Nigel’s new maid performed rather poorly at her training session, I’m sorry to say. At one point I was obliged to hold her down while Nigel finished the set, and at the end he told her she would have to repeat the entire lesson just as soon as her bottom was in a fit state. Lesson eight - Endurance Under The Rod - remains a stern test of any woman’s mettle. It takes a great deal of courage and willpower to endure a lengthy beating and the Queenie Bryces of this world are few and far between.
Elizabeth was nowhere to be found in the afternoon: I could only assume she was still with Humphrey. It was no great hardship to spank Belinda alone, of course, but I was thwarted even in that more modest enterprise, for our hostess was called away to deal with some domestic emergency below stairs. Obliged to entertain myself in other ways I stalked the house and gardens, delivering a lively dozen to any young woman unfortunate enough to cross my path. Though it lacked the drama and excitement of a proper maid hunt - six or eight howling fellows, canes in hands, pursuing some terrified young thing through the shrubbery - I enjoyed myself enormously. It is the simple things in life, I find, that often give the most pleasure.
After dinner we again gathered in the lounge, where the butler, Ogden, stood holding a small, brass-bound wooden box of the sort in which a gentleman might keep his shaving gear. It seemed reasonable to assume this object had some role to play in the upcoming entertainment.
My ward, I have to say, was looking truly sumptuous, with her dark, lustrous hair done up in an elegant coil. She was wearing a diamond necklace and earrings, presumably borrowed from Belinda, for Elizabeth had no jewellery of her own apart from the string of pearls that had been her mother’s. Most astonishing of all was her dress, a stunning affair in scarlet satin that left her shoulders and throat bare. I assumed this was one of Belinda’s too, though that did make me wonder how Elizabeth managed to squeeze herself into it in the first place, given the disparity in their statures. On the other hand, it would explain the spectacular decolletage my ward was presently displaying as the straining material fought valiantly to contain her bosom.
One thing was certain - those heaving twin mounds had every man in the room feeling rather hot under the collar. Humphrey certainly looked impressed and Nigel couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Even the butler’s customary reserve slipped as he stared openly.
Elizabeth sat on the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, with her five fellow Exiles seated in a semi-circle in front of her. She took a deep breath - which made me fear greatly for the red dress, for surely no material known to man could withstand such a strain - and started to speak.
‘The name of the game is Retribution. It is a game of questions and answers - answers that should be considered most carefully, for a mistake will soon draw the swift retribution of the title.’ She swept her gaze around her attentive audience. ‘Men are always accusing women of chattering too much, so I thought it might be amusing to play a game where words spoken carelessly result in hot bottoms.’
Nigel chuckled and Humphrey smiled at her fondly. Elizabeth’s fellow slaves appeared rather more serious, which was perhaps understandable given that the hot bottoms in question would be their own.
‘At least,’ Elizabeth said, lowering her eyes demurely, ‘it seems amusing to me. You may think it a silly game, unworthy of this esteemed company.’
‘Not at all, my dear,’ Nigel said gallantly. ‘It sounds most appealing, I’m sure.’
But my ward appeared to be suffering a sudden crisis of confidence, for she covered her face with her hands and gave a forlorn sigh. ‘Oh dear,’ came the muffled murmur. ‘I fear I’ve let you down. You won’t like my game at all, I just know you won’t. Oh dear!’
Belinda started to rise, a look of sympathy and concern on her face, but Nigel beat her to it, stepping forward quickly to sit beside Elizabeth. He straightaway put his arm around her and patted her naked shoulder.
‘There, there,’ he said in a kindly fashion. ‘My dear girl, you’re being far too hard on yourself - I’m sure it’s a perfectly splendid game. Won’t you tell us about it, Ursula... please?’
His voice was warm and reassuring, though I noticed he didn’t pass up the chance to look down her cleavage while comforting her. Elizabeth lowered her hands and turned to him, her beautiful dark eyes blinking appealingly. ‘Probably it is a silly game,’ she said, ‘but I was so looking forward to playing it.’
‘And play it we shall,’ he said stoutly, ‘never fear.’
‘Truly, Sir Nigel?’ she said, in a little girl’s voice. ‘You promise?’
‘You have my word on it.’
It was at that moment, I think, a niggle of doubt entered my mind. I’d never seen my ward like this - unsure, childlike, vulnerable; it just wasn’t the Elizabeth I’d come to know these past six months. Could it be, then, that this was all just an act? If so, it was a highly accomplished one; and neither could I see what she might hope to gain from such a charade. So far she had obtained nothing more than Nigel’s promise we would play the game - but we were going to do that anyway, weren’t we? It was all rather puzzling.
Elizabeth bestowed upon our host a shy, grateful smile and dabbed at her eyes with her lace handkerchief, though there was no sign of a tear that I could see.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, my dear?’ Belinda enquired.
‘Quite all right thank you, Lady X,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Please forgive me; it was just a momentary foolishness on my part. It is quite gone now, I promise. Forgive me, everyone.’
She glanced at each of us in turn as she spoke. She was smiling again, her self-possession apparently restored. Everyone smiled back, happy that the crisis was over. Nigel made no effort to return to his seat, however, but seemed content to stay where he was, his arm around her.
‘Where was I?’ Elizabeth said. ‘Oh yes - I was stressing the importance of getting the answers right and the consequences of getting them wrong.’
‘Hot bottoms, indeed!’ Nigel chuckled.
‘Very hot, Sir Nigel. Let me tell you now how the game works. Retribution is a quiz, for which we will form into two teams, masters and slaves. Ogden will act as question master and referee. This morning he prepared forty slips of paper, writing a question on one side and the answer on the other and put them in the locked box he has in his keeping. He spent some considerable time in the library working at this task and I thank him for his efforts.’
She favoured the butler with a smile, but he had recovered his composure and seemed determined not to lose it a second time, staring ahead resolutely.
‘He will ask each team in turn a question and will keep the score,’ Elizabeth went on. ‘You have my solemn promise I have not seen the slips of paper and have no knowledge of either questions or answers, as Ogden can confirm. I will, however, withdraw from the competition if you so wish, for you have only our word that no trickery has taken place. I will remain silent throughout and take no part in the proceedings, though naturally I will share in any punishment that is due.’
Elizabeth paused and looked gravely at Nigel, Humphrey and myself in turn. I was tempted to say yes, withdraw, partly to tease her and partly because I still didn’t trust her entirely. Honour forbade it, of course, and I didn’t get the chance in any case. Nigel snorted and pooh-poohed the very idea and Humphrey was equally dismissive, leaving me with no option but to frown and shake my head, as though the notion she might cheat was simply too ridiculous to contemplate. Elizabeth thanked us for our trust and confidence.
‘Now to the scoring,’ she said. ‘As I explained, there are forty slips in the box, so each team will be asked twenty questions. We take the difference in the final scores and translate that into dozens of strokes. For example, should the masters score seventeen and the slaves nine, then the slaves will be given eight dozen strokes - seventeen minus nine - shared between them, or thirty-two strokes each. The maximum punishment possible is eighty strokes each, though that would mean the masters got every question right while the slaves got them all wrong, which seems unlikely.’
‘Let us hope so, at least,’ Belinda muttered fervently.
I had an uneasy feeling about this. I sensed there was something wrong - not with Elizabeth’s arithmetic, but with the whole idea. I was trying to work out what it was when my ward spoke up again.
‘The winners,’ she said, with a slight nod in our direction, ‘will naturally decide upon the details: implement, position, the hardness of the strokes, whether it is to be a bare-bottom spanking, or indeed if the losers are to be totally naked. They must also decide whether the losers are punished singly or all together. And that, masters and slaves, is Retribution.’
There were warm congratulations all round and a scattering of applause. Elizabeth smiled modestly.
‘It’s a damned clever idea,’ Nigel declared, giving my ward a squeeze that pushed her bosom up even higher, though I wouldn’t have believed it possible. ‘We’ll be doing our utmost to get them right, as that means more strokes, while the girls will be doing the same, as that means less. Isn’t she clever, James?’
‘She is indeed,’ I said, wishing I knew what it was that was bothering me.
And then the answer came to me and I understood what she had been planning all along - far too late, sadly, for her trap was sprung the second Nigel gave his solemn word we would play the game. I saw how ingenious and manipulative my ward had been, with the breakdown at the start to gain our sympathy, then the little-girl-lost routine to get some gallant male rushing to comfort her. Nigel and Humphrey were the likely targets, though surely no man alive was immune from Elizabeth’s charms; under less suspicious circumstances it might have been me. My God, even her tits were in on the act, befuddling our wits with their repeated attempts to escape their satin prison! And all to extract a promise that we would play the game without knowing what it was. Once Nigel had committed us, we couldn’t back out or try to change the rules without seeming like dishonourable blackguards.
Understanding brought little sense of satisfaction: indeed, my spirits sank like the proverbial stone. My thoughts must have shown in my face, for Elizabeth smiled triumphantly and even had the effrontery to wink at me, the impudent hussy! All I could do was sigh glumly and raise hand to imaginary cap in salute.
‘Gentlemen,’ I said wearily, glancing across at Humphrey and Nigel, ‘I rather think we’re overlooking something.’
‘Really?’ Nigel said. ‘I can’t imagine what. Ursula has explained everything so beautifully.’
‘Not quite everything, I’m afraid; my slave omitted one particular scenario. Not on purpose, I hasten to add - she would never do anything so devious or underhand. I expect she simply forgot.’
Humphrey’s puzzled expression changed to one of comprehension. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Oh dear.’
‘What the deuce are you on about?’ Nigel snapped, clearly annoyed at being the odd man out.
‘I think what James is getting at,’ Humphrey said, ‘is what happens if the slaves win?’
Nigel snorted, but then he paused. He looked at Elizabeth and raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, Ursula? What then?’
‘Oh,’ Elizabeth said, smiling sweetly, ‘didn’t I say? If we win, why... we spank you.’
Only once in my entire life have I been spanked and it was at my own instigation. It was an experiment, nothing more, to see what it felt like. I was just starting out on my spanking career and thought the experience would be good for me. The spanker was none other than Jessie, the little scullery maid who was my first love and special friend. We agreed upon one dozen only, on the bare buttocks, and her first few strokes were tentative in the extreme for she was naturally afraid of hurting me. I ordered her to strike harder and as the dozen progressed she grew steadily bolder. The final three hurt like the devil, so that I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying out. It had been an interesting and valuable experience but one I was never tempted to repeat. In fact, I vowed that no one would spank me ever again and for three decades and more no one had. Now, it seemed, all that might change - unless the masters won.
‘I don’t see cause for gloom, gentlemen,’ Nigel said, once our slaves had retired to hold their own council of war, ‘for we cannot lose.’
I admired his optimism, but remained unconvinced. I was no great reader and didn’t consider myself ‘scholarly’ by any stretch of the imagination. The only area in which I claimed any real expertise was flogging, but it seemed unlikely we would touch on that particular topic. And though my two oldest friends were certainly clever enough men in their own way, I didn’t think of them as being especially well-read or knowledgeable in any broad sense.
‘Even if we do lose,’ Humphrey said, ‘I’m not sure I see the dilemma. God knows, we’ve handed out enough beatings in our time - surely we can take one in good spirit?’
‘Have you ever been beaten?’ I asked.
‘Well, no.’
‘I have, once, many years ago. And once was enough.’
‘The question is academic,’ Nigel said, in a tone of utter certainty. ‘I promise you, gentlemen, we will win.’
Though I said nothing more I was far from happy, for I thought he was underestimating our opponents. Elizabeth was extremely bright and most conscientious at her studies, and Belinda was sharp as a razor and well-read into the bargain. True, I knew nothing of Queenie’s abilities in this regard, but two highly qualified team members seemed more than enough to me.
The slaves returned and we all took our places. Ogden stood at the table, the box before him, while we sat facing him in a line, six of us on wooden chairs with a gap between the two teams. I cannot recall ever being so nervous: even school examinations were as nothing compared to this. I glanced across at our opponents, who appeared worryingly confident. Elizabeth saw me looking and beamed at me. I scowled back, which wasn’t the most gentlemanly of responses I agree, though it was an honest expression of my present mood.
Ogden cleared his throat. ‘Masters and slaves,’ he said, ‘you should expect questions on history, geography, music, literature and botany, amongst others. In total there are forty questions which I shall draw in random order. Teams are free to discuss the question amongst themselves before replying. Lord Newburn will reply for the masters and Lady X for the slaves. Who wishes to go first?’
‘The masters, naturally,’ Belinda said. ‘Masters lead, slaves follow.’
‘Very well, my lady.’ The butler reached into the box and drew out a slip of paper. ‘Masters, what is the world’s longest river?’
‘The Nile,’ Nigel sang out.
‘Aren’t we supposed to be discussing it?’ I grumbled.
‘Sorry, old chap; won’t happen again. Go ahead, Ogden... am I right?’
The butler turned the slip of paper over. ‘Yes, sir, quite correct.’
‘One down, nineteen to go,’ Nigel muttered cheerfully. I realised he was actually enjoying this, which was more than I could say for myself.
Our question master drew out another slip. ‘Slaves, what is the common name for the fungus Amanita phalloides?’
The three of them put their heads together for a whispered conference and I gathered from their frowns and pursed lips they were not entirely sure. Finally they sat up straight. ‘Destroying Angel?’ Belinda ventured.
‘Wrong,’ came the answer. ‘Death Cap. The score is now one to the masters and nil to the slaves.’
‘Told you so!’ Nigel said, rubbing his hands in glee. ‘It’s in the bag!’
It wasn’t so cut and dried as that, in fact, and at one point our opponents were actually ahead, for we were unfortunate in drawing two music questions in a row and none of us claimed any expertise in that particular field. My fright was thankfully short-lived, however, for we slowly pulled level and then ahead, with the final score eighteen to sixteen.
‘Well done, masters!’ Belinda cried, beaming as she applauded our victory. ‘Well done indeed!’
Elizabeth and Queenie added their congratulations, though I could tell my ward’s heart wasn’t in it, having wished for - and indeed expected - a different result entirely. Her fellow slaves might be magnanimous in defeat, but I knew the smile on Elizabeth’s lips was entirely forced.
The three of them retired while we considered the manner of punishment to be handed out; and the first thing Humphrey and I did once they had gone was congratulate Nigel, for without him our score would have been pitiful indeed - fifteen of our eighteen correct answers had come from our host. It seemed astonishing to me that in all the years I had known him, not once had he divulged this hidden talent.
‘I’m blessed with a good memory, nothing more,’ he said, making light of the matter. He was clearly reluctant to talk about it and indeed seemed somewhat embarrassed. It brought to mind my grandfather, who regarded scholarship as unmanly and unworthy of a true gentleman, and I wondered if that same way of thinking lay at the heart of Nigel’s reticence.
‘Anyway, down to business,’ I said, to spare our host further awkwardness.
‘Yes indeed,’ Nigel muttered. ‘And I have to say, I was hoping for a much bigger margin. A difference of two points means just eight strokes apiece - hardly worth polishing the cane for.’
Nigel was too chivalrous to criticise Elizabeth openly, though I guessed both he and Humphrey believed she had erred in the devising of Retribution, specifically in the matter of translating the winning margin into strokes of the cane. I knew differently, however. There was no miscalculation on my ward’s part, for she expected to win and was no doubt concerned we men would rebel if faced with a beating of several dozen strokes apiece. I kept the thought to myself, however, for it was better my friends continue to believe she had simply made a mistake.
‘Eight strokes is lamentable, I agree,’ I said. ‘We need to spice things up, somehow, if we’re to make this evening memorable. Actually, I have an idea how we might do that.’
‘Let me guess,’ Humphrey said, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s to be absolute, full strength scorchers with the heaviest cane in the house... or are we to send to the blacksmith for an iron rod?’
‘In fact,’ I said, ignoring the sarcasm, ‘I had something rather different in mind. Allow me to explain.’
The ladies rejoined us and we all availed ourselves of the comfortable chairs and sofas by the fire.
‘Dear slaves,’ Nigel said, ‘having discussed the matter at length, we have agreed upon the nature of your chastisement. According to the rules of the game as outlined by our beautiful Ursula, a score of eighteen to sixteen means you are due two dozen strokes to be shared between you. Since eight strokes apiece is little more than a token punishment, we were obliged to contrive something... out of the ordinary, shall we say, in order to have a castigation worthy of Spankers Seven Exiles. At this point I shall step aside and allow James to enlighten you, since the idea was all his.’
‘Oh God,’ Belinda murmured.
‘And well you may call on Him, Lady X,’ I said sternly, ‘for Divine intervention remains your only hope of mercy. We your masters fully intend to show you none.’
I paused and passed my gaze over each of them in turn, allowing the silence and their imaginations to work on their nerves. They’d been far too relaxed since the competition ended, no doubt thinking eight strokes was no great trial for women who’d been bending for years. Belinda and Queenie were chatting together happily just a minute ago, and for slaves to remain cheerful while waiting to learn what punishment lay in store for them was a travesty.
‘The implement we have chosen,’ I went on in the same doom-laden tones, ‘is a strap. To be more precise, it is the thickest tawse in Lord Newburn’s collection. One of you - and who that is has yet to be determined - will soon understand she has been exceedingly lucky, for she will receive the eight strokes on her buttocks. They will be hard strokes, naturally, but even so she is the fortunate one, for her fellow slaves will receive their eight strokes on vulva and breasts respectively. As I hardly need point out, their tribulations will be great indeed.’
I was pleased to note that smiles were no longer in evidence at this point: indeed, our slaves looked more than a little apprehensive as they exchanged glances, each no doubt hoping she would be the lucky one.
‘Mr Porton-Jones will administer Lady X’s punishment,’ I explained, ‘Lord Newburn Yasmine’s, while I shall deal with Ursula.’
I had asked to be allowed to punish Elizabeth while we waited for the ladies to rejoin us. My fellow masters, as old friends do, agreed without questioning my motives, though Humphrey gave me a thoughtful look.
Having informed our slaves of the nature of their punishment, I rose to my feet and took from my pocket the straws I had prepared earlier. ‘In time-honoured fashion you will now draw straws. She who draws the longest will be beaten on the buttocks, the middle straw on her vulva and the short straw on her breasts.’
I turned my back to arrange the straws, holding them in the usual manner - trapped between thumb and curled index finger with only the ends showing - then turned once more to offer Belinda first choice. She reached out tentatively and drew one out, then Queenie did likewise. I handed the single straw remaining to Elizabeth, after which the three women compared selections.
‘I’m longest,’ Belinda said, relief plain to hear in her voice.
‘And I’m shortest,’ Elizabeth said, as she and Queenie exchanged unhappy looks.
The worst part about engineering a deception, I find, is not being able to boast to one’s friends about it afterwards. The risk of being branded a scoundrel and a cheat - and a braggart to boot - is too great and so one’s cleverness must go unrecognised. It was doubly important I remain silent in this instance, for Nigel and Humphrey would not approve of my chicanery and most certainly the ladies would not.
The need for trickery had arisen once I decided to beat Elizabeth on her breasts. Those twin beauties had colluded in her own deception - for her ‘little-girl-lost’ act and all the rest was trickery pure and simple, whatever the others might believe - so it seemed only fair they should share her suffering. I therefore concealed in my palm a fourth straw, shorter than all the rest, and it was this I handed to Elizabeth once Belinda and Queenie had made their choices. No matter which straws her fellow slaves picked, Elizabeth’s was certain to be the shortest. The use of sleight-of-hand in this fashion is chancy, of course, but my skills proved adequate to the task, with none the wiser. Not for the first time, my boyhood fascination with conjuring and endless practice with cards, silk handkerchiefs and so forth had proved invaluable to the adult James Montague.
‘There is one final matter you should be aware of,’ I said. ‘In order to ensure the punishments are of a respectable duration, strokes will be given at one minute intervals. In the intermissions, by way of light entertainment, free use will be made of a candle in your rectums. And now, let the chastisement proceed. Long straw goes first.’
Belinda was ordered to strip. While she was doing so the butler fetched a dining chair and set it down in the middle of the room. When she was naked our hostess was instructed to stand with her legs astride the chair and her hands on the low backrest. Humphrey then took up position alongside her, swung the tawse and delivered a single firm swipe to her buttocks. The heavy strap clearly made itself felt, for Belinda gave a muted yelp, wiggling her hips in discomfort in the seconds that followed as though that might somehow ease the sting.
Since Nigel had volunteered for the task of timekeeper, I was the one who would wield the candle. Fully a foot long and well over an inch in diameter, it was admirably suited to the occasion - all credit to Ogden who had been told to fetch simply ‘a candle’. When he presented us with this fine specimen, I was delighted with his choice. Which was more than could be said of Belinda as I knelt down and eased the thing into her anus, for she groaned and shook her head in dismay. She valiantly maintained her position as I worked the thing in and out, however, whilst leaving me in no doubt as to her feelings on the matter.
‘Agghhh!... God, that hurts! Jamie, you absolute beast!’
‘Courage, Lady X,’ I said, trying hard not to smile, for Belinda’s predicament was not without humour. Knowing the seconds were ticking by I speeded up, drawing even louder groans and further admonition from those sweet lips.
‘Time,’ Nigel said finally.
I withdrew the candle and moved away, allowing Humphrey to deliver his second stroke, then I knelt down behind her once more. Belinda’s anal sphincter tightened as I stroked the tip along her buttock cleft and she gave a regretful little sigh. Able to maintain a straight face not a second longer, I grinned as I pushed it into her with a deft corkscrew motion. And so we went on in this fashion, Humphrey and myself plying tawse and candle in turn; and if my old friend failed to deliver the truly hard strokes she had been promised, I couldn’t really blame him. Belinda was dear to all of us, and only an unfeeling brute would wish to see her in agony.
With the eighth and final stroke delivered our hostess straightened and moved away, making no attempt to recover her clothing since she had not been given permission to cover herself. Now it was Queenie’s turn. I took her arm and led her across the room, for a change of stance was called for, along with a slight variation in the order of things. Having undressed, she was instructed to lie on the table and raise her legs. Nigel and Humphrey took hold of an ankle apiece and spread her legs, while I picked up the candle once more. Queenie flinched as it breached her and let out a faint moan as I worked it deep into her rectum. Leaving the candle inside her I changed places with Nigel, for it was he who would beat her.
‘Are you ready, Yasmine?’ he asked.
‘I am, sir,’ she whispered.
He raised the tawse and slapped it against her vulva, not too hard, for this part of a woman’s anatomy is tender in the extreme. Queenie grunted, her knees instinctively drawing together, so that Humphrey and I were obliged to hold tight to help her maintain her open-legged position. Few women can do this of their own accord - not even Queenie, who was braver than most - and with this form of punishment it is important the victim’s intimate parts remain exposed to her master’s gaze as a token of submission.
After a few moments the tension in her limbs eased and I reached down with my free hand to grasp the candle. I made no attempt to work it in and out as I had with Belinda, but simply moved the end round and around in circles. Queenie gasped, her buttocks raising off the table in an instinctive attempt to draw away from the unwelcome intruder. This presented no difficulties, however, for my hand simply rose with her, never pausing in its endeavours.
‘Are you comfortable, my dear?’ I asked.
‘Ahhh! Not... not entirely, sir. Ahhh!’
I waggled the candle rapidly from side to side - which provoked a soft wail from the unfortunate woman - glancing at Nigel as I did so. He had been observing his watch closely and now he nodded. ‘Time.’
And so it went on; and it seemed to me our victim was less troubled by the punishment her vulva received, painful as that might be, than with the humiliating anal probing to which I subjected her. When it was over and she limped away to join Belinda and Elizabeth on the sofa, it was her sore rear passage Queenie rubbed and not the front.
And then, finally, it was the turn of my ward, at whom I levelled my most penetrating gaze. ‘Ursula,’ I said, in a commanding tone, ‘you will now strip for punishment.’
Though she rose to her feet without hesitation and met my eyes resolutely enough, the paleness of her cheeks along with the rapid rise and fall of her bosom spoke of her deep unease. Clearly the thought of being strapped on her breasts was causing her much consternation. Nevertheless she removed the red dress and her underclothes, then stood meekly awaiting further instructions.
It was to be the chair again, but sitting rather than standing. At my command she straddled it as Belinda had done, facing rearwards, then sat down and leaned forward. I proceeded to lift her breasts over the top of the chair back, but unfortunately this proved too low to achieve the effect I was seeking. I wanted her bosom to appear as it had done in the red dress, pushed up high, the cleft deep and inviting, so I asked Ogden to fetch me a large towel. When that item was rolled up tight and slipped under Elizabeth’s breasts, the result was perfect.
Humphrey and Nigel had agreed to share ‘candle duties’ between them. While I busied myself with the preparations the pair had been arguing good-naturedly over who would go first - an argument Humphrey won by invoking his rights as honoured guest. He now took up that which had proved such a trial to Elizabeth’s fellow slaves and crouched down behind her, his expression one of eager anticipation as he studied her bottom. I in turn took up the tawse, slapping it against my palm in time-honoured fashion, and chose to study her face. She was anxious, of course, for she had never before been beaten in this manner and must surely be fearing the worst.
‘You must tilt your head back and hold that position,’ I warned her. ‘If you lower your head at the wrong moment I might inadvertently strike your face, which would be most regrettable. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, lifting her chin and looking more apprehensive than ever.
Without further ado, I raised the tawse and brought it down smartly on her left breast. She let out a heartfelt gasp and rose halfway to her feet.
‘Down!’ I commanded.
She lowered herself reluctantly, as though onto a medieval spiked torture chair. The towel beneath her breasts had fallen to the floor when she moved, so I retrieved it and slipped it back in place. While I was so occupied Humphrey busied himself with the candle, treating me to the marvellous sight of Elizabeth’s face at close quarters as the thing breached her. Her grimace of discomfort and distaste as my friend worked the candle in her rectum was wondrous to behold.
When Nigel called time I stepped forward and put my fingers beneath her chin, tipping it up in silent reminder of my warning concerning her face. I paused to allow her to compose herself, then raised the tawse once more and struck her right breast. Knowing what to expect she managed to remain seated, though she gasped as before. Then it was Nigel’s turn with the candle, an opportunity our host did not waste. Indeed, he worked her enthusiastically and rather more vigorously than Humphrey, to judge from her expression and the sounds she made. And so we went on in this fashion, turn and turn about - and a thoroughly enjoyable interlude it was too, at least for the three men involved. I doubt Elizabeth would say the same, but then she had no one to blame but herself. Slaves spanking masters, indeed!
All good things come to an end, however, and finally her ordeal was over. She stood up and rubbed her breasts, looking considerably subdued. While our slaves dressed we masters chatted happily, in high spirits after such a splendid evening’s entertainment. Belinda waited her chance, then drew me to one side.
‘I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten our date for tonight,’ she murmured. ‘Shall I come to your room, or will you come to mine?’
‘The day I forget a date with the most desirable woman in England,’ I said gallantly, ‘I trust one of my friends will take his twelve bore and put me out of my misery. My room, I think - and the first thing you can expect, I warn you now, is fifteen minutes over my knee.’
‘Have I done something wrong,’ she asked with a smile, ‘or is it just fun and games?’
‘Both. You absented yourself from the house this morning and allowed Elizabeth to do the same, so depriving me of the opportunity to cane you together. Humphrey may have suggested it, even insisted upon it, but I regard that as no defence. You went missing, which is what matters to me. That is the crime for which you are to be punished, madam. Undoubtedly, however, I shall have fun dispensing justice.’
Belinda clearly thought I was teasing her over the promised spanking, for she looked more than a little surprised when, in the privacy of my room that evening, I drew her across my knee, raised her satin nightgown and proceeded to warm up her delightful bottom.
‘Ouch!’ she cried. ‘But Jamie... oooh! Surely you weren’t serious... ohhh!’
‘Never more so, my dear,’ I said, as I swiped at her round little buttocks.
They were little more than love taps, in fact, for I merely wished to remind her who was master here - though in truth, Belinda was no one’s slave. I slapped away cheerfully, therefore, till her bottom assumed a rosy glow, at which point I allowed her to rise.
‘Beast!’ she said, affecting a pout and rubbing her behind. ‘You enjoy spanking me, don’t you?’
‘Unquestionably,’ I said. ‘Which is why I intend to do it again tomorrow - though it will be a great deal harder and of much longer duration.’
All teasing chatter ceased once we were in bed, for I had been obliged to wait far too long for this moment. Now that she was mine at last I was determined to waste not a single minute. I sucked her nipples, then ran my tongue down over her ribs and poked it in her belly button. That drew forth a giggle, which soon turned into a gasp as I went lower still. I licked her slit and nipped her clitoris gently with my teeth, flicking it with the tip of my tongue.
‘Jamie... oh God!’ she panted. ‘Fuck me, right now!’
Master I may be and Belinda my slave for the night, but there are times when a slave commands and a master has little choice but to obey - and this, I’m happy to say, was one. I climbed aboard and impaled her, and Belinda raised her knees to permit deeper penetration. I began to move in her, slowly at first, for I needed to conserve my strength. This was to be no quick frolic; no hasty union followed by an equally hasty goodnight kiss. Belinda was a sweet and tender lover who deserved my most considerate and thorough attentions. Slow and steady, that was the way - for now at least. Later things would be very different indeed.
When I awoke the next morning - somewhat later than usual and feeling rather drained, I have to say - Belinda was gone. I washed and dressed, then made my way downstairs without delay. I was hoping to find Elizabeth, for I needed to speak with her urgently. This was the third day of Exiles and I hadn’t yet spanked my ward - an omission I was determined to rectify. There was no sign of her, however, so after breakfast I once again made enquiries of the butler, only to learn she had gone off early with Mr Porton-Jones. I could scarcely believe my ears: it seemed Humphrey was determined to thwart me at every turn. As before, there was little I could do but take my constitutional and wait for their return.
The weather had deteriorated overnight and there were dark clouds coming up from the west. I debated sending a maid to my room for cloak and hat but decided against it, thinking I would be back before the rain arrived. Needless to say I got caught in a heavy shower and arrived back soaking wet. My less than cheerful mood wasn’t improved when I learned Elizabeth still hadn’t returned.
Fuming, I went up to my room to change, where I naturally took my temper out on the first innocent individual who crossed my path - the housemaid who came in to make up the bed. ‘What the devil’s the matter with you, girl?’ I snapped. ‘You know you’re not supposed to enter while I’m here!’
‘I... I’m sorry, sir,’ she stammered, backing away. ‘I was told the guests... had all gone out.’
‘Well you should have knocked, dammit! What’s your name?’
‘Hil... Hilda, sir,’ she replied, neck and face flushing red.
I’d seen this girl before: I remembered thrashing her once, some years ago, though I couldn’t recollect the circumstances. Humphrey and I had a standing invitation from Nigel to spank the maids any time the fancy took us - and the fancy certainly took me at that moment, for someone had to pay for my recent run of bad luck.
I had been sitting on the bed in my damp underwear fuming silently when the girl came in. Now I patted my knee. ‘Come here, Hilda,’ I said sternly.
She had suffered enough spankings in her time to recognise the tone and her face fell as she stepped forward. I drew her across my lap and lifted up her skirts. ‘I expect you’d like to keep your drawers on, would you?’ I asked, fingering the item of clothing in question.
‘Oh yes, sir!’ she gasped, in evident relief. ‘Thank you, sir!’
I nodded in approval. In these days of lax morals it was most refreshing to find a young woman who still exhibited such decent, old-fashioned values as purity and rectitude. ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘wear them you shall - around your ankles.’
And with that I tugged them all the way down. Hilda moaned in shame and pressed her knees tightly together in an admirable display of modesty. She had a firm-looking, shapely bottom, white as milk and totally unmarked, which suggested Nigel had been slacking in his duties. My grandfather’s maids rarely lacked ‘painted bums’, as he called them - he would have been shocked indeed at the sight before me now.
I poked the twin mounds to verify their firmness, then proceeded to slap her vigorously, for this was not to be the playful spanking Belinda had endured. A man’s hand - the simplest of all implements - should never be underestimated, for it is capable of inflicting a stinging blow, as Hilda’s gasps and sobs soon testified. True, the punisher’s palm can sting also, but this is a small price to pay. My own palm, toughened by years of use, suffers very little and I was able to sustain Hilda’s correction for a good fifteen minutes. At the end of that time her eyes had been magically transformed from dry to wet and her bottom from white to vivid scarlet. My mood had undergone a transformation too, from sulky and dark to cheerfully optimistic. I pulled Hilda’s drawers back up and her skirts down, then with a pat on her tender rump, sent her off about her duties.
Attired once more in dry clothes, I set out with happy heart to find my errant ward. As I descended the stair I was actually whistling - it is truly astonishing how a brisk over-the-knee spanking can raise one’s spirits. If ever you are feeling out of sorts, I can thoroughly recommend it.
I never did get to spank Elizabeth and Belinda together. Humphrey and my ward returned just before noon - smiling and prattling away cheerfully, I couldn’t help but notice - but now it was Belinda who had disappeared. I decided to make the best of a bad job and chastise Elizabeth alone. I promptly told her so, which soon wiped the smile off her face, and we went up to my room where I ordered her to undress. While she was so doing I selected the thinnest, most flexible cane in my case. I needed a whippy implement, for ‘stingers’ were what I had in mind.
When Elizabeth was naked I ordered her to stand up straight with her hands clasped behind her head. I approached, swishing the cane through the air vigorously. It positively hummed, causing my ward to cast an anxious look over her shoulder at the ominous sound.
‘Humphrey is always pleasant company, isn’t he?’ I said. ‘A charming fellow, no doubt about it.’
Before she could answer I flicked my wrist and delivered a smarting stroke to the fullest part of her buttocks. She yelped and her hips shot forward. It was some seconds before she spoke. ‘Indeed, uncle. Most charming.’
I nodded. ‘I feared you would be caught in the rain, as I was, but your clothes are quite dry. Obviously you found somewhere to shelter.’
Once again I struck her before she could answer - an identical stroke, as close to the previous one as I could get it. She managed to bite back her cry this time, though she still jerked. I waited patiently for her reply.
‘We did,’ she said at last, her voice a little unsteady. ‘In a hay barn, out by a beech wood.’
‘Ah yes, I know it well. I believe lovers use it for trysts.’ Another stroke and another flinch. Again I waited.
‘I think of Mr Porton-Jones as a friend,’ she said at length, ‘no more than that.’
‘A friend, yes; I see. So it was conversation the gentleman had in mind when he took you off to the woods. A pleasant chat with a beautiful young woman to while away the time, is that it?’
She refrained from answering, so I made the next stroke a little firmer. The one that followed, some six or eight seconds later, was firmer still and Elizabeth let out a heartfelt gasp, her torso arching forward. Wisely she decided to answer before her situation became untenable. ‘He expressed a desire to spank me,’ she said. ‘He... ohh! He was not harsh with me and it... ohh! It was just a few dozen, with his hand... ohh!’
‘I thought your bottom looked rather more pink than normal,’ I said. ‘A hand spanking would explain it, of course. Knowing your fortitude I feel confident you submitted without fuss and did not shame me.’
I continued to strike her at intervals as I spoke, maintaining an even tempo and the same firm delivery. Having established the truth of it I pressed her no further on the subject of Humphrey. If she wished to enjoy a romp with the fellow, so be it, for Elizabeth was a grown woman and nobody’s fool, despite a certain innocence in the ways of the world. She was entitled to lead her life as she saw fit, within reason, and was most certainly entitled to her privacy.
The only sounds in the room now were the swish of the cane, the snick of wood striking tender flesh and Elizabeth’s gasps of pain. She had accompanied me here to Chapsom Parva expecting to be beaten and had got off very lightly thus far. I fully intended she should have one thorough caning at least, to render her visit memorable.
That evening the party assembled in the lounge for the third and final time. Our slaves were late joining us and I began to suspect they were planning something special. When they finally put in an appearance I saw that I was right - and a most astonishing ‘something’ it was too, for the trio were virtually naked. All that lay between them and our lusting eyes were costumes of the finest gauze imaginable, covering them from head to foot. They looked out through a rectangular slit in their head veils, and had each chosen a different coloured outfit: Belinda was in red, Queenie in violet and Elizabeth charcoal grey. Around their foreheads were slender, glittering bands of silver and they had silver bangles at wrist and ankle. Their feet were bare.
It didn’t occur to me till later that the colours had been chosen most carefully. Belinda looked simply stunning in red, for her fair skin took on the hue of rose petals and her auburn hair flamed majestically. The violet of Queenie’s gown emphasised her blue eyes, now darkened with liner so they looked huge and utterly exotic. And Elizabeth, dark-haired and dark-eyed - Elizabeth looked like a princess from some fairytale kingdom, wreathed all in smoke.
‘By thunder!’ Nigel muttered hoarsely. ‘This is a sight to die for, what?’
Humphrey and I could only agree, and slave eyes shone with pleasure as we heaped much-deserved praise upon them. Even my ward seemed to join in the spirit of the thing, swaying her hips provocatively as she walked, which seemed to me truly remarkable. If her transformation from charming but rather prudish Elizabeth to this ravishing, tantalising creature was the result of Belinda’s ‘woman-to-woman’ talk, then our hostess had achieved nothing less than a miracle.
Since gowns of gauze, though undoubtedly alluring, are not exactly the warmest of garments, chairs and sofas were drawn up to the fire and we all settled down to hear what Humphrey had in store for us.
‘That most worthy institution FFF,’ he said, as he began to explain his game to us, ‘whose principles we Spankers Seven Exiles embrace, has two equally important elements, namely flogging and fornication. No one can doubt this, for the very name makes this plain. The past two nights we’ve had spanking games, so tonight we will concern ourselves tonight with the second element. Not to put too fine a point on it, this is a sex game.’
Humphrey paused, a guileless expression on his face. Belinda and Nigel looked stunned, and I was equally taken aback - how could we play a sex game with one of our slaves celibate? My surprise lasted but a moment. Suspicion soon reared its head, for it seemed inconceivable Humphrey should have simply forgotten about our agreement concerning Elizabeth, especially as Belinda had obtained his solemn promise.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked innocently. ‘One minute you’re all smiles, the next you’re positively glum. Was it something I said?’
He played it convincingly enough, but I’d known Humphrey for years: naivety simply wasn’t part of his nature. This was a sham - and if final proof were needed my ward’s own expression remained completely unruffled, when she should have been looking as shocked as the rest of us. Obviously she had known about this in advance.
It was clear the others hadn’t grasped what was afoot, for Nigel shifted awkwardly in his chair and Belinda appeared dazed, as if she couldn’t believe she was hearing this. ‘Well...’ she murmured, ‘actually...’
‘Forgive my interruption, Lady X,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Mr Porton-Jones, a sex game sounds wonderful. Won’t you tell us what you have in mind?’
I felt somewhat aggrieved at her words, I have to say, for the natural conclusion was that my ward had fallen for Humphrey’s charms like countless women before her and now found him simply irresistible. Unwilling or unable simply to give in to the impulse - her innate sensibilities and pride wouldn’t allow it - Elizabeth had engineered this situation to release her from her vow of chastity. Somehow during their afternoon together she had put this idea into Humphrey’s head, or perhaps suggested it openly.
Had she forgotten Freddie already, then? It was possible, I supposed, though that suggested a flightiness I’d never suspected in her. I regarded her now, sitting serenely by the fire, breasts clearly visible through the revealing gown, and wondered again at her transformation. That she should remain cool and composed in front of virtual strangers whilst dressed in such a fashion seemed astonishing to me. The Elizabeth I knew - or thought I knew - would be horrified, and no matter how sympathetic, how warm and wise Belinda might be, it seemed to me unlikely all this could be the result of a single intimate chat.
I began to suspect things were more complicated than I’d first thought. Was my ward somehow able to set her feelings for Freddie and her moral scruples aside? Could she truly be Elizabeth at Bleekston Hall and Ursula here, or was it all simply more playacting? These were deep waters for me, for I never did understand the workings of the female mind.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind, Ursula?’ Belinda asked.
‘Not in the least, Lady X,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Pray continue, sir.’
Humphrey took my ward at her word and proceeded to enlighten us concerning this sex game of his. ‘I am calling it the Game of Threes,’ he said. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but three is a highly significant number here this evening. We have three masters and three slaves present and each slave possesses three orifices. Is this simple coincidence, or is it fate?’
‘Oh my!’ Belinda said, turning to her fellow slaves. ‘This does sound promising, doesn’t it?’
‘Ogden has in his possession three envelopes, each of which contains three pieces of paper.’ As he spoke, Humphrey beckoned the butler forward. ‘The first envelope contains the names of the masters, the second the slaves and the third envelope the words “vagina”, “anus” and “mouth”. Ogden will make the draw, taking a single piece of paper from each envelope to pair one master with one slave and specifying which of her orifices he is to use. All clear so far?’
There were nods from the assembled company.
‘The nominated couple will then retire behind the screen to consummate the act.’ Humphrey pointed to the ornate Chinese screen by the window. ‘We shall need a couch placing there and also a clock on a small table. The couple have five minutes, during which time the master must reach his climax. Ogden will sound the gong at the start and end of the period. The couple performing will be out of sight but within earshot and the rest are free to comment as they see fit in an attempt to disrupt proceedings.’
‘What happens if he fails to reach a climax in time?’ Nigel asked.
‘Then the slave has clearly failed in her duties,’ Humphrey said, ‘and will be given an immediate dozen from all three masters. As to her partner, he will be declared a poltroon who fully deserves the scorn that will undoubtedly be heaped upon him by his peers.’
Nigel and I exchanged thoughtful looks. There could be little doubt what the result would be of failing to ‘perform’ in this company - put quite simply, one would never hear the end of it.
While the couch and clock were being organised I took the opportunity to draw my ward aside for a quiet word. ‘You are to be congratulated, my dear,’ I murmured. ‘I’m certain the game will prove most entertaining.’
She became unnaturally still. ‘I’m not sure what you mean, sir. If you’re implying I had a hand in it...’
‘Tosh!’ I said. ‘Humphrey has many fine qualities, but an inventive mind isn’t one of them. He could no more have thought this up than fly to the moon. This has “Ursula” stamped all over it, though I confess to being puzzled over your motive.’
She said nothing for several moments, then a faint smile touched her lips. ‘I see that it is impossible to deceive you, sir, for I did provide some small assistance to Mr Porton-Jones in the devising of his game. As to my motive... I’m confident a shrewd, clever person could work that out for himself.’
‘Oh I shall, never fear. And in the meantime we have another of your remarkable games to play. My main hope is that my name and yours are drawn together, along with the word “anus”.’
Her smile became enigmatic. ‘Should I wish you luck, then?’
‘Most certainly,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen you more beautiful than you are tonight, my dear. The thought of sodomising you is driving me to distraction. My only regret is the five minute time limit, which is far too short. You definitely slipped up there.’
The butler, having rearranged the furniture, returned to his station, at which point Humphrey called for everyone’s attention. The game was about to begin.
‘We will now make the first draw,’ Humphrey announced. ‘Ogden, if you will kindly do the honours?’
The butler approached the table and placed the three envelopes in a row on the polished top. Averting his eyes in the interests of fair play, he slid his fingers into the blue envelope, extracted a slip of paper, and read out what was written upon it. ‘Lord Newburn.’
‘That’s me!’ Nigel exclaimed, as though surprised to discover his own name really was in there after all.
Slips from the pink and white envelopes informed us that ‘Yasmine’ would be Nigel’s partner and that he would use her vagina.
‘Off you go then, the pair of you,’ Humphrey said. ‘Five minutes, remember.’
‘Close your eyes and think of England, Yasmine dear,’ Belinda called out as her husband took Queenie’s arm and led her behind the screen. As they disappeared from view Ogden sounded the gong. We heard the rustle of clothing, followed by a lengthy silence. There was no sound for a full minute, in fact, and the rest of us started to look at each other with raised eyebrows.
‘It’s all gone very quiet behind there,’ Belinda called out merrily. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, you two? Instruction could be arranged, if required.’
‘We know,’ came Nigel’s curt reply.
Soon after Queenie began to gasp.
‘Ah,’ Humphrey said, turning to Belinda. ‘It sounds as if romance has blossomed finally. Either that, or your husband is strangling my housekeeper.’
Queenie’s gasps became louder and Nigel began to grunt in tandem.
‘Should we clap, do you think?’ Belinda asked. ‘It might help them keep time.’
‘Nigel might think we were applauding his efforts,’ I pointed out, ‘and stand up to take a bow.’
‘I can just picture it,’ Belinda laughed, ‘my husband graciously accepting our accolade with his trousers around his ankles!’
Judging by the sounds coming from behind the screen the pair were building rapidly to a climax. There was a flurry of ribald comments from the three of us, but our attempts to sabotage their passion failed. Nigel and Queenie cried out together, then there was silence once more.
‘That sounded rather like paired peaking to me,’ Humphrey said, as the gong sounded.
‘It did indeed,’ I said, thinking we would struggle to match our host’s performance.
The couple eventually appeared to enthusiastic applause that had Queenie blushing and Nigel beaming. When they had taken their seats Ogden’s services were called upon once more. James-Ursula-Anus was what I was hoping for... and I came so very close. The blue and white envelopes did indeed yield up the slips I’d hoped for, but it was Belinda’s name the butler drew from the pink envelope, not Elizabeth’s. Though disappointed, I took care not to let it show, for I would never risk hurting Belinda’s feelings in that way. Besides, what right-minded man could object to anal sex with someone as lovely as our hostess? I took her hand, therefore, and led her around the screen to the sound of the gong. Belinda drew her diaphanous slave gown up over her head and dropped it on the floor, then sat me down on the end of the couch and knelt in front of me to unfasten my trousers. As she took out my cock she gave a conspiratorial wink and I guessed she had some mischief in mind.
‘Oh, sir,’ she said, in a tremulous voice, ‘surely you can’t mean to put that in my bottom? It’s much too big - the biggest I’ve ever seen!’
From beyond the screen I heard Humphrey’s mock snort of indignation. ‘Oh really, this is too much! Is Lady X truly saying he has a cock like a bull?’
‘An exaggeration, sir, I assure you,’ Nigel said soothingly. ‘I have it on good authority from one of the maids that Mr Montague’s cock is no bigger than her little finger... and she has very small hands.’
A debate on the likely size of my member followed in which even Elizabeth took part, though she had said not a word during Nigel’s performance. The consensus seemed to be that it was pitifully small, which is not the sort of thing any chap wishes to hear, especially whilst attempting intercourse. Belinda, having started it, tried instead to prove them wrong with enthusiastic use of her hands, but my cock refused to cooperate. It wasn’t so much what they were saying as the fact they were speaking at all. It was proving far from easy to concentrate on the appointed task with friends prattling away gaily just feet away. The threat of failure loomed ever larger and the thought of the comments that would bring merely added to my difficulties. Belinda, bless her, refused to admit defeat, and though I wasn’t sure casual fellatio was strictly within the rules, I didn’t feel tempted to seek clarification.
I challenge any cock to remain limp with a beautiful, naked woman sucking away as though her very life depended on it, and mine was no exception, leaping up bravely as though eager to make up for lost time. Belinda certainly wasted none, for she immediately turned around and lowered herself onto me. I guided my cock to its target as she sat down slowly, impaling herself. This wasn’t Belinda’s preferred form of sex, as I knew from long experience, so I eased into her as gently as I could. She felt tight, despite the lubrication she had so selflessly provided, and she groaned as I breached her. This drew the predictable response from our audience, but I refused to be distracted, concentrating instead on Belinda’s beautiful little bottom bobbing up and down in my lap.
Remembering Nigel and Queenie’s ‘paired peaking’, as Humphrey put it, I reached around with my right hand and felt for her slit. I slid my middle finger inside her and brought my thumb into play also, flicking her clitoris lightly but rapidly, upon which her gasps took on an altogether different tone. Soon I felt the first stirrings of my climax and worked her more rapidly still, murmuring endearments. Belinda began to wail softly, which drew further derisive comments, but we were past caring by now and beyond their sway.
Then Belinda squealed, a spasm rippling down her slender back, which triggered my own climax. I drove up hard into her, once, twice and then again, rising to my feet on the final thrust. I wrapped my left arm about her waist and hugged her tight, holding her against me till her shudders and mine subsided. I then sank back on the couch with Belinda on top of me, my cock and finger still inside her. We lay like that for some moments longer, then Belinda started to rise. Having none of it, I held her fast. She turned her face to mine, surprised, and I kissed her gently on the mouth. When finally we broke the embrace she gave me one of her special smiles.
There was a deathly silence from the far side of the screen, until a lone voice spoke up. ‘Well,’ Elizabeth said, ‘it would seem the master has succeeded in his appointed task.’
I thought she sounded almost disappointed.
‘No point drawing the remaining slips, is there?’ Nigel said, once Belinda and I had put ourselves in order and rejoined the others, again to applause. ‘We know what’s left by simple elimination.’
‘That’s right,’ Belinda said. ‘Humphrey, in Ursula’s...’
She turned slowly and looked at Elizabeth. So did I and everyone else. My ward was smiling ruefully. ‘Indeed,’ she murmured. ‘In my mouth.’
Though fellatio was one of her professed ‘hates’, I knew she would not refuse. The game was her own invention, after all, so she must have known better than anyone what might be required of her. She hesitated, however, clearly finding it difficult, and I took some satisfaction from knowing her scheming had brought her to this. The reality, it seemed, was proving rather less attractive a proposition than the fantasy. Finally she rose and allowed Humphrey to escort her behind the screen. Again we heard the rustle of clothing, followed moments later by a long groan of sheer pleasure from her partner.
‘Oh, my dear girl,’ he murmured, his voice heavy with need. ‘Oh, you angel.’
For some few minutes Humphrey’s groans and affectionate utterances were the only sounds in the room. There was not a word, not a whisper even, from our side of the screen. It was as though we were loath to intrude - though why Humphrey and my ward should receive such preferential treatment remained a mystery. I looked at the others, wondering at the source of this sudden reticence that afflicted us. Belinda was staring at the carpet, a half-smile on her lips, Nigel was scrutinising his fingernails as though he had only just discovered he possessed such things, while Queenie’s face had assumed an uncanny stillness, as if her mind were utterly elsewhere.
‘Faster now. Faster, child... that’s it.’
Could it be Elizabeth’s involvement that silenced us, perhaps? We had all understood and accepted that she was to remain chaste, yet here she was engaged in an act of special intimacy with one of our party. It was almost as if we were witnessing the deflowering of a virgin and were awed by the solemnity of the occasion.
‘God, yes! Oh God... oh God!’
It went on and on, and I knew Humphrey must be holding himself back to make the pleasure last. Serve him right, I thought, if he ran out of time. I looked across at Ogden, who was watching the long case clock in the corner. My hopes proved in vain, however, for Humphrey - blast the fellow - timed things to perfection. Just seconds before the gong sounded he gave a great shuddering gasp, followed by two or three others of diminishing force.
‘No,’ he said, his voice hollow with spent passion, ‘swallow it, there’s a good girl. That’s it, yes... you clever girl. You angel.’
And so we waited while Elizabeth performed her own abbreviated version of My Cup Runneth Over; and waited still longer while they made themselves presentable. When finally they appeared it was not to ribald applause, but rather to self-conscious smiles and murmured congratulations.
And so The Game of Threes came to an end. Though we had no declared winner - for the game had not been designed with such in mind - we had no losers either. Ogden served drinks as we rose to stretch our legs, chatting and joking amongst ourselves as was customary following the entertainment. I joked and chatted along with all the rest, waiting for the right moment. At last I found myself alone with Elizabeth. I looked her up and down, staring openly at breast and bush, nipple and navel.
‘Since fate is clearly determined to deny me that which I desire,’ I said, ‘it seems the sight of you is all I shall enjoy tonight. And what a magnificent sight you are, my dear. Almost - just almost, mind - looking at you is compensation enough for not having you.’
Elizabeth looked rather startled, but was given no opportunity to reply.
‘No whispering, there,’ Belinda said, walking up to us. ‘We’ll be thinking the pair of you are plotting some mischief. Do you mind if I have a quick word with this gentleman, my dear?’
‘Not at all, Lady X,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I must speak with Mr Porton-Jones in any case. Please excuse me, sir.’ She curtseyed and walked away, affording me a tantalising glimpse of her perfect bottom through the gossamer folds.
‘A sweet girl,’ Belinda murmured, clearly amused by my scrutiny of my ward’s derriere.
‘Yet one who is happy to flaunt her body, it seems. A scarlet woman in the making, if ever I saw one.’
‘Hardly that, Jamie,’ she said. ‘I, on the other hand, freely confess to it - and by way of proof I volunteer the information that I’m free tonight, should you wish to avail yourself twice in two nights. If you’ve made other arrangements I fully understand and trust you’ll pardon such wanton behaviour on my part. I know I should wait to be asked, but there’s a risk no one would ask me and that would be too awful to contemplate. It makes me sound rather desperate, doesn’t it?’
‘Not in the least,’ I said gallantly. ‘I don’t have a date for tonight, in fact, but even if I did I would cancel it instantly to be with you. Kindly come to my room dressed as you are and brace yourself for a strenuous night. You look simply ravishing, Belinda, and I fully intend to ravish you - long, hard and in innumerable positions.’
To make such promises is to take a risk, of course, for sometimes physical flesh fails us and we cannot live up to them. This was not such an occasion, fortunately, my stamina proving sufficient to the task. We were still going strong as the clock struck eleven, Belinda and I, though by midnight it is true we had slowed considerably. At one o’clock we finally admitted defeat and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
I thought I would sleep late, worn out by my exertions, but I was wrong. A crowing cockerel woke me at dawn, when I was surprised and delighted to find myself once more in the mood. Not wishing to waste the opportunity, I woke Belinda and put her through her paces vigorously until breakfast time - a most satisfying conclusion to three marvellous days of Spankers Seven Exiles.
We said our farewells in the courtyard, shaking hands or embracing as gender dictated, then we four travellers climbed into the coach that was to ferry ourselves and our baggage to the railway station.
The train journey home to Oxfordshire was uneventful, Humphrey and I passing the time in pleasant chit-chat. My friend glanced often at Elizabeth and smiled whenever their eyes met, but though my ward returned the smile dutifully, she seemed somewhat subdued, staring out of the carriage window for the most part. Queenie was equally restrained, but answered pleasantly enough when I addressed her and seemed to bear me no ill will for the painful and humiliating century I had given her. If only all women were as compliant, I thought, life would be far more simple. There were more farewells on the platform at Beckton Measby station, after which my ward and I continued our journey alone.
‘I suppose it’s pointless to ask if you enjoyed your visit, my dear?’ I said.
‘Pointless indeed, uncle.’
‘Ah! By “uncle” I take it I’m addressing my ward Elizabeth now and not some other young woman?’
‘You are. Ursula stayed behind at Cropton Manor and must remain there for all time.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said. I meant it, too. Ursula somehow managed the clever trick of combining innocence and wantonness in a way men find irresistible.
‘Not all of it was unpleasant, in fact,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I met some truly nice people.’
‘Humphrey.’
‘Mr Porton-Jones, certainly; but also Lady Newburn. I only wish I were as wise as she - and as strong and independent.’
As for me, I wished Elizabeth was as willing as Belinda to slip into my bed, though I kept the thought to myself.
But now it was time to look to affairs at home. Immediately upon our arrival I sent for Mrs Hammond to enquire what disasters had befallen the household in my absence. It transpired that nothing untoward had occurred, save that Willy, the hall-boy, had accidentally set fire to the carpet in the dining room when cleaning out the supposedly dead ashes in the fireplace. He had apparently chosen to stamp on the smouldering carpet rather than let the house burn down - a remarkable decision on his part, suggesting a possible spark of intelligence I’d never suspected in the lad - and in this way a likely catastrophe was averted.
‘The damage is confined to one small patch, sir,’ Mrs Hammond said. ‘I believe it should be possible to have it repaired. Naturally, I wished to consult with you before taking any such action.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hammond,’ I said. ‘I imagine you haven’t delayed taking action with the miscreant himself, however. Willy has been suitably punished, I take it?’
‘Is being punished, sir,’ she said. ‘I deemed the offence too serious for a single punishment. I’m giving him a dozen hard strokes morning, noon and night for a week. Today is the third day, so he has some way to go.’
Three dozen a day for seven days! It was reassuring to know the governess hadn’t grown overly soft and sentimental while Elizabeth and I had been amusing ourselves down in Kent.
We soon settled into our routine and the next few days passed most agreeably, though not for Willy, whose howls could be heard echoing through the house thrice daily. I spent some time updating my journal, recounting what had transpired during our stay at Cropton Manor. While flicking idly through the pages one morning I chanced upon a sketch I had made some months previously. It portrayed a young woman - Cathy, perhaps, for she was fair-haired - dressed in an unusual costume. The sketch was entitled ‘Proposed Spanking Outfit’ and I had included a view from the back as well as the front. Around the periphery of the drawing were various notes, such as ‘buttocks exposed’ and ‘high collar ~ beware risk of choking!’
The notion of commissioning spanking costumes for my wards had been in my mind for some time and I resolved to do something about it forthwith. I sought out Mrs Hammond and explained what I wanted, showing her the appropriate page in my journal by way of clarification.
‘I apologise for the quality of the drawing,’ I said. ‘My artistic skills are not all they should be. I do practice, but improvement seems to elude me.’
She assured me the sketch was most skilfully executed, but I knew she was merely being polite. She studied the drawing carefully and read the notes. ‘I believe I see what you require, sir,’ she said. ‘What fabric had you in mind?’
‘I leave that to the expert, madam,’ I said. ‘The wearing of the garment is intended to cause a degree of discomfort, so I had imagined something coarse and tolerably stiff.’
‘I see. And these flaps over the breasts and private parts... did you wish them buttoned, or secured with ties?’
‘Again, I leave all such details to you, Mrs Hammond. Speed in unfastening them is not an issue, so whatever looks neatest.’
‘Buttons would be best in that case, sir.’
‘I take it you see no great difficulty?’
‘None at all. I shall need to go into town for the material, but making up the garments should present no problem. It will be good practice for Cathy especially: her sewing skills leave much to be desired.’
I nodded. ‘I did say these were for my wards, but I have changed my mind. I now want every female in the house to possess such an outfit.’
It took a moment or two for my words to register fully, then her face became still.
‘Yes indeed, madam,’ I said, ‘yourself included. In fact, it would seem sensible to start with you. Once your own outfit is completed to my satisfaction, you will kindly organise all the rest. Ideally each woman should make her own, but I want them neatly done. If any individual lacks the necessary skills you must make other arrangements as you see fit.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said. As ever, it was the only answer she could give.
A week later the governess was standing before me dressed in the very garment itself. There is great satisfaction in seeing one’s imaginings turned into reality and many an artist looking upon his finished canvas, or writer holding his printed and bound book, must have felt how I did at that moment. I stepped closer, nodding in approval, for I was greatly pleased with the finished result.
She had selected a canvas-like fabric that was perhaps more cream in colour than white. When I stroked my fingertip across her ribs I was pleased to find the material admirably rough to the touch. She could not find it comfortable to wear, for it fitted her like a second skin, encasing her torso, upper arms and thighs tightly. The high collar was of double thickness and very stiff in consequence, so that her chin was forced up and her head held erect.
The costume terminated just above the elbow and knee, and Mrs Hammond had chosen to decorate these edges with a modest frill, which helped relieve the plainness somewhat. Over each breast was a square flap with buttons at the top corners; these I unfastened, folding down each flap in turn. Two large circular holes had been cut in the fabric that covered her chest, the edges neatly stitched, through which her breasts protruded.
Below her belly was a third, smaller flap which buttoned at the bottom, an extra pair of buttons higher up enabling the flap to be secured in the raised position. I wasted no time trying this out, so that soon her bush was on display in addition to her breasts.
‘Delightful,’ I said. ‘This is surely a sight to gladden any man’s eye, Mrs Hammond.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
It was plain to see she was less than happy standing there flaunting herself in this way. Though her modesty was commendable, I did not do up the flaps, but instead walked behind her. As anticipated, a good deal more flesh was on show here than at the front. Most noticeable were her buttocks, which were completely exposed. Though I had contemplated another flap in this location I decided it would prove more of a hindrance than a benefit in a garment designed with spanking in mind.
In addition to that single large opening, a three inch wide gap ran the full length of her spine, with similar, narrower ones down the backs of her upper arms and thighs. Eyelets had been let in at intervals along all these edges so that they could be drawn together with stays in the same manner as a corset. Herein lay the secret of the garment’s snug fit. By tightening the stays to a greater or lesser extent, her torso and limbs could be constricted to whatever degree was required.
Whoever the governess had asked to tighten these stays - for it would not be possible for the wearer to fasten them herself - had made an admirable job of it. The crisscrossed lacing pressed into her tender flesh, no doubt causing even more discomfort. In fact, I could see only one adjustment I would wish to make and that was but a momentary task.
‘I would prefer the collar somewhat tighter,’ I said. ‘Hold still, madam.’
Each end of the tall collar, at the back of the neck, had been provided with a pair of eyelets and these were threaded with a length of white ribbon to facilitate adjustment. I proceeded to draw this fastening tighter - deciding I had gone far enough when the governess made a choking sound - then retied it with a rather fetching bow.
‘There,’ I said, ‘that’s better. How does it feel to you, Mrs Hammond?’
I went around in front of her as I spoke. Her face, I noticed, was pinker than normal and her expression suggested she was experiencing some slight difficulty breathing. ‘It is... perhaps a little... too tight, sir,’ she said, in a somewhat strangled voice.
Maybe I had overdone it a touch - but then the wearing of the costume was intended to be something of an ordeal. I buttoned up the breast and crotch flaps, so rendering her almost decent once again, then stepped back to survey the outfit in its entirety.
‘Most neatly executed, Mrs Hammond,’ I said. ‘You are to be congratulated.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she croaked.
Was the front a little plain, perhaps? I decided it was. A rosette or some other decoration might not go amiss. Then I had a better idea. I stepped up to her once more and traced a saucer-sized circle on her tummy.
‘I need a hole, Mrs Hammond.’
‘Pardon, sir?’
‘I require you to cut a hole here, right over the navel. Purely for decorative purposes, you understand.’ It would not be pure decoration, in fact, for young women’s navels are a constant source of delight to me. ‘A round hole for the staff,’ I said, as a further elaboration occurred to me, ‘and a heart-shaped one for your own costume and those of my wards.’
‘Very well, sir.’
I thought it only right and proper there should be some feature, at least, to distinguish the costumes of ladies of quality from those of common working women. Class values must be preserved if we are not to descend into barbarism. I trusted the governess was suitably appreciative not to be ranked with the riffraff.
‘That one small change is all I require,’ I said. ‘In all other respects it is perfect. What say we christen it, right this minute?’ Without waiting for her reply I fetched my medium cane from the cupboard. ‘Can you bend, madam?’
‘I can... try, sir,’ she said gamely.
It soon became apparent that she could, though with some considerable difficulty. Resting her hands upon the seat of a chair was possible, touching her toes was not. It was a restriction I was quite prepared to put up with.
I proceeded to lay on a few brisk strokes in a variety of positions - standing, kneeling and lying down - to explore the limits of her movement. I called a halt after twenty minutes or so, more than happy with the results. The spanking outfit was a great success, no doubt about it. My plan to obtain one for all the females in the house could now go ahead.
Happy as I was, I couldn’t help but notice that Mrs Hammond’s face was almost as red as her bottom. I finally relented, therefore, and loosened her collar, for which kindness she thanked me effusively. Sucking in a lungful or two of fresh air is something we tend to take for granted till it is denied us, as my wards and the maids were soon to discover.
There was just one more thing to try out now and I explained to Mrs Hammond what that was. She seemed much happier than when I proposed the caning test, I have to say. I unbuttoned her breast and crotch flaps once more and led her to the desk. She perched on the edge, leaned back and opened her legs. The spanking costume prevented her spreading them fully, but I had not the least difficulty positioning myself between them, nor in entering her. I settled into a steady rhythm and she gave a contented little sigh.
‘I see no benefit in hurrying this particular test,’ I said, ‘do you?’
‘No indeed, sir,’ she said, rather breathlessly. ‘I have always been in favour of long tests, myself. The longer the better, in fact.’
‘Your thoroughness is commendable, Mrs Hammond. A very long test it shall be.’
Cathy made the miraculous transformation from girl to woman in the middle of September. At least, so it appeared to me, though no doubt the process had taken place over several months and I had simply failed to notice, distracted as I had been with Freddie’s visit, Ride-a-Cock-Horse, Exiles, spanking costumes and so forth, not to mention managing the affairs of a very large estate.
I was at one of the outlying farms inspecting storm damage when the change in her became apparent to me. I heard the sound of horse’s hooves and turned to see Cathy riding into the yard. It was an astonishing sight for a number of reasons - firstly, she left the house but rarely and never on her own; secondly, she always maintained that she hated riding (although it was one of the few physical activities at which she was proficient, oddly enough) and thirdly, she was smiling. That may sound unremarkable, but for someone with so much to be thankful for she did seem to spend an inordinate amount of time pouting and sulking. My youngest ward was healthy, wealthy - or would be when she came of age - astonishingly pretty and had a delightful figure to boot, which made her constant scowls and temper tantrums all the less excusable.
There was no scowl in evidence as she rode up to Yew Tree Farm that morning, however. She was positively beaming, her face rosy-cheeked from the ride and her hair tumbling free, shining in the sun like spun gold. The top two buttons of her shirt were unfastened and any man with eyes could see she was wearing no corset. The twin swellings of her firm bosom strained at the white linen and put the third button at some hazard. Golden-haired and bursting with health and vitality, she looked like a Viking princess sitting tall and proud on her steed.
I heard a groan of wonderment, or incredulity, or passion - or most likely all three - from Tom, the farmer’s eldest son. I could only sympathise with the lad.
‘Hello, Uncle James, gentlemen,’ Cathy said. ‘A beautiful day, is it not?’
There were incoherent mumbles and one embarrassed cough from the men behind me. I felt like mumbling myself, but thought I should set them an example. ‘Catherine,’ I said, ‘what a pleasant surprise to see you here.’
She looked about her. ‘That barn roof has seen better days, hasn’t it? Was last week’s gale to blame?’
My astonishment turned to utter disbelief, for it was unheard of for Cathy to display an interest in anything that did not impinge directly upon herself. ‘It was, my dear,’ I said, ‘but we’ll soon have it fixed, never fear.’
I took Whiplash’s reins from young Tom’s lifeless hand - the lad was still gawping at the vision of loveliness before him - swung up into the saddle and bid the men good day. ‘Best close your mouth, Tom-lad,’ I added, ‘or you’ll be catching flies.’
To a chorus of ‘Good day, sir; good day, miss,’ and a flurry of tugged forelocks, Cathy and I turned our horses and trotted out of the yard, then down the lane and across the fields, heading for distant Bleekston Hall.
We walked the horses for much of the way. Once clear of the farm my ward came straight to the point. ‘Uncle James,’ she said, ‘were you intending to seduce me soon?’
I could think of no immediate sensible answer to that most astonishing of questions, so I made light of it, as people do in such circumstances. ‘Sooner than you think, my dear, if that next button on your shirt pops open. I’m keeping my eye peeled for likely haystacks in which to tumble you.’
‘I’m serious, uncle,’ she said. ‘Why should I be left out? You’ve seduced Elizabeth and Victoria, not to mention every maid in the house and the cook, even though she’s very fat.’
She made it sound as if large ladies had no right to expect sex - or perhaps she was thinking there must be some physical impediment. In neither case was she correct, but now didn’t seem the time to enlighten her. ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Catherine,’ I said. ‘Servants’ halls are full of it and mostly it is silly nonsense.’
‘I know you think me a child, sir,’ she said, ‘but I am not. Neither am I a blind and deaf fool. I have ears for more than gossip and I have eyes: my bedroom is next to Victoria’s, remember.’
I had never heard Cathy speak in such a rational, articulate fashion. The featherbrained, frivolous young miss I knew only too well had ceased to exist, it seemed, and in her place was this intelligent, serious young woman. Clearly I must walk round with my eyes closed if I’d failed to see the change in her till now.
‘Victoria and I have an understanding,’ I said, unwilling to give her a straight answer. ‘If she takes a punishment well - obediently and with no undue fuss - she is entitled to physical consolation. That she chooses certain... stimulation, shall we say... well, that is her prerogative.’
It wasn’t a lie, but neither was it the whole truth. Red-haired Victoria and I had progressed beyond that initial stage and these days I frequently bedded her for no other reason than mutual satisfaction. Even as I told Cathy the half-truth, I wondered why I could not be open and honest with her. Was it my agreement with Elizabeth, perhaps? I had regarded Cathy as ‘out of bounds’ for so long, the idea of a seduction was decidedly foreign to me. To me, but not to Cathy herself, clearly.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘So if I take a punishment well, I’ll be entitled to “consolation” too?’
‘Well... yes,’ I said, feeling my control of the conversation slip rapidly away. ‘I suppose you will.’
She gave a nod of satisfaction. Her smile, which had disappeared while we had been talking, now returned with a vengeance. She gazed about at the fields and trees as though realising for the first time just how beautiful the countryside was. She even began to sing - her voice was sweet enough, though not strong - and was patently at one with the world. Which was more than I could say for myself.
I felt honour-bound to explain to Elizabeth that our agreement was, in all probability, about to come to an end. I took her to one side at the earliest opportunity and recounted my recent conversation with Cathy as best I could remember it. I was expecting an outburst, but she took it remarkably well.
‘I feared this might happen,’ she said, more sad than angry. ‘I protected her as long as I could, hoping she might find a decent life for herself, free from the wickedness and depravity into which her sisters have sunk.’
That seemed to me a rather naive view, for we cannot protect people from themselves. We are, each of us, whatever lies deep within our souls and whether it is good or bad it will surely come out, as one pupa turns into a moth and another a butterfly.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘there’s one bright spot in all of this, for you at least. With our agreement at an end you are relieved of your burden. There is no more need for self-sacrifice on your part, Elizabeth. We have seen the last of games such as Rectal Recital and Ride-a-Cock-Horse.’
She looked at me in a strange fashion. ‘Have we, uncle?’ she said quietly. ‘I wonder.’
Maybe she wasn’t so naive after all.
The very next day, as I was working in my study, Cathy came to see me.
‘Uncle James,’ she said, ‘I’ve been very wicked. I expect you’ll want to punish me for it.’
‘Really?’ I said, putting down my pen. ‘What have you done?’
‘I squashed the gardener’s hat. I told him to give it to me and I threw it in the water barrel. He fished it out again, so I hit it with a shovel and flattened it.’
‘Why in heaven’s name would you want to do that?’ I asked, though we both knew why; she was looking for an excuse to be punished. ‘Phillips is a doddering old fool, I agree, but that’s no reason to flatten his hat, is it?’
She shrugged. ‘It was a silly hat - it made him look stupid. I actually did him a favour by flattening it, though he didn’t seem to see it that way.’
I sighed. She was right about the hat, an old bowler our gardener had acquired from God knows where; he did look ridiculous in it. Still, I couldn’t allow my wards to go around destroying private property in such a cavalier fashion, no matter how ‘silly’ they considered it. I was obliged to punish her, which meant she had got her way - or thought she had. In fact, I was about to have the last laugh.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Friday, six o’clock. And don’t smirk like that, Cathy; you haven’t been quite as clever as you imagine. Squashing an old hat isn’t exactly the crime of the century, so your punishment will be fairly light. Rather too light to prove you can take a proper punishment, as it happens.’
Now it was my turn to smirk. My ward appeared unperturbed, however. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it’s worse than you think. I waited till Phillips put the silly thing back on his head before I hit it.’
Since the idea of bedding a lovely, nubile young woman was far from repellent to me, you may be wondering why I was resisting on this occasion. Indeed, I would be hard-pressed to come up with a credible answer; although I suspect Elizabeth and her foolish notions had much to do with it. Cathy, however, had outmanoeuvred us both - one look at the enormous bump on the gardener’s head convinced me of that. He seemed to suffer no lasting ill-effects, fortunately, and he did get a brand new bowler hat out of it, courtesy of cousin Bertie’s wardrobe, which cheered him up no end.
Three dozen was the punishment I announced to Cathy as she stood before me at the appointed time; and they would not be the gentle taps to which she had grown accustomed. She was guilty of assault and battery - free from personal malice, true, yet coolly planned and ruthlessly executed nevertheless. A serious crime indeed, yet there was little sign of contrition in her expression as she listened to my pronouncement. If anything, she looked rather pleased with herself.
‘You understand what I’m saying, Catherine? Three dozen strokes is no trivial matter. I might be willing to review the sentence, however, if you were to apologise to your victim and offer a cash compensation from your own savings.’
‘Thank you, uncle. Respectfully, I decline the offer.’
I shrugged. I had done my best, but she left me with no choice. ‘So be it. The punishment stands. Kindly remove all your clothes.’
While she did so I went to the oak cupboard and took out the medium cane. Cathy was clearly confident she could take a beating well - time now to see if her fortitude and tenacity were equal to the task.
When she was naked I made a point of looking her over in the most overt fashion. I walked slowly around her, feeling here and prodding there, while she stood to attention all the while, eyes straight ahead. I could have sworn her buttocks were fuller than the last time I saw her stripped, just a few short weeks ago. I slapped them, left then right, and watched them quiver. Fuller, definitely. Were her breasts larger too, or was that mere wishful thinking on my part? I took hold of them and proceeded to squeeze gently, which settled the matter beyond doubt. Each was now slightly bigger than a comfortable handful. My ward continued to put on weight in all the right places.
Cathy accepted this manhandling with barely a murmur, which was certainly different from our previous encounters. I explained to her the position I required - a variation on the flying-T, with her legs spread wide, her arms stretched out sideways along the front edge of my desk and her chin resting upon its polished top. She adopted this rather awkward stance without protest, then waited in silence for what would be the hardest thrashing of her young life.
Almost from the first stroke I felt sure she would succeed. The cane bit deep into soft muscle tissue; a resolute cut that, a month ago, would have seen her leaping about the study like a dervish and shrieking the house down. But that was the old Cathy. The new one simply flinched and let out a gasp, quickly choked off.
More strokes followed, equally testing. I didn’t rush them, for this was a true punishment beating and I wanted her to remember every single one of them. Though I didn’t hurry, neither did I pause. Unusually for me there was no change of position after each dozen and I didn’t allow her to rest. Stroke followed firm stroke inexorably, the count mounting steadily as I tested her resolve.
And Cathy proved herself, beyond question. True, her gasps of pain became more heartfelt and were not so easily stifled, and her limbs began to shake as she struggled to maintain the position; but maintain it she did, her hands clenched into fists, right to the end.
‘Stand up,’ I said.
She straightened slowly and turned to face me. There were tears in her eyes, but no sign of resentment or self-pity. I gave her permission to rub her bottom, but her arms remained firmly by her side in a final show of determination. Stark naked as she was, with tear-streaked cheeks and a striped bottom into the bargain, she was not without dignity as she faced me there in the study, chin jutting stubbornly, silently challenging me to say she had failed. Needless to say, I could not.
‘Well done, Catherine,’ I said. ‘Well done indeed.’
She had fully earned that which she desired and now it was up to me to provide it. I led her to the couch and lay her down, putting my hand between her legs. I watched her face as I stroked my fingertip along her slit, making no attempt to penetrate her.
‘I’m afraid this will hurt somewhat,’ I said.
‘Because of my hymen?’
I nodded, surprised she had even heard of it. Cathy smiled ruefully and shook her head. ‘I put a candle inside myself, two weeks ago. It hurt then, but the soreness has passed.’
‘Did Victoria suggest you do this?’
‘Yes. She said I would enjoy it more this way.’
‘What else did she tell you?’
‘A few things. She said it would be the most wonderful experience of my life. She said I should ask you...’
Her voice tailed off and her cheeks, already flushed as a result of my fingering, turned a deeper shade of pink.
‘Ask me what?’
Cathy bit her lip and looked away. I smiled, intrigued by this sudden shyness. My fingertip sought out her clitoris and I rubbed that sensitive nub for a full minute without speaking. She began to moan and her hips rocked insistently under that gentle assault.
‘A very wise lady once told me,’ I said, ‘we should always tell our partners what we desire. How else are we to get it, unless they are mind readers?’
Cathy answered me then, though I suspect my finger was more persuasive than my words. ‘She said... I should ask you to lick me... down there, where you are touching me now.’
The last few words came out in a rush. ‘Why, my dear girl,’ I said with a smile, ‘nothing would give me greater pleasure.’
But I felt uneasy even as I bent my head to do as she asked. A young woman’s first sexual experience should be better than this; more romantic than this. She should love her partner, or imagine she did. At the very least there should be desire and mutual attraction. There would only be one ‘first time’ for Catherine and it seemed to me she was squandering it on a man old enough to be her father, a man she would never feel affection for.
I should have told her this, but I didn’t. I should have stopped, but instead I serviced her diligently with my tongue till she began to sob and writhe beneath me. My reservations were soon forgotten, swept aside by my own lustful feelings. I couldn’t have stopped then even if my life depended on it.
October came, and with it the rain. We suffered a seemingly endless succession of grey, wet days, till the sun was but a distant memory. The paths and tracks became so muddy underfoot I was obliged to confine myself to our country roads for my daily constitutional. I was out one morning, cloaked and hatted against the elements, when I heard the sound of a coach coming up behind.
I stepped onto the verge to let it pass, when a cheery voice cried out from within. ‘Lovely day for a stroll, James, I have to say.’
The coach pulled up and a face I knew as well as my own poked out of the window. ‘Michael!’ I exclaimed. ‘How the devil did you get here so soon?’
‘And what a pleasure it is to see you too, old man,’ he said with a grin.
I realised I was being ill-mannered in the extreme, for he was here at my invitation and this was certainly no way to greet a guest. ‘Forgive me, Michael,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you till this evening.’
He opened the door and I climbed up into the coach. That’s when I had my second surprise, for he wasn’t alone. A rather serious-looking young woman sat across from him, wearing a grey cloak with the hood turned up. I was intrigued, for she didn’t have the look of a servant about her.
‘Sit down, there’s a good fellow,’ Michael said, ‘you’re dripping all over me. Shuffle up, Faith, and let Mr Montague have a seat.’
I doffed my hat to her as I sat down. Michael flicked drops of water off his trousers, then sat back and grinned at me once more. I waited, but no introduction was forthcoming. I glanced at the young woman, then turned to Michael enquiringly.
‘Faith is a relative of an acquaintance of mine,’ he said, which I didn’t find especially enlightening. ‘You don’t mind my bringing a companion along, James?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘Bring just as many relatives of acquaintances as you like, if they’re all as pretty as this young lady.’ I smiled gallantly as I spoke, but the young woman’s sober expression never flickered. She was pretty, in fact - delicately featured, with high cheekbones, large, melancholy brown eyes and the most sensual, kissable mouth imaginable. I was most curious as to whom she might be, but it seemed I would just have to wait for an explanation.
I had invited Michael here for a very specific reason. At the last Festival of Flogging and Fornication, back in the spring, Belinda had said that he liked to play painful games. Ropes, clips, candles and needles had been mentioned, intriguing me considerably. The idea of restraint and torment had always fascinated me, though I had never explored further, and in truth knew precious little about it.
Belinda’s casual remark had fanned the spark into a flame, encouraging me to delve deeper - and who better to ask than Michael, a fellow member of Spankers Seven? I therefore wrote to him offering him the hospitality of Bleekston Hall and suggesting he might want to bring a few of his ‘toys’ along. The arrangements had been made and I understood he would be arriving late in the evening.
‘Just how did you get here so quickly, Michael?’ I asked. ‘You must have journeyed overnight, surely?’
‘Nothing so uncivilised,’ he said. ‘When he learned I was heading this way, Humphrey suggested I spend a few days at Beckton Measby. We’ve been there since Tuesday. I hope we’re not causing you a problem, rolling up early like this?’
‘No problem at all,’ I assured him. ‘I’m delighted to see you, as always. I was a little taken aback to see you so soon, that’s all.’
The coach turned off the road and clattered through the arched gateway into the drive. A few minutes later we pulled up in front of the house and disembarked. As I helped Faith down I saw her wince as though in pain and she limped as we made our way up the broad steps to the front door. Michael seemed unconcerned, however, so I assumed her injury or affliction must be of little consequence.
Once inside, Alice took Michael’s cloak and my own wet things. Faith declined to remove her cloak, though she did push back the hood to reveal dark brown hair pinned up in a prim, rather severe style. I told Alice to send Willy to me without delay and she bobbed and scuttled off.
‘She’s an anxious little thing, isn’t she?’ Michael observed as he watched the maid’s retreating figure. ‘You must be thrashing the wench too much, James; or riding her too little.’
‘Probably both,’ I confessed. ‘You’ll be wanting adjacent rooms, I take it?’
‘One will be fine, thanks,’ he said. ‘Faith always shares a room with me. Not for the reason you think - or should I say not just for that. I need to keep an eye on her, to make sure she doesn’t bolt.’
That told me a good deal about his companion, in fact. Either she was a slave in the early stages of training, or Michael had taken her in hand for corrective purposes, as my grandfather did with Hetty and Peggy Bailey. Whichever it turned out to be, I would have to ensure someone kept a watchful eye on her at all times. If she did bolt - if she managed to escape whilst under my roof - I would never hear the last of it. Jasper lost a slave once and was baited mercilessly for years over the incident. His was a fate I was determined not to share.
When Willy appeared I told him to help the coachman unload the baggage and take everything up to the main guest bedroom.
‘There’s a particular trunk we should probably leave down here,’ Michael said, ‘and a bicycle, too.’
‘A bicycle?’ I said, bemused.
‘Quite so. My man Rawlings knows what needs to be where.’
I told Willy to take his instructions from the coachman and invited my guests through to the library. ‘I don’t know about you two,’ I said, ‘but I could do with a nice warming brandy.’
We sat in front of the fire, Michael and I, nursing our glasses. Faith, who had refused a drink, sat on the rug at our feet staring into the flames. Her cloak had ridden a little way up her legs and I was most surprised to see that her feet were bare. And that was not all - around her ankles were iron rings, slender enough to be worn continuously without chafing, yet strong enough, I judged, to be unbreakable without the use of tools.
‘It’s a while since I’ve seen any of those,’ I said, with a nod at the items in question.
‘I find them most useful, in fact,’ Michael said. ‘I chain her to the bed at night if there’s no lock on the door. Sometimes when we’re out and about I hobble her to prevent her bolting. She’s a slippery little thing, this one.’
‘She’s tried to run before?’
‘Twice. The second time she almost made it, too. You certainly came to regret that little escapade, didn’t you, my dear?’
Faith said nothing.
‘Perhaps she’s learned her lesson,’ I said. ‘She made no attempt to escape just now, did she?’
‘No, but there’s a good reason for that,’ Michael said. ‘Show Mr Montague your discouragers, Faith.’
Slowly and with obvious reluctance, the young woman drew up the hem of her cloak to expose slender, naked legs and shapely hips. Her unwillingness to remove her cloak was now explained, for she wore nothing beneath it apart from a wrapping around her hips somewhat resembling a loincloth.
Michael set down his glass and squatted beside her. From his pocket he took a light chain a little over two feet long. He threaded this through each of her ankle rings in turn and fastened the two ends with a small padlock. He then proceeded to remove her loincloth. This proved to be no more than a long, narrow strip of white linen, wrapped about her waist and down between her legs. As the final turns fell away the first thing I saw was her naked slit, for her groin had been shaved. I then observed that there was something inside her. Michael pushed her knees apart to afford me a better view and I realised there were, in fact, two objects, one in her vagina and one in her anus.
‘Discouragers,’ Michael said by way of explanation. ‘Otherwise known as chafer plugs.’
He took hold of the one in her vagina and drew it slowly from her. Faith stiffened and uttered a shrill cry, her pretty face twisted in sudden pain. Michael handed the object to me and I examined it with interest.
A sausage covered in short stiff bristles, was my first impression. Though overtly phallic it was not especially large - no more than an inch in diameter and four inches long. The base widened out into a flat disc perhaps two inches across, presumably intended to prevent the thing disappearing inside the wearer’s body. It was made of wood covered with a thin brown skin of some coarse, bristly material I could not readily identify. The bristles themselves were rough to the touch and I thought Michael’s alternative name for the thing - ‘chafer plug’ - described it perfectly.
‘Yes,’ I said thoughtfully, as I handed it back to him. ‘Now I see why she didn’t run.’
Michael smirked. ‘Painful enough walking with these inside you, I’m told, let alone running.’
He proceeded to rid Faith of the second plug, which was identical to its partner. He removed it slowly, twisting it round and around as he drew it from her, savouring the agonised expression on her face and her tormented gasps. ‘There now,’ he said, once it was out, ‘that’s a relief, isn’t it? We’ll keep them handy, though. I don’t doubt you’ll be wearing them again before too long.’
He carefully rolled up the chafer plugs in the linen strip. While he was so engaged Faith gave him a look of such hostility and resentment I was quite taken aback. I shook my head in wonder and she immediately became aware of my scrutiny and hurriedly dropped her gaze. That one look had spoken volumes, however, for I knew her spirit was far from broken and that a considerable amount of time and effort would yet be needed to bring her to heel. I also realised that Michael’s decision to restrain her at all times was most wise, and resolved to be extra vigilant myself in the matter of her security.
Michael put the linen roll in his jacket pocket and returned to his seat. ‘Perhaps we should have a chat, old man,’ he said. ‘Do you have a cellar, by any chance? Somewhere we could lock up this wayward young miss?’
‘There are cellars, certainly, but I’m not sure I’d know where to lay my hands on the keys. Why not put her in your room? That has a lock, so she’ll be quite secure.’
He seemed happy with the suggestion, especially when I explained that all the windows in Bleekston Hall were barred - one of the previous occupants had a morbid fear of intruders, apparently.
The three of us trooped upstairs. It was very slow going, as Faith’s ankle chain severely restricted her movements. The best she could manage on the flat was a sort of stiff-legged shuffle and each stair became a major obstacle in its own right. But we got there eventually and Michael locked her in and pocketed the key, whereupon the two of us returned to the library.
‘I must say, your invitation was most welcome,’ Michael said, once we’d recharged our glasses and settled ourselves. ‘Interesting, too - especially the part where you asked me to bring my toys. Since I’m damned sure we’ve never discussed that particular interest of mine, perhaps you’d care to explain how you found out about it?’
I shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Oh, someone mentioned it in passing. Can’t remember who, exactly. Why, is it supposed to be a secret?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I just don’t go out of my way to advertise it, that’s all, so I’m naturally curious as to who it was who blabbed. Since you seem reluctant to tell me, my guess would be Belinda.’
It was a timely reminder that Michael was no fool, and now I had to proceed with monumental caution. Our slaves were warned constantly of the dire consequences of telling tales out of school, and if Percy and the others believed Belinda had gossiped about Michael’s predilections they would subject her to a beating of unimaginable cruelty.
‘Belinda?’ I said innocently. ‘I did see her just a few weeks ago, as a matter of fact; but no, it was someone else who told me. It might have been Percy... or was it Jasper? Damned if I can remember.’
‘All right,’ he said with a knowing smile, ‘I’ll let it pass. So, you’re into bondage and discipline are you, James?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ I said. ‘I’ve always been interested, but I’ve never pursued it till now. I was hoping you could give me some practical tips, to tell you the truth.’
‘My pleasure. Do you have someone in mind, or is poor little Faith to be our victim?’
‘Oh no, I have someone - more than one, in fact. Actually, I have nine.’
‘Nine?’ he said. ‘Good God, James, you have no idea how happy you’ve just made me. Nine, indeed! Servants, I take it?’
‘Some, but not all. One governess, one cook, four maids and my three wards, to be precise.’
‘Your wards?’ he said, rather doubtfully. ‘Are you sure? This game can be a little... robust, shall we say. By that I mean painful and thoroughly degrading.’
‘Ah,’ I said with a smile, ‘now you’re making me happy!’