Barefoot and once again alone, Olivia set off. At least the weather was a little kinder than the previous day. When one is brought so low and can go no lower, care goes out the window. As Olivia walked along the wet verges on the side of the road, where the grass was kinder on her feet, she was past caring what people thought of her. The only thought was to keep going and reach Ottery as soon as possible. The drivers of the occasional waggon or cart that happened to rumble by never so much as gave her a glance; perhaps beggars and female vagrants clothed in old sacking were a common sight in this part of the country. She did eventually manage to hitch a lift on a passing van. The driver didn't utter a word, but kept his eyes on the nag, lazily flicking his whip now and then.
It was after midday when she was dumped at a crossroads. There was only one dwelling in sight, a lonely cottage standing in the middle of a field. On a line in the garden the morning's wash fluttered in the breeze. The instincts of self-preservation rose to the fore. Vagrants lived on their wits, and so must she. It wasn't difficult reaching the cottage unseen. All she had to do was whip the clothes off the line and run. She was almost giggling with relief as the pegs flew hither and thither. The calico dress spotted with daisies was a little small, but the drawers would fit. She carried them to a shed and quickly stripped off. Deciding she wouldn't need the knife any longer she left it on the workbench.
Although the back door to the cottage was open, she sensed it was deserted. Perhaps the occupants were at work in the fields. Her raging hunger suddenly demanded attention. She would not take anything of value, just a loaf from the kitchen and a handful of apples.
Feeling much more civilised in her stolen clothes and cheered by her armful of bread and fruit, she stepped from the kitchen into the sunshine.
'Afternoon.'
Olivia froze in the doorway. 'Oh... good afternoon,' she replied stupidly.
As the man slowly advanced Olivia slowly retreated until her bottom bumped softly against the kitchen table. The apples fell from her cradled arms and bounced across the floor. She blushed and placed the loaf on the scrubbed worktop she leant against. 'Look, I can explain...'
What was there to explain? That she had just stolen the morning's wash, had dressed herself in someone else's clothes, and had robbed the kitchen?
In the awful silence that followed the cottager went to the sink and washed the mud from his hands.
What was he? A farmhand, perhaps?
The powerful chest that bared itself from under his open shirt was swarthy and tanned. The sweat that rose from his body had an earthy smell about it. He didn't seem particularly disturbed at finding an attractive young woman in his kitchen, neither was his voice harsh when he told her to take off the clothes and put them back where she'd found them.
'Of course, sir.' Olivia felt extremely humble. 'Would you mind if I put my sacking back on? I have nothing else to wear.'
But when they got to the shed the sacking wasn't where she had left it. Only the string she'd used to keep it about her was still there.
'Pick it up,' the man told her with the same melodious drawl.
Naked, now that the clothes were folded neatly where her knife had been, Olivia bent low and picked up the string. She obediently padded in front of him down the garden path, like a docile beast driven to market, the string in hand.
'Put your arms around that post,' he told her.
Olivia could have probably outrun him if she chose to flee. He might be fit and strong, but she was a little taller and lithe as a gazelle. She could run like the wind when she had to. But where would she go? Back to the inn, or to the ruined castle she saw on the side of the hill? It was closer now and she could make out windows in one of the towers and what she assumed was the gatehouse. She'd look a fine sight, running stark naked across the countryside towards an old ruin.
'I think you're going to beat me,' she volunteered, pressing her body against the post that held the washing line and putting her arms around it.
'I could call the constable.'
Why was it that whenever she found herself in difficulties people always threatened her with magistrates, constables and prisons? So far, no one in this inhospitable landscape had offered any alternative. The world, she decided, was a harsh place, peopled with uncaring souls whose only ambition was to chastise her at the first available opportunity.
'There. That'll do.'
He smiled the sort of smile he'd probably give if he'd just sold a beast at enormous profit, one that was likely to drop dead the very next day. He'd made a good job of tying her hands; if she as much as moved an inch the string would cut into her flesh. The sun was well up and for an autumn day was quite strong, warming her back and bottom. Her feet rested on soft damp earth, and the man seemed to be going out of his way to make her comfortable when he lifted them by the ankles, one at a time, and removed his shirt and put it beneath them.
'You're a lady,' he observed rather astutely. 'An' I always treats a lady right.'
'Oh, thank you,' she replied, taken aback by the admission.
He left her tied to the post and went back into the cottage. She could hear a cupboard door opening and the sounds of rummaging within. He was whistling happily to himself as he went about whatever he was doing. Maybe she wasn't going to be beaten after all. Perhaps he was going to do nothing more harmful than leave her there for a few hours to ponder her misdoing. It certainly made a change. He was gone a long time - long enough for a cart to appear on the horizon, travel along the road and go past her.
'Lovely afternoon,' the driver called cheerily and waved his whip.
'Lovely,' Olivia called back absently.
After he had passed it occurred to her that perhaps the man in the cottage often served his wife in the same way, and it was therefore no surprise to find a naked woman bound to a post in the garden.
The man came out of his cottage and down the garden path. 'Sorry to keep you,' he apologised most civilly. 'Couldn't find what I were lookin' for.' But without further ado what he had found slashed into her buttocks with the fury of a maniac.
'What are you using on me?!' she shrieked in alarm.
The belt was a broad strip of leather, about three feet long and four inches wide. The brass buckle at the end could have fitted over both her palms. He held it up for her to look at. Olivia gulped. 'It's a harness,' he told her, evidently proud of its highly polished sheen.
'A thing like that will kill me,' she faltered.
He went behind her, gathering the harness for a fresh strike. There was no malice in his eyes or curling of his lip. He was going about it matter-of-factly, as if he did it every day of his life.
'A woman,' he told her, 'is like a walnut tree. The more you whip 'em, the better they be.'
Olivia had heard of that; walnut trees being whipped at their trunks to make the sap rise. She couldn't quite see the logic of that comparison. What on earth did he hope to rise in her?
'I'll give you twelve,' he said. 'Then you be 'bout ready.'
Olivia's jaw dropped in dismay. 'Ready for what?'
'You know.'
She didn't know - not a clue. And neither did she much care at that moment. It was impossible to contemplate anything except the belt whistling into her bottom like lightning. In the stillness of the warm afternoon the sound it made seemed particularly emphatic; a deep hissing which terminated abruptly with a dull thump, followed by a piercing shriek. Olivia twisted and turned and writhed to escape the scorching lashes. All she could manage was to slowly work her way around the post, one foot at a time, but to no avail; he merely sidestepped her, keeping pace with her movements. Gradually it dawned on her that there was a purpose to his whipping. The more her hips gyrated the greater the lashes. She became more and more aware of the splendid spectacle her naked and squirming body presented. Every time he sent the belt slashing into her bottom, her whole body broke into a dance of agony. She hugged the post in pain, snaking her hips and breasts against it. The wood, although fairly smooth, had excited her nipples as they rubbed to and fro. To anyone who happened to pass it looked as if she were mad or demented. Neither did her moans and pants help matters. Her face was flushed from the exertion of trying to escape the lashes that now landed on her thighs. He hit from left to right, alternating each stroke to coincide with the swing of her hips. It was no steady sway but an abrupt, burning jolt, which drew attention to the splendid contours of her bottom and back. A Turkish odalisque would have been hard pressed to match the twisting of her spine and the undulation of her shoulders.
He was a virile male of flesh and blood, and it was no surprise that the sight of her contortions had given him an enormous erection. He came up behind Olivia and she felt his gnarled stem rubbing and throbbing into her bottom cleft.
'There,' he panted, slightly breathless from his own exertions. 'I told you a woman was better for a good whippin'.'
Olivia did not feel better. She was close to exhaustion. Near to collapse she sagged against the post, her head to one side, scarlet and flushed.
'I don't know what you mean,' she sobbed. 'How can I feel better after being whipped with that thing, and my body aching all over?'
'I didn't mean you.'
A baffled expression crossed her face. 'Well, what can you mean?'
To demonstrate his meaning he slapped her left thigh where the welts were thickest; where the pain was most acute. Her hip jerked away from his hand and he instantly slapped the other thigh.
'There, see now?'
Olivia still hadn't caught on.
He slapped her bottom with the flat of his hand, making her hug the post all the more. Her groin twisted against it and she groaned. That encouraged another harder slap. The groans grew louder and longer. The wood now grazed her breasts and nipples, but she was oblivious to the growing soreness there.
'I could slap yer arse all day long,' he gasped close to.
Olivia strained to look over her shoulder, and through moistened eyes saw him stand back to admire his handiwork with undiluted lust etched on his weathered face. At that moment, as if someone had just whispered in her ear, the answer came; she suddenly understood the meaning of his words. She had been whipped not so much as a punishment, but more for the spectacle she had presented as she writhed and twisted at the post. It must have been highly erotic; watching her every contortion of hips, thighs and back. No wonder his erection reared up at her from his open breeches. A bizarre measure of pride rose within that her body was so beautiful, and could so readily excite such a massive erection. She wondered what he now planned to do with it.
'What are your intentions, sir?' she asked with meek respect.
'Why,' he grunted, 'what would you have me do?'
'I would rather you do nothing more. I would rather be on my way if you don't mind, so please untie me.'
The man looked at the sky and thoughtfully stroked his chin. The sun was already descending towards the horizon, and the shadow of the post was slowly lengthening.
'It'll be dark afore you reach anywhere,' he advised. 'You can't travel at night. Too dangerous with all these beggars 'bout.'
'I am grateful for your concern, but if you hadn't delayed me in the first place I wouldn't have to worry about that.'
'If you hadn't bin stealin', I wouldn't 'ave delayed you.'
Olivia couldn't really argue with that observation.
'Well, what am I to do?' she asked.
'You can stay 'ere the night, where I can keep an eye on you.'
'What about your wife? What'll she have to say about that?'
He didn't answer.
Olivia felt a wave of relief wash over her; perhaps the wife had gone away somewhere for a few days, and with luck she would now get a hot bath and a meal. There was no reason why she should not. She had been punished and had satisfied his curious penchant for watching her writhings. The erection had not subsided, and she knew she may have to show her gratitude for a hot meal, a bath, and a good night's rest. But it would be worth it.
'Well, thank you kindly, sir. I don't mind sleeping on the floor.' She thought it best not to appear too forward.
'Eh?'
'If you haven't got a spare bed, I don't mind the floor,' she repeated, tugging at the string.
He scratched his head a little stupidly and gave her a queer look. 'How can you sleep on the floor tied like that?'
'Well, of course I have to be untied first,' she said, struggling to keep her patience.
He still scratched his head, trying to fathom her meaning. His boot kicked at the damp earth. 'You'll catch cold down there,' he remarked. 'But it's up to you.'
Olivia looked at the garden, then at him, and finally at the post. 'You mean, I'm supposed to stay here all night, tied up like this?'
'Safer than walkin' the countryside in dark.'
'But - but what if someone should come?'
'They won't see yer from road - not in the dark.'
His logic infuriated her. 'What if I were to sleep in your cottage, wouldn't that be better than leaving me here all night?'
'Don't trust yer,' he said flatly.
'But - I'm really very harmless!' Olivia was getting somewhat desperate at the thought of staying outside all night.
Quite unexpectedly he untied her wrists and made her kneel in the dirt. His organ hovered in front of her eyes. 'Okay little missy, show me why I should trust yer.'
'How should I show you? Want do you want of me?' Olivia knew exactly what he wanted of her, but guessed a little coyness would help dissipate his suspicions toward her.
He remained silent, looking down at her. Her tired limbs and empty stomach implored her to do as he wanted. Without another word she reached for him, closed her mouth over his organ, and started to suck - careful not to graze him or give the slightest excuse to keep her tied up in the garden all night. He gripped the post with both large hands and leant over her. His thighs agitated her sore breasts. Her tongue furled around the plum and she swallowed the length to the back of her throat. She began to wonder if his body was as senseless as his head seemed to be, for no matter how hard she worked or whatever little tricks she used, he was clearly no nearer reaching his climax after she'd been on her knees for a good ten minutes. Her jaw ached and her knees ached. She was at the point of asking why she obviously wasn't pleasing him, when he suddenly groaned like an ox and filled her surprised mouth with one pulse of his mighty weapon. Olivia squealed at the amount she was having to swallow, but soon his wet organ slipped from her lips and he stood panting with his forehead against the post. He stood like that for some minutes. Olivia wondered if he was all right, or whether such a generous ejaculation had drained him of his strength. Such a display of virility she had never before witnessed - or enjoyed.
'You'll do,' he eventually mumbled, and helped her to her feet.
'Do you treat your wife like this?' she ventured to ask as he stooped to pick up his shirt. 'Tying her up and whipping her?'
'Never married,' he grunted.
'Then whose clothes—?'
'None of your business!' he snapped, slapping her face. Olivia reeled from the sudden and harsh blow. That was another thing she was getting just a little sick of - people using her as a punch-bag. 'What was that for?' she wailed, rubbing her burning cheek.
'Don't ask questions! Not if you want to stay here the night!'