, Queenie beside me and Humphrey next to Elizabeth. I made the necessary introductions and Humphrey bestowed upon my ward his most winning smile. No one had yet informed him of Elizabeth’s special status, of course, and his lascivious intentions towards her were plain to see. Though I loved the fellow as a brother, I found it oddly satisfying to know he was wasting his time, for the quarry was out of reach.
‘You’re looking fit as a flea, James,’ he said, as the whistle sounded and steam hissed. ‘Still taking that daily constitutional, I assume?’
‘Winter and summer,’ I said, ‘rain or shine.’
‘And Irene? Mrs Hammond, I should say. She’s well, I trust?’
‘Very well, I’m happy to say. She sends her regards.’
He smiled and nodded, raising his eyebrows in anticipation, but that was all I intended saying on the subject of Irene Hammond. Though not a jealous man by nature, I thought the pair of them had been altogether too friendly at FFF and found myself reluctant to share even news of my beautiful governess with him. Petty of me, possibly, but we are what we are.
The train journey took some good few hours and it seemed to me Elizabeth was determined to stare out of the window and say not a word for the entire trip. She was angry with me for bringing her, of course, and was punishing me the way women do in such circumstances. I found it amusing, to be honest, and all the more so when Humphrey - clearly determined to charm his way into her bed - engaged her in pleasant chit-chat. Common courtesy demanded that Elizabeth answer and she was thus drawn into conversation despite herself. I made no attempt to join in and Queenie remained equally silent, as befitted a housekeeper among her betters.
Nigel had thoughtfully laid on transport at Chapsom Parva station. The carriage took us straight up to the house, a grander place even than Bleekston Hall, where our hosts awaited us on the steps. Humphrey and I shook hands with Nigel and exchanged a word or two, then Humphrey gave Belinda a quick peck on the cheek and asked after her health. I kissed her on the lips (I’d always had a soft spot for Belinda) and gave her bottom a surreptitious squeeze. Auburn-haired and green-eyed, our hostess was petite, perfectly formed and lovely to look upon. Though no longer a young woman - she admitted to forty-one - the years had been kind to her, the laughter lines around her eyes adding to her beauty rather than diminishing it.
Belinda greeted Queenie warmly and then it was Elizabeth’s turn. ‘My dear,’ Belinda said, embracing her as though she were a favourite niece, ‘I’m delighted to meet you at last. James told me so much about you in his letter.’
‘Lady Newburn,’ Elizabeth said, ‘it is most kind of you...’
‘Hush, dearest,’ Belinda said, in one of her stage whispers. ‘You must not speak my name aloud.’ Smiling, she put her finger to her lips.
‘I... I’m sorry?’ Elizabeth stammered, glancing at me in confusion.
‘James and Humphrey know me only as Lady X,’ Belinda said in a friendly yet utterly serious tone. ‘They must never learn my true identity or my reputation will be ruined. It’s a secret, you see, just between the three of us.’ She reached out and drew Queenie close, so that the women formed a tight little group. ‘We must think up names for the two of you, to protect your identities as I protect mine. What fun we’ll have, the three of us, knowing we’re deceiving these men who think they’re so clever.’
As Belinda led the other two away Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder at me, her expression suggesting she feared she was in the clutches of a madwoman.
Nigel shook his head slowly. ‘Women!’ he snorted. ‘Round the bend, the lot of ‘em.’
Though I didn’t see Elizabeth again for some hours, I had no concerns on her account. Belinda was a warm and kindly person, and highly intelligent to boot. I was confident she would soon put my ward at ease; and Elizabeth did indeed appear happier by far when the ladies joined us shortly before we went through to dinner.
‘Gentlemen,’ our hostess announced, ‘may I present these two lovely slaves to you? This is Yasmine...’
She touched Queenie’s shoulder. It was as good a name for a slave as any, I supposed, though perhaps a little exotic for someone as down to earth as Queenie.
‘And this is...’
‘Lady X,’ Elizabeth interjected, ‘forgive me. Perhaps the gentleman over there would care to guess my name?’
She pointed straight at me. The others all turned to me expectantly - and I hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about. There were dozens of names to choose from; how the hell was I supposed to pick just one? I glared at Elizabeth for putting me on the spot in this fashion and her lips curved into a knowing smile... and suddenly there weren’t dozens of names at all: there really was only one.
‘You wish me to say it?’ I asked.
‘I do, sir.’
‘Then say it I shall. You, my dear, are Ursula.’
Unlike the Festival of Flogging and Fornication, where slaves were required to stand behind their masters’ chairs during dinner, Exiles was a more equitable affair, our slaves being seated and served along with us. Elizabeth and Belinda were soon engaged in a lively conversation that lasted throughout the entire meal, chatting away happily like long lost sisters. The change in my ward was remarkable, I have to say: in a matter of hours she had gone from resentful and uncommunicative to cheerful and outgoing. Though I’d long known our hostess had a gift for making visitors feel at home, in Elizabeth’s case she’d obviously excelled herself. Humphrey eased himself smoothly into their conversation and I watched as Elizabeth, like countless women before her, was slowly but surely seduced by his warmth and wit. Nigel and I remained apart from these three, talking quietly of this and that, while Queenie remained entirely mute.
Afterward we six retired to the lounge to find chairs and sofas drawn into a circle. As we took our seats the butler closed the door. A trusted man of many years’ service, Ogden was the only servant Belinda allowed in the room when she was ‘at play’.
‘Gentlemen and slaves,’ Nigel said, ‘here we are once again, the Spankers Seven Exiles. As you know, in the past we’ve generally followed FFF principles and enjoyed a few days of easygoing, informal flogging and fornication...’
‘And very nice too,’ Humphrey called out, cutting our host off in mid flow.
‘Hear hear,’ I said.
‘Thank you. I’m sure we all have fond memories of past events. The last FFF dared to be different, however, spicing things up with new rules and new ideas. Personally I thought it a great success, especially the spanking competition. Unfortunately a certain regrettable incident cast a shadow over the final day, but we shouldn’t let that colour our judgement of the festival as a whole.’
That was generous of him, I thought, for the ‘regrettable incident’ to which he referred was his wife’s punishment beating at the hands of Percy’s ferocious flogging butler. She had been given four dozen severe strokes for speaking out of turn - a monstrously harsh sentence that left her seriously indisposed for several days. I looked at Belinda and saw her drop her gaze.
‘I’m therefore proposing,’ Nigel went on, ‘that we adopt a similar approach here at Exiles. There are three of us and we’re here for three nights. If each of us could invent a suitable diversion we could play them on three successive evenings, starting tonight.’
‘What sort of diversion?’ Humphrey asked.
‘Well,’ Nigel said, ‘anything suited to this esteemed company and our common interest, really. I’ve already prepared mine - or rather Lady X has, to give credit where it’s due. If you’re happy to go ahead we can play it this very evening.’
‘What’s it called?’ I asked.
‘Called, James?’
‘Why, yes,’ I said, with a sly glance in Elizabeth’s direction. ‘Every game should have a name, after all. Where would tiddlywinks be if no one had called it “tiddlywinks”? Or Ride-a-Cock-Horse?’
Elizabeth gave me a sour look, but the retort I was half expecting failed to materialise.
‘Quite,’ Nigel said, looking a little bemused. ‘We hadn’t thought to give it a name, had we, my dear?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Belinda said. ‘We could always invent something, I suppose.’
‘I imagine so.’ Nigel turned to Humphrey and I once more. ‘As regards your own efforts, gentlemen, one of you would need to come up with something by tomorrow night, which I agree is rather short notice. You have my apologies for that.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ Humphrey said. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of banning casual spanking the way Percy did?’
‘Certainly not - I’m proposing we hold the games in the evenings only. The rest of the day is yours to spend as you see fit, so it’s business as usual so far as spanking is concerned. And any man who finds a willing bed mate is more than welcome to tumble her at any time, day or night.’
‘Or day and night,’ Belinda chipped in, grinning.
If the ‘willing bed mate’ reference was a subtle reminder of Elizabeth’s special status, it was clever of Nigel to work it in like that. I knew Belinda had spoken with Humphrey on the matter, for as we went through to dinner she’d assured me I need have no concerns on that score.
‘So there it is,’ Nigel said. ‘Does the idea appeal to anyone, or should we forget all about it and do just as we’ve always done?’
Humphrey and I were both very enthusiastic, declaring it an excellent suggestion. Humphrey said he was almost certain he could dream up something or other, though it would be better if he went last as that would give him an extra day.
‘How about you, James?’ Nigel asked. ‘Might you have something ready by tomorrow night, do you think?’
‘Oh,’ I replied, ‘I won’t have to. By sheer good fortune I happened to bring along an expert. My dear friends, I give you... Ursula, game inventor par excellence.’
‘At my master’s command,’ Belinda said, ‘which I have sworn always to obey, I shall now describe his game to you.’
‘It was all her idea anyway, dammit!’ Nigel muttered in a loud aside.
‘As James is insisting we give it a name,’ Belinda went on, ‘we will call it Guess-the-Whacker. One slave will be blindfolded and will then bend over. One of the masters will approach, lift up her skirts, pull down her bloomers and give her six strokes on her bare bottom. You can decide amongst yourselves how hard, what implement to use, that sort of thing. The master then pulls up the slave’s bloomers, straightens her skirts and returns to his chair. The second master then repeats everything exactly, followed in turn by the third, after which the slave has to announce their names in the order she thinks they beat her. Is this making sense to everyone?’
‘Perfect sense, Lady X,’ I said.
‘That’s good. Allow me to tell you now how the scoring works. If she identifies all three masters correctly, she wins a prize - some rather nice French perfume, actually. If she identifies just one correctly, she receives a dozen strokes from each master. If she fails to identify any, she receives two dozen from each. Those are the only possibilities - all correct, one correct or none correct.’
I thought about it and realised she was quite right. It wasn’t possible to identify just two names correctly, for if she got two right then by implication the third must be right also.
‘May I now suggest the masters retire to agree a strategy,’ Belinda said. ‘You’ll need to decide what implement you intend to use, your running order and so forth. It goes without saying you’re free to vary the running order from slave to slave. While you’re doing that we slaves will be having a discussion of our own. Once everything’s settled... let the challenge begin!’
Nigel led Humphrey and I to his study, where we gave the matter our fullest attention.
‘Let’s think about this for a moment,’ I said. ‘If they’re blindfolded and we don’t speak, what clues might they have as to who is whacking them?’
‘Severity, obviously,’ Humphrey said. ‘Speed of delivery. Point of aim - you know, whether we tend to go for even coverage or lay them one on top of another.’
‘But we vary those things all the time, don’t we?’ Nigel said.
‘We do,’ I said, ‘but I suppose there are trends. For example, I generally hit harder than you two.’
‘Not tonight, you mustn’t,’ Humphrey warned. ‘Whatever the first one does, the other two have to copy it exactly - the same strength, speed, everything.’
‘Yes indeed,’ Nigel said.
‘We should definitely give them hard strokes, though,’ I said. ‘They won’t be able to concentrate so well if it hurts like the devil, will they?’
The other two looked at me pityingly.
‘Oh, very well,’ I muttered. ‘Medium strokes it is. Any thoughts on our running order?’
‘Frankly, I don’t see that it matters much,’ Nigel said, ‘just so long as we vary it.’
‘They can’t do this, surely?’ Humphrey said. ‘I don’t see how they can possibly know who’s spanking them.’
‘My wife obviously thinks she can,’ Nigel pointed out. ‘She invented the damn game!’
‘I tend to agree with you, Humphrey,’ I said. ‘I think Belinda’s bitten off more than she can chew. We’ve got nigh on a century of spanking experience between us, for God’s sake. If we can’t control ourselves well enough to fool blindfolded women, I suggest we give up spanking and take up needlework instead.’
Belinda went first. I tied her blindfold myself, having first held it up to the light to check she couldn’t see through it.
‘Jamie,’ she said with a rueful smile, ‘I’m crushed. Don’t you trust me?’
‘With my life, dear lady,’ I said. Having satisfied myself on that point, I fastened it around her head, adjusting it so she couldn’t peep out from underneath. I then told Belinda to bend, guiding her hands to the stool put there for the slaves to lean upon. Once she was settled, I went back to my seat.
We’d agreed Nigel would go first and he went through the routine precisely as Belinda had described: he raised her skirts, tugged down her drawers and proceeded to lay six medium strokes across her pert little bottom with the tawse we’d settled on. He then covered her up once more and handed the tawse to Humphrey.
Watching my friend in action, I knew the women were in serious trouble. He repeated it exactly, so far as I could see, down to the last nuance - he even flicked her skirts back into place with the same slightly flamboyant action Nigel had used. And then it was my turn. I concentrated hard, trying my damnest to match my predecessors, and can honestly say it was the first spanking I ever delivered that I didn’t enjoy for its own sake. I didn’t think of it as a spanking at all, in fact, rather an exercise in control. Finally it was over and I returned to my seat.
‘Very well, Lady X,’ Nigel called out. ‘Kindly give us your answer.’
Belinda straightened and rubbed her behind. We might regard it more as an exercise in control than a spanking, but our slaves’ bottoms would make no such distinction. ‘I’m almost certain the order was... Nigel, Humphrey, James.’ she said.
For a moment there was silence, then Queenie began to applaud enthusiastically.
‘Bravo!’ Elizabeth called out, smiling broadly.
‘Good God!’ I muttered in disbelief.
‘I did it?’ Belinda said, taking off the blindfold and blinking in the light. ‘I got them all right?’
‘You did indeed,’ Nigel said. ‘Well done, my dear.’
One down, two to go. But the others couldn’t be so lucky, surely?
Queenie took Belinda’s place and the whole thing started over again. Nigel again went first - we thought they would expect a total change around, so did it this way to fool them - then me, then Humphrey. While I was performing I concentrated even harder on doing nothing Nigel hadn’t done, nothing out of the ordinary. When it was over I found myself waiting for her pronouncement with bated breath.
‘Sir Nigel, Mr Montague, then my master,’ Queenie said confidently.
Bemused, I looked at Nigel and Humphrey and saw from their faces they were just as baffled as I. Had the women cheated in some way? If so, I hadn’t spotted it - and I speak as someone who has practised no small amount of trickery in his time.
Finally it was Elizabeth’s turn - and surely things had to change. Belinda and Queenie were punishees with years of experience behind them, whereas Elizabeth had received just a handful of spankings in her whole life. Here was where the masters’ skill would triumph, I was certain.
I went first, trying my damnest to give nothing away, even to the extent of tiptoeing back to my chair when it was done so my footfalls couldn’t be heard. While Nigel and Humphrey were strapping her I watched Belinda and Queenie closely for any sign of chicanery, but there was nothing. They didn’t tap their feet, or scratch the tabletop, or make any sound whatsoever. They weren’t communicating with her in any way, I felt certain. Then it was over and again we waited.
Elizabeth, I have to say, appeared far less confident than the others and my hopes began to rise. She chewed at her lower lip, hands clasping and unclasping in front of her, and cleared her throat nervously. ‘Is it... my master, Sir Nigel, Mr Porton-Jones?’
Belinda positively squealed with delight (why is it women cannot win with dignity, I wonder?) and ran up to Elizabeth. Queenie removed the blindfold and the three of them hugged. I was trying my best to be magnanimous in defeat, but it was too painful to watch and I turned away. Though I still harboured the suspicion we had been deceived, we couldn’t accuse them of cheating without risking a counter charge of being poor losers and ungentlemanly to boot. I had little choice therefore but to smile - no matter how insincerely - and congratulate them and bide my time. Eventually they returned to their seats and naturally we asked how they had managed it.
‘It wasn’t too difficult, in fact,’ Belinda said. ‘Humphrey was easy to identify. Yasmine told us he always says “hmmm” very softly, every time he uncovers a female bottom.’
‘No I don’t!’ Humphrey protested.
‘Yes, you do,’ Belinda laughed. ‘I’ve noticed it myself in the past. All we had to do was listen for the “hmmm” while we were being prepared and we knew it was you. Nigel and James weren’t quite so easy to differentiate. Nigel always pats your bottom after he’s pulled up your drawers, but he didn’t do it this time, so obviously he’s aware of the habit.’
‘I am, quite right,’ Nigel said. ‘So I didn’t!’
‘Something we were particularly concentrating on was strength of stroke,’ Belinda said. ‘You hit the hardest, James, but then you must realise that. We guessed you would hold back a little and try to match the others.’
‘Are you saying I failed?’ I asked in dismay.
‘In a way, yes. I couldn’t detect any difference in the first five, but you forgot about the last one. Almost every man I know makes the last stroke in the set harder than the others, but yours are more pronounced. I told the others if they felt a particularly hard final stroke, that would be you.’
I hadn’t even realised I’d done it: certainly I hadn’t intended to. My habits, developed over thirty years of spanking and deeply ingrained, had obviously betrayed me. ‘And that’s everything?’ I said. ‘That’s all you had to go on?’
‘That’s all. Not a lot, I agree, but clearly it was enough.’
‘Clearly,’ I said, smiling to hide my disappointment. ‘Congratulations, ladies. We thought a century of spanking experience was enough to guarantee success - patently, it wasn’t.’
‘You may have lots of spanking experience,’ Belinda said, ‘but we’ve lots of experience in taking it. I think you overlook that, sometimes.’
‘Guilty as charged, my dear,’ Nigel said. ‘And it means we’ve finished earlier than expected. I imagined we’d be handing out lots of extra strokes.’
‘Early to bed, then,’ Belinda said. ‘The only question, of course, is whose?’
Normally at Exiles, with three men and three women all happy and willing to swap partners, it was simply a matter of pairing off, but Elizabeth’s special status complicated things. Our host and hostess had obviously anticipated this problem, for Nigel immediately rose to his feet.
‘I’ll wish you all a good night, then,’ he said. ‘Our housekeeper awaits me - in a fever of anticipation, one would hope. Ursula, my dear, as I shall be passing your room, may I have the honour of escorting you to your door?’
‘You’re very kind, Sir Nigel,’ Elizabeth said quietly.
Bidding the rest of us goodnight, she rose and took his arm. Their departure left just four and since the whole idea was to swap partners rather than take your own slave to bed, the logical thing was for Humphrey to ask Belinda to join him, leaving me with Queenie. Out of consideration for his housekeeper’s feelings, perhaps (no woman wanting to be the one ‘left over’) Humphrey remained silent, waiting for me to take the initiative. I said nothing, however, for I was especially fond of Belinda and been looking forward to tumbling her ever since the invitation arrived. Selfish of me, I agree, but we are all entitled to be selfish once in a while. Coming right out with it and asking her to join me seemed too bare-faced and boorish, and so we simply sat there, Belinda and Humphrey watching me expectantly, Queenie staring into the fire as she patiently awaited the outcome.
‘Well,’ Belinda said finally, with a twinkle in her eye, ‘this is rather awkward, isn’t it? Perhaps the gentlemen should cut cards.’
Which is precisely what we did, though it didn’t work out as I had hoped, for Belinda ended up paired with Humphrey after all. There was nothing to be done about it, however, but put a brave face on things.
‘Come, Yasmine,’ I said, in a tone that was perhaps a little too jolly, ‘let’s away to our bed, my dear.’
I glanced at Belinda and our eyes met briefly. Was that regret behind her smile? Possibly it was - or perhaps that was mere wishful thinking on my part, for our hostess was no more impervious to Humphrey’s charms than the rest of her gender.
Once in bed I put Belinda firmly out of my mind, for it would be ill-mannered of me and most discourteous to Queenie to be mooning over another woman while thrusting into her. In any case, there would be other nights.
The pair of us were soon hard at it, for Queenie enjoyed a good frolic and was always enthusiastic between the sheets. Something she especially enjoyed was having her breasts squeezed and I didn’t have long to wait for her perennial gasp: ‘Harder, sir... do it harder!’
I was more than happy to oblige, squeezing just as hard as I could. After a spell with me on top we changed round. She bounced away friskily and volubly for a good ten minutes, after which I rolled her over and finished her off - and myself in the process, naturally - with her legs over my shoulders.
Afterwards she snuggled up to me, sighing contentedly. I held her close and stroked her hair, thinking myself the basest fellow in the world when Belinda crept back into my thoughts. Queenie deserved better, so I engaged her in pillow talk, determined not to look on her as just a substitute, a make-do bed mate till someone more exciting came along.
‘Did you enjoy tonight’s game, my dear?’ I asked.
‘I did, sir - very much. And you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘though I was disappointed you performed as well as you did. I was looking forward to giving you a good spanking.’
She giggled softly. ‘I was looking forward to it too, sir.’
She truly was a sport, Queenie Bryce. ‘You should have deliberately guessed wrong, in that case,’ I said, ‘then both of us would have got what we wanted.’
‘I did think about it,’ she said, sounding entirely serious, ‘but Lady Newburn wanted all three of us to win, to prove something to you, and I didn’t want to let her down.’
‘What did she want to prove?’
‘That victims have skills, too.’
‘Well, you certainly proved that in no uncertain terms,’ I said. ‘Just don’t go thinking you’ve escaped your spanking, though. Tomorrow I fully intend to seek you out and warm up your bottom.’
‘You promise, sir?’
‘I promise.’
She murmured happily and burrowed in even closer. Though it was pitch black in the room, I knew she was smiling.
The following morning I rose early. It looked like being a busy day and I wanted to see Elizabeth as soon as possible to discuss tonight’s game. Though I had told the others ‘Ursula’ would invent it, given that she was dealing with strangers in a strange household, I thought it might require our combined efforts. Leaving Queenie asleep in bed I went down to breakfast. Elizabeth was already there - she was a confirmed early riser - sitting alone at the table.
‘Good morning, my dear,’ I said. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘I did, thank you. And you?’
‘Eventually.’ I helped myself to toast and sat down opposite my ward, who was tucking into a plate of ham and eggs as though she hadn’t eaten in a month. ‘You seem to have found your appetite, Elizabeth. I thought you hated cooked breakfasts?’
‘You mistake me for someone else, sir,’ she said. ‘My name is Ursula... and Ursula has always liked ham and eggs.’
‘Whatever makes you happy, my dear. Now then, Ursula, I would like to discuss tonight’s game...’
‘No need. It’s all done and dusted.’
‘What... already?’ I said in surprise. ‘That’s remarkably quick, even for you. May I ask how this miracle was achieved?’
‘I worked it out in bed last night before I went to sleep. That’s one of the advantages of sleeping alone - you get time to think about things. You might wish to try it sometime, sir.’
I wasn’t too tempted, to be frank. Given the choice between lying alone in the dark, thinking, and squeezing a nice pair of bubbies, I know what gets my vote. Still, each to his or her own, I always say; and undoubtedly my ward’s nocturnal efforts had saved me a job.
‘Ursula, you’re a marvel. Do you have a name for it yet?’
‘I’m calling it Retribution. I can describe it now, if you wish, though I’d rather keep it a surprise.’
‘Oh, indeed,’ I said, ‘I like surprises. Just promise me it needs no unusual equipment or paraphernalia - no quart jugs of semen, or anything of that nature.’
‘No, sir; a few mundane items only, easily obtained.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave everything in your capable hands, in that case.’
I was keen to be off, to tell the truth, for if I took my constitutional now I should be back in time to catch Belinda before she finished breakfast. I was most anxious to come to an agreement with her regarding tonight - specifically that she should spend it with me. Once that was settled I could relax and enjoy the rest of the day. In addition to the spanking I had promised Queenie, Nigel had asked for my help with a maid who was two-thirds of the way through the training manual. Time permitting, I also had a fancy to tickle Elizabeth and Belinda’s bottoms, together if I could contrive it. Nothing too serious, you understand, just a quick two or three dozen apiece, to keep the pair of them on their toes.
I missed Belinda at breakfast, for a fallen tree had blocked the lane and my constitutional involved a lengthy detour. By the time I got back everyone had gone their separate ways and our hostess was nowhere in sight. I searched but all in vain and in the end I was obliged to ask the butler if he knew her whereabouts. I was informed that her ladyship had gone out riding with Mr Porton-Jones, which was the last thing I wanted to hear. Humphrey knew how much I wanted Belinda; I wouldn’t put it past him to claim her first out of devilment - bedding the same woman on successive nights wasn’t against the rules, after all. I was not in the best of tempers therefore as I headed up to my room, thinking to change into riding gear and go out after them. Before I reached it, however, I happened upon a scene that set me on a different track altogether.
‘This is totally unacceptable!’ Queenie was saying. ‘Disgraceful! You will polish them again and this time you will do it properly.’ She was standing outside the door to Humphrey’s room lecturing a subdued-looking hall-boy who was holding a pair of men’s shoes. ‘I want to see you back here in five minutes, and if I’m still not satisfied I shall ask your master to punish you most severely. Off you go, now!’
The hall-boy hurried away with the offending footwear clutched under his arm. As he disappeared from sight I came up behind Queenie and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned quickly, her expression of annoyance giving way to one of startlement, then embarrassment.
‘Mr Montague,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry, sir - I didn’t see you standing there.’
‘So I gathered. Kindly step this way, Mrs Bryce.’
I opened Humphrey’s door and went inside, feeling certain he wouldn’t object to my borrowing his room. After all, he was kind enough to let me borrow his housekeeper whenever I wished - for whatever lewd or nefarious purpose I had in mind.
‘Mrs Bryce,’ I said, closing the door behind us, ‘I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the hall-boy. I would remind you that you are but a guest in this house and should comport yourself accordingly. Admonishing staff should be reserved for Beckton Measby, where you have the authority. Here, madam, you do not.’
Queenie took the reprimand in silence, standing meekly before me, hands clasped in front of her and gaze fixed firmly on the floor. There was no question she would challenge my authority to censure her, of course. Though but a guest myself, there was one vital difference between us - I had a standing invitation from her master to thrash her any time I wished.
‘You will now strip naked,’ I said. ‘I feel I should reinforce the lesson in the usual manner lest it be all too quickly forgotten.’
She undressed without delay, laying her discarded clothes upon the bed. When she was naked she turned to me, a flush on her cheeks and a look of anticipation mixed with apprehension in her eyes. Though Queenie enjoyed being beaten more than any woman I had ever known, there came a point when it was no longer pleasurable, even for her. Last night I had promised her a spanking, but we both understood that was purely for fun. This, however, was to be a true punishment beating, as my use of the formal ‘Mrs Bryce’ made plain - and that was a very different kettle of fish. Having no idea how severe the chastisement would be, she was naturally somewhat nervous.
‘I want you facing the door,’ I said, ‘in the standing-T position.’
Queenie complied instantly, standing up straight, legs together, head erect, arms held out to each side level with her shoulders. At that precise moment someone coughed discreetly in the hallway outside and there came a gentle tapping at the door.
‘I expect that’s the hall-boy,’ I said, ‘back with the shoes.’
A look of panic swept across Queenie’s face and her arms whipped down to cover breast and groin. She turned her head this way and that, desperately seeking a convenient wrap to hide her nakedness.
‘Resume the stance, madam!’ I snapped. ‘What... do you dare move without permission?’
She jerked back into position. I stared at her coldly for a second longer, then called out, ‘Enter!’
The door opened and sure enough it was the hall-boy, shoes in hand. ‘Beg pardon,’ he mumbled, ‘I’ve brought...’ His voice tailed off as he caught sight of Queenie and he froze in the doorway, open-mouthed. Though I waited patiently, it seemed unlikely he would finish the sentence any time soon.
‘Mr Porton-Jones’ shoes, yes,’ I said, doing the job for him. ‘I believe this lady expressed a wish to inspect them?’
‘Er... yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
He came fully into the room and offered the shoes to me, his glance flicking aside to the naked woman standing mere feet away, lower lip quivering and cheeks crimson with shame. Though no member of this household could fail to be aware that female guests were sometimes beaten, it was unlikely the lad had ever witnessed such a thing, given Belinda’s insistence on privacy. Little wonder he was so taken aback.
‘Well what are you waiting for?’ I said. ‘Show them to her.’
That surprised him too, but he stepped forward pluckily - if a little jerkily - to stand eye to eye with his former nemesis. ‘Madam?’ he said, his gaze dropping to her breasts as he held out the shoes for inspection.
‘They... they look satisfactory,’ Queenie stammered. ‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, come now, Mrs Bryce,’ I said, ‘surely you wish to make a more thorough examination than that? Hold them, I pray - observe their glossy sheen. We need to be confident they meet the exacting standards Mr Porton-Jones so rightly insists upon.’
She lowered her arms and took possession of the items in question, pretending to examine them. As for the hall-boy, he examined Queenie, though he tried hard not to be too blatant about it and maintained a wary eye in my direction all the while. I winked at him - no more than a brief flicker of my left eyelid, but he caught on immediately. He had no lack of wits, this youngster, and recognised the signal for what it was. He ogled Queenie quite openly now, running his eyes up and down her pale form.
‘Yes,’ she said faintly, ‘quite satisfactory.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Perhaps, young man, you would place them there beside the gentleman’s luggage.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ he said.
I gave Queenie a long look and she took my meaning at once, for after handing over the shoes her arms immediately rose to the horizontal position. She stared straight ahead through the open door, appearing greatly relieved that her ordeal was almost over. It was clear to see she could cope with pain far better than she could cope with an audience, especially an audience of her inferiors.
‘Tell me, lad,’ I said, as the hall-boy was about to depart, ‘have you polished my shoes this morning?’
‘Yes sir - though I haven’t fetched them up yet.’
‘Bring them to me now, there’s a good fellow,’ I said genially. ‘I may as well check my own while we’re at it. No... leave the door open. That way you can come straight on in.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, fighting hard to keep a straight face. ‘Thank you, sir.’
While he was gone I went over to Humphrey’s luggage and took a cane from his carry-case. I felt a little guilty about this, I confess, for it is one thing to borrow a fellow’s housekeeper or his bedroom, but implements of correction are a different matter altogether. Many spankers hold such objects more dear than their own offspring - I certainly wouldn’t want anyone touching any of mine without first asking permission. These were unusual circumstances, however. To return to my room for a weapon of my own was out of the question, as a hiatus at this point could all too easily shatter the mood and ruin everything.
Armed with the purloined cane I approached my victim, who seemed considerably more anxious than usual. I attributed this to the unnerving effect of being obliged to display her charms to a hall-boy - precisely why I had invited him in, of course - together with the knowledge that his return was imminent.
‘A century, Mrs Bryce,’ I said. ‘One hundred strokes.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured.
‘You will not move until I give you permission, madam, is that clear?’
‘Quite clear, sir.’
‘Very well, then. Let us begin.’
I needed to unsettle Queenie as quickly as possible (I had my reasons for this) and so I abandoned the venerable and highly respected principle of ‘escalation’ and laid on with a vengeance. That first stroke was a cruel one indeed and anyone else would have leapt a foot in the air and let out a shriek fit to wake the dead - but not Queenie Bryce. Though she could not have anticipated so hard a stroke this early in her punishment, she took it with no more than a gasp and a coital thrust of her hips as her buttocks instinctively drew away from the pain. Admirable and brave though this was it hindered my purpose, and so I made the next few strokes harder still. Her gasps became grunts and her flinching more pronounced. Satisfied, I settled into a steady rhythm, the fierce cuts just a few seconds apart.
With Queenie facing the door, she was aware of the hall-boy’s return the second he peered into the room. I pretended not to notice, however, and continued with the beating. Back at Bleekston Hall I told Freddie that those in authority must never be humiliated in front of their subordinates, but this situation was entirely different. It was precisely because Queenie had no authority here that she was being punished. True, it wasn’t necessary to humble her in this way - the beating alone was surely punishment enough - but I found it amusing and entertaining to do so. That’s why I ‘laid on with a vengeance’ right from the start: I wanted the hall-boy to see her in a state of distress, for that would greatly increase her embarrassment.
Queenie said nothing for a full minute following the lad’s reappearance, which was longer than I expected. Then the humiliation became simply too great for her to bear, overcoming even her fear of breaking one of the cardinal rules of punishment - not to speak without permission.
‘Sir...’ she groaned. ‘Sir, the hall-boy... ahh!’
‘What’s that, Mrs Bryce?’ I said, striking more firmly still, with never a missed beat.
‘The hall-boy, sir, he’s... aahhh!’
‘Which tall boy, Mrs Bryce?’ Thwack! ‘I don’t recall any such person.’ Thwack!
Locked in position as she was by my specific instruction not to move, she had no alternative but to try to get through to me while taking the blows.
‘No sir, hall-boy... aahhh! Sir, he’s brought your shoes... aaahhhh! The hall-boy, Mr Montague... aaahhhh!’
Enjoyable though this was - and not just for me, for I kept sneaking a glance at the lad in question and even risked another wink - there is a limit to how long one can sustain this sort of thing. Like telling a joke, the skill is in the timing. At the appropriate moment, therefore, I stopped. ‘Ah, the young man with my shoes,’ I said. ‘I didn’t see you standing there. Did you happen to notice him, Mrs Bryce?’
‘Yes sir,’ she gasped. ‘I’ve been trying...’
‘You did?’ I interjected. ‘Why on earth didn’t you say something?’
This was a convenient time to pause in any case. One hundred strokes sounds a fearful amount, but at the rate I was dispensing them it would all be over in ten minutes or less, and that wouldn’t do at all. I put down the cane therefore and retrieved my shoes from my young accomplice, who was now grinning openly. I took my time examining them, knowing the boy was taking full advantage of the lull. Queenie was still in her standing-T pose and I knew her shoulders would be aching by now. I doubted she was even aware of it, however, for the pain would be swamped by the fire in her buttocks. With the lad in the room I thought she might be reluctant to seek permission to rub, so perhaps a little prompting was needed.
‘I’ve never quite understood,’ I mused aloud, ‘why punishees rub their burning bottoms. It seems to me a curious thing to do.’ I abandoned the shoe inspection and turned to my victim, still fighting valiantly to preserve a modicum of dignity in a patently impossible situation. ‘It must offer considerable relief, as they all seem to want to do it. But why should it? What mechanism is at work here?’
Queenie Bryce made no comment, though I could see she was longing to speak.
‘Do you wish to rub?’ I asked.
She licked her lips. A battle was being waged inside her between expediency and pride, but it was short-lived. Expediency triumphed, as it so often does. ‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered, ‘if you please, sir.’
‘Very well...’ I said.
She gave a thankful groan, her arms dropping down and her hands moving quickly to her buttocks.
‘But first turn around and touch your toes. I wish to observe how much damage has been done.’
She didn’t move, but simply stared at me. In all the years I had known her Queenie had never once hesitated when given a direct order. That she did so now was a measure of the confusion and dismay the hall-boy’s presence engendered.
‘Now!’ I said, putting bite into the word.
Though the look she gave me was not a happy one, she complied. Her buttocks, I saw, were banded with wheals that resembled purple ropes, running somewhat at an angle from top left to bottom right. And that wasn’t all I saw, for her slit came clearly into view, nestling in its thick tuft of dark hair. The hall-boy gave a gasp of sheer delight. We savoured the sight together, he and I, for a full minute before finally I took pity on her.
‘Very well, Mrs Bryce, you may stand up and rub.’
While she was so engaged I turned to the lad. He had been a good sport and a most useful ally, but I could keep him from his duties no longer. I patted his shoulder, gave him a shilling and told him to put my shoes in my room.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Thank you kindly, sir.’
He went out. Significantly, I thought, he left the door open - a bright lad indeed. I turned my attentions once more to Humphrey’s housekeeper, still rubbing her ravaged posterior. ‘Face the door, Mrs Bryce. Flying-T position.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She took up the standing-T, then bent forward at the hips so that her torso was almost horizontal. With her arms out to the sides in this way and her neck stretched forward, she reminded me somewhat of a duck coming in for a fast landing.
The beating got underway once more, though at a considerably slower pace. My strike rate fell to just four a minute, so that each stroke became an event in its own right. Though I concentrated on my victim now, especially the effect the cane was having on her poor bottom, I couldn’t help but be aware of significantly increased traffic past the door. I think every male servant in the place - and one or two females into the bargain - found occasion to pass along that particular hallway in the next fifteen minutes, lingering in the doorway in the process. Indeed, some of them made the trip three or four times.
Queenie’s mortification at having an audience, initially intense, gradually diminished as the minutes ticked by. She was entering a place of her own, slipping into that trancelike state some punishees can attain, yet of which others have no conception. Pain had become her whole world and she gave herself to it willingly. At that point a battalion of infantry could have marched past without her knowledge.
The punishment drew to a close. I delivered the one hundredth stroke - I had maintained the count scrupulously in my head, hall-boys, shoes and other distractions notwithstanding - then told her to rise. So deeply submerged was she I had to touch her shoulder to make her aware of me. She straightened, looking at me almost in bewilderment, her eyes glazed and misted with pain. I helped her on with her underclothes and fastened her stays. She managed the rest herself, though not quickly, while I took the opportunity to return Humphrey’s cane to its case, having first polished it with my handkerchief. Beautifully balanced, with a nice slick action, it had been a joy to use. When I apologised to Humphrey for making so free with his equipment - as I fully intended doing at the earliest opportunity - I would ask where he obtained it.
‘All done, Mrs Bryce?’ I asked, when she had put herself in order once more. ‘You’re ready?’
‘Yes, sir. Quite ready.’
‘Then let us depart. Please, take my arm and we will go down together. It will soon be time for luncheon and I’m feeling quite peckish. There’s nothing quite like vigorous exercise for working up an appetite, is there?’
After luncheon I searched once more for Belinda and finally caught up with her in the library. She was alone, sitting by the window quietly reading a book - a perfectly reasonable occupation in a library, you might be thinking, but this was Spankers Seven Exiles, for goodness sake! Someone should be flogging her, or fucking her, or preferably both. I’d have volunteered for the job myself in a flash but I was already late for the maid’s training session with Nigel. I simply had to speak with his wife first, however.
‘Belinda,’ I said, ‘there you are at last. I’ve been searching high and low.’
‘I’ve been out riding with Humphrey,’ she said. ‘We only got back a short while ago.’
‘I’d have thought the pair of you did enough of that last night,’ I said, not quite able to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
‘Jealous, Jamie?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Insanely. You didn’t happen to see my ward in your travels, did you? I had a little something in mind for the pair of you.’
‘I bet you did,’ she said. ‘A rather painful “little something” too, I imagine. Luckily for us you’ve missed your chance. Humphrey took her off somewhere right after he and I got back.’
‘Humphrey?’ I said suspiciously. ‘What business could he possibly have with Elizabeth?’
‘What man wouldn’t wish to share the company of such a beautiful young woman?’ she asked. ‘I see no need for concern, Jamie. He’s promised not to attempt a seduction and Humphrey’s a man of his word.’
I took the opportunity to thank Belinda for all her help and understanding in the matter, adding that I felt somewhat guilty at bringing a celibate along to an event such as this.
‘You shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘She’s a most delightful girl and wonderful company. We had a lovely long chat this morning, woman to woman, before Humphrey asked me to join him. Besides, it’s not as if you men are deprived of female companionship, is it, what with the staff and all. And while we’re on the subject, how was Queenie last night?’
Only Belinda, I thought, could ask such an outrageous question and make it seem no more than a polite enquiry among friends. ‘Queenie was Queenie,’ I said simply. ‘It’s tonight I was wondering about, to tell the truth. I just hope we don’t end up cutting cards again. I must be the world’s unluckiest card player.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I think the arrangements for tonight have largely been made.’
My heart sank. Had I missed my opportunity again, then? ‘Really?’ I said, trying hard for a nonchalant tone. ‘Who is with whom, so to speak?’
‘Well, Nigel tells me he’s making another run at the scullery maid, though frankly I don’t know what he sees in her, virginity aside. Humphrey is bedding our housekeeper - and I can certainly see what he sees in her; though breasts so large must surely be a great encumbrance, don’t you think?’
‘Possessing none, I feel unqualified to offer an opinion,’ I said. ‘And you? Where will you be tonight?’
She sighed. ‘All alone in my own little bed, I fear. No one seems to want me.’
‘Oh, someone wants you, Belinda,’ I said, ‘never doubt it. He wanted you last night, but fate decreed otherwise. He’s damn well having you tonight, though, or his name’s not James Montague.’
‘I can hardly wait,’ she murmured, her eyes twinkling. ‘I do so love being had!’