No photos in this chapter yet. This is my pet project, it will be illustrated, a lot of photos are already taken. But be patient, for now, I am just adding my writing.
Although the walk was humiliating, Charlott felt excited by it, to be seen naked, walking down these rich corridors not knowing who would be around the corner was in a strange way, liberating. Her bottom hurt, at every step it felt as though someone was holding hot coals very close and she dare not stop.
Samantha too had a similar feeling, she felt aroused by the humiliation of being seen naked. She imagined herself spanking Charlotte at every step, and people enjoying seeing her do so. She held back and slowly allowed herself to walk behind her friend, her bottom swayed in such an erotic way. One corridor in particular was narrow, she walked up closer to Charlotte and cupped a cheek of her bottom in her hand, gently, it felt hot. It was an amazing feeling, the tips of her fingers were in the crease where the bottom meets the back of the thigh, every step on that side made it feel as if her fingers were being bitten by some big soft lips.
Charlotte let out little moans as her delicious crease nibbled her ever more dear friend’s fingers.
Eventually they reached the kitchen and walked in.
Miss Blunkett, the housekeeper who doubled as a cook, turned towards them. ‘You two stupid young girls, have you any idea what you have done?’ They looked at each other and then towards the assembled little audience of two parlour maids and a footman.
‘So you think you can just come and collect your clothes and carry on as normal do you? Cavorting around the house as if you own it? Have you any idea how badly this reflects on me? And the others too?’ She pointed to them. ‘Hmmm? No! I thought not!’ Her face was red, the vein on her left temple was visibly throbbing.
Once again the girls looked towards each other, they knew what was coming. Their punishment was far from over it seemed.
The nearest girl to Miss Blunkett, Samantha, was dragged unceremoniously over the housekeeper’s big soft lap where a heavy, long, hand spanking over the already flaming red cheeks ensued. Her bottom was towards the gathered group of staff, her face stared at a white washed wall. She yelled and kicked but could not escape, towards the end every slap was excruciatingly painful and sank deep into the existing pain, bringing it back two fold. Eventually it ceased, and she was made to stand with her hands on her head facing the small group who stared back at her. There was little sympathy.
Charlottee was over the ample lap next. The public humiliation she had yearned for only minutes before was suddenly being granted in the most humiliating way possible. Naked, before the people you had to share every day with, being spanked, hard. And humiliate herself she did! She kicked squealed and begged forgiveness all the way through.
She too was made to stand by her friend, hands on her head and head up, not hung in shame. They were told to let other servants see their shame, by bending over, hands to the wall, legs apart…wide apart and straight, on tip toes.
Eventually the afternoons work was done, they could see that their actions had affected everyone. They were all extra busy because of two silly, naughty, naked girls. The glances became more and more resentful. They were well and truly in disgrace.
The two girls were eventually told to get dressed. It was so good to be able to bring their arms down, come off tip toes, bend their legs, and at last, rub their very sore bottoms. Miss Blunkett sat by their side on a high back wooden chair. ‘Come here.’ She said in a voice more like her usual soothing tone.
They walked to her and stood before her, fully dressed in their white pinafore dresses, over pale brown smocks and white mop caps. ‘I had to do that, she told me to show no mercy. Apart from that you deserved it, but not as bad as what she gave yout. Listen…’ She beckoned them close.
The two girls bent painfully towards her.
‘Be careful. She is evil. Why do you think we need so many replacement girls here, do you think all the others have gone off to some wonderful future? Let me tell you they have not. Most have left broken, both mentally and physically, a few have simply vanished. I have it on good authority that more than one now reside in asylums. Lady Jacqueline is not the person that she projects to the world. She is untouchable almost. Her husband is a respected surgeon in London you know, she is respected with him in high society. On her own she can be sadistic, believe me, I have seen the stitched wounds. But together, him and her, they can be cruel beyond belief. You have made an enemy today, she will not rest until you two are broken and dismissed. Do everything perfect from now on, try not to make a single mistake, that’s the only advice I can give. But my dears, I gave the same advice to the last two, and the two before.‘ She sat back, clutched her apron to her face and cried.
The two girls began to shake as they too joined her in tears.
The Housekeeper finished off with one last thing, maybe a hint at what to do, or a warning, they were never quite sure. ‘Remember Fae, that high spirited one who got into more trouble than anyone else at the mill? Remember how you all were shocked at how she was picked to work here? How lucky you thought her? Well listen hard; they brought her here to break her, and they almost did. But one night she got free and ran, ran for her life! I mean literally, she ran for her life. The day before she ran, she told me she had been in the black cellar. She said she had seen things there which made her blood run cold. As far as I know she is the only runaway to make it. Three others tried, and all were found. They are the ones who have vanished. Listen to this and do what you think best, now be off with you!’
The girls went to their room at the top of the house. They lay on their beds in turn as the other gently rubbed some white oily mixture which Miss Blunkett had given them, into each other’s bottom. It was dark and candles flickered their caressing shadows on to their white spartan wall.
As they lay there letting the soothing oily ointment soak into their bruised buttocks, they reflected on the day’s events. Their concentration was broken by the sound of carriage wheels on gravel, and horses hooves. They looked out of the window to view the circular raised garden and carriage turning drive which ran around it, their Master was back.
He was an enigma, hardly ever at home, and when he was, their paths didn’t cross. This was their only view of him as a rule.
… near where I live is Welbeck Manor, a beautiful country house. The fifth Duke who lived there was an enigma, he lived underground, beneath it, where he had ballrooms, libraries etc. He went upstairs at night. He spent a lot of time in London, people at the time thought he might be Jack the Ripper. He never let common people see him, even his carriage was windowless, just small holes to peer out of. He had his own railway station! From it led a driveway, to the tunnels. Fabulous tunnels, big enough for carriages to ride down, lit by gas, not lamps, huge jets of gas flame, straight from pipes sticking out the wall. Imagine them! Flickering away, lighting up the tunnels. Did you see the BBC production of Macbeth? They filmed some of it down there. He had a trap door in his bedroom, where dressed in his black cape, like Dracula he could run, to one of many secret trapdoors, to jump out and surprise maids and workers.
I have been exploring a few times. I talked to a wonderful (rather sexy!) young woman who showed me a tunnel. I told her what I was writing, and she said…”spanking? Oh yes, there was a lot of that here.” But annoyingly, refused, point blank, to enlighten me. It made my imagination go wild, what was behind all the old dungeon like doors? Alas, I will never know, BUT..
I can imagine it….here, in this story. The local around here had, and still have, a name for the mad Duke, it is straight out of some Gothic Horror, they called him…THE PRINCE OF SILENCE…
If you want to know more of him, google it, see where I have been walking, and exploring.
Two black sweating horses stomped, slid and whinnied to a stop at the command of the driver who quickly jumped down, to place a chock either side of the wheel nearest to him and open two wide, stout oak doors. A set of steps two treads high was placed by the highly polished door and he opened it for the master to alight. He was smartly dressed in a dark suit with a rich red waistcoat, a white shirt and a paisley pattern neck tie with a stud. This caught the light of the horse lamp and glistened as he stepped down. After placing the top hat on his thinning black and grey hair he took his usual brown leather doctor’s bag off the seat.
Unusually his wife came to greet him, they had a quick excited conversation, and chillingly they both turned to look up at the two horrified girls, who both jumped back from the curtain. Together they climbed back in, and the carriage disappeared into the tunnels.
They clutched each other and stood in silence, dreading the sound of steps on the stairs. Or even worse, a creaking behind the walls, the rumours of secret passages seemed very real tonight. The wind outside grew, the window rattled, but thankfully no creaking stair was heard, no muffled sound from a tunnel or passageway either and eventually they sat side by side on Charlotte’s bed.
It was Charlotte who spoke first. ‘I’m scared Samantha, cuddle me.’
Samantha gently held her terrified friend, and that was the moment when love rose to the surface of their friendship like a bubble, to pop and cover them both, for the rest of their lives. She looked down into the eyes of Charlotte and told her. ‘I love you.’
The gentle moment allayed their fears as Charlotte whispered back. ‘I love you too, I couldn’t survive here without you, oh! I need you so much.’
In Victorian times there was a word used to describe the love of two young women, usually used at a finishing school or similar. It was a word which described the act of exchanging trinkets like locks of hair, and other things like love notes, to be collected by the recipient and saved in a trinket box. The word was ‘smashing’.
When the gifts of poems and suchlike had attained their goal, they were said to be ‘smashed’.
That is what they called women who dressed as men on the London stages ‘mashers’, and women like ‘Gentleman Jack’ called their girls, ‘their masher’.
These two poor young women did not have the luxury of being at a finishing school with the means to do such things, they hardly had nothing to call their own. They were quite literally just one step away from the poorhouse.
But from this day on they were rich beyond their wildest dreams, in their love. It was a love which ran deep and solid with the foundation of fear, shared hope, and hard times. They were smashed!
One thing they did have, was a little piece of card each with the name and address of the photographer which had been given to them by Victoria. Samantha bent down to lift the floorboard and reached in to take them out. Both kneeled to look in as she did, and their only belongings stared back, two dried old daisy chains, and two matching stones in the rough shape of hearts, found one beautiful summers Sunday only a few week ago, when they had both almost confided their love.
As they were looking at their treasures, so too was Jacqueline. She had climbed from a tunnel, with him, and was stood by her chest of drawers, near the fire in the bedroom. She had just finished telling her ‘Prince’ of the beating, and the second one she had instructed Miss Blunkett to give. She pulled out the top drawer, and looked at the array of canes and floggers. She pulled out the second to look at the straps and tawses. The third had restraints. She was naked, apart from the favourite black masquerade mask she liked to wear, her ripe body reflecting the fire. She slid to all fours and crawled to her Master and asked him to beat her.
He went back to drawer one and took a long yellow flexible rattan cane from Germany. He swished it, and the terrible sound made her flinch. She bent over the same lion stool as the girls and took twelve light strokes on her upturned cheeks. She could not take anything firmer, the collection was for them to use on their prey. Her bottom had twelve very light pink lines. Her master stood behind her, undid his breeches, took out his manhood and fucked her hard.
She turned to kiss him and saw the splattered blood on his shirt. ‘Oh God, is that from a patient?’
‘Sort of, my love, yes sort of.’ He replied coldly. He closed his eyes and thoughts of the open wound, filled his mind again.
Jacqueline went to bed, and quickly fell to sleep. The master of the house went to his tunnels, and walked to his study to drink whiskey. He sat at his desk and dipped a quill into a small pot of ink. Taking a piece of thick bleached paper he wrote his wife’s name. ‘Jacqueline’. He shortened it to another and wrote ‘Jackie’. Then he laughed, he had found the name he had been looking for, the one to taunt a particular adversary of his. He wrote the name… Jack.
He wrote it ten times in slightly different styles, none were satisfactory, they looked too educated. He took the quill in his left hand and dipped it in again, this time it looked right, almost illegible. He sat down and wrote a sickening sinister note, and signed it.
Upstairs the bedroom of the two girls found them talking about domination and submission. Charlotte finished the discussion by saying this. ‘A true dominant woman shows respect to her submissive. All I could see in her eyes as she beat you was sickening, frightening sadism. It’s time to go, let’s run, let’s run now. I fear there is nothing but misery and death for us here.’
They climbed onto the flat roof of the grand old hall, it’s gothic towers standing tall before the moon. Wearing their grey woollen coats over their two sets of clothes. Everything they owned was on them. It was a dry night but cold. They crept to the end of what looked like battlements and carefully climbed down onto another roof. They could see the mill staring gloomily towards them. Everything looked sinister, and forbidding. A tree grew close to a corner and they used it to get to ground level.
They fled, as fast as their legs could carry them, through the park land, and on to the main road
The three Mistresses, took turns to redden the bottom of their new pet, Lucy. They made her take up the diaper position.
They wanted to humiliate their girl, and with her nearly naked, they hoisted her up to put her hairy pussy on show. “Oh look at all her hairs!” Said Charlotte. “Look at her pussy everyone! Maybe we ought to make her display her pussy at the window!” Added Kate.
“But first, let me spank her bare bottom! Present her girls!” Said Samantha.
And so she did…hard!
Samantha sat back and admired their pet’s red bottom. “Right! Who is next?” ….you will find out in part 3
Deborah is Charlotte’s real Mummy. They both love spanking, Deborah to give, Charlotte to receive. They both have agreed to keep a Strict Mummy and naughty daughter relationship. Out of this they both live the normal lives we all lead, but it is a deep rooted need in them both, if Charlotte is naughty she gets spanked. On the spot, for serious offences, but as a rule, Mummy runs a merit / de-merit system. These acts, no matter where or when, are reported to Mummy by everyone who knows Charlotte, me included.
Each good act deserving praise gets a +ve mark, any misdemeanour gets the opposite, a -ve mark. Each Friday at 8 o’clock, Charlotte goes to her Mummy’s house, just up the road, to find her fate. Waiting by the door, without fail, is a folded piece of paper, with the result of her actions.
Sometimes it is just a spanking, at other times an implement. Sometimes on jeans, sometimes a raised skirt, sometimes with knickers, sometimes without.
I am privilidged to be allowed to watch, up in their private punishment room, and record it for you…
She’s lovely is Deborah. This is no act remember, this is the real deal. This is a strict mummy, waiting for her naughty daughter.
In she comes, to pass over the piece of paper and receive her sentence.
Bad news, she has been a cheeky naughty girl all week and it’s time to pay!
It starts on her jeans, I rather like to see a girl get spanked on her jeans, tight across their bottom.
Look at the enjoyment on Charlotte’s face! And Mummy’s! Yes it is a punishment and will get more serious. But for now, they are both exactly where they want to be, doing exactly what they want to do. All the tensions of life, of the week, are getting a glorious release.
The real names of Samantha and Charlotte are not a distant memory, but a secret from everyone, a reminder of circumstance that they do not want to share. A time that is lost to them, and they wish it to remain so.
Their ‘birth’ into their names happened thus…
From an orphanage in London the two girls along with many others in the wagon made of steel which looked like a Black Maria arrived at Abbey Mill on a cold November evening. The day’s work for the millworkers had just finished and the sound of clogs rattled through the air, and their inquisitive minds. They had heard the sound of a steam whistle as they approached, just as the horses walked steadily through the mill gates, they now knew what it signified. The end of a shift.
‘Get off, and hurry up about it.’ Instructed the stout man, wearing a green waistcoat over a frilled white shirt, under a tan leather long coat.
And that was it, their old life behind them and their next, which would take them up to the age of eighteen, began with a jolt. They had sat opposite to each other all the way and a silent bond of fear had grown between them. A bond which would grow stronger, and one day discover love.
Two girls sat near the door were taken first, and ushered into a reception room, where they were given names beginning with A and B, dressed in rough grey woollen dresses, their hair, and teeth were examined. So too was their body, for lice. If any were found they would be hosed naked in the yard, and then disinfected.
Nobody walking by made comment, nearly all of them looked with sympathy, after all, everyone here had gone through the same shocking introduction to Abbey Mill.
It was now the turn of the tall blonde third girl, who looked forlornly at her new friend opposite as she was pulled roughly from the cold carriage. She was given the name Charlotte, the next one was given the name Deborah.
The nineteenth and twentieth girl, ‘S’ and ‘T’ alighted. Samantha and Tomassetta were born.
The years that followed were harsh, but they survived quite adequately by hard work and dedicated servitude. They were educated and fed, with Sundays off, church in the morning, and time to themselves in the afternoons. Life in the summer months, were bearable. Some Sunday afternoons in particular were remembered with fondness. But the winters were hard, cold and bleak. A few weaker letters of the alphabet didn’t make it through the first winter, but as time went by, the remaining twelve out of their batch made it to eighteen.
They had signed papers on their tired day of arrival which had made them property of the mill. They would have signed anything to get a meal and a bed. On their eighteenth birthday they had a choice, sign up for more or leave. On a few occasions some were offered better jobs, possibly in the Master’s house, the laundry or even the offices.
Victoria, an older girl was a great influence on them but on her eighteenth birthday she had told the master that she needed him and the mill no longer and walked out as ‘bold as brass’. They missed her, but they were soon to find, that she did not vanish from their lives completely.
On their Sundays off, the millworkers could receive visitors, so long as they had not picked up any disciplinary points. Rules were adhered to rigidly.
It was one such Sunday; six months after she had left, and two weeks before their shared birthday, (the anniversary of their arrival) that Victoria had managed to get to see them. They took a walk by the river, and on to the mere. Victoria brought fresh fruit and beef sandwiches, a banquet!
She looked beautiful and well dressed. How had she managed to become so grand?
To keep this interesting, but separate long story short, she told them how she had met a photographer whilst she had worked in a hostelry. One thing led to another and she was now a nude model, working for five photographers who paid her handsomely for her favours.
Especially one, who liked to take photographs of her being spanked!
The girls giggled excitedly at this, and Victoria told them all about her saucy, naughty adventures. She said she had told that photographer, a Mr Barlow, that she knew of two girls who would be perfect, the pair of them together especially so! Because in her opinion they were beautiful. She asked them to think about it seriously, and gave them a business letterhead, and telling them to hide it in a safe place. They would not be allowed another visitor for three more months; she would come back for their answer then. She urged them to consider it favourably, with their looks, youth and figures, they could make money. If they were willing to be spanked, they could make a lot of money, and if they would take the cane, on camera, they might even become independent young ladies.
They lay in bed that night whispering until the early hours of Monday morning. The spanking idea appealed to them both, more than either, at that time, let on to the other, and in different ways too. Their hands slipped to each other’s pussies and they reached a shared stifled orgasm in their double dormitory bed.
Their hard work, pleasing manner and all round good disposition had not gone unnoticed. Much to the jealousy of other girls they were offered housemaid trials at the ‘big house’. This was seen as a privilege and a reward.
Work was hard and long, but nowhere near as bad as the mill work. They generally looked after clothes, polishing, dusting, serving at the table and general tidying up. Along with any other duty which seemed fit at the time, and deemed appropriate by their Mistress. In other words, they could pretty much expect to do anything, from emptying a bed pan to polishing fine silver or cut glass.
They saw a lot of each other which made them happy, and although some days were spent apart on different duties they always end up in bed together at the top of the house in a bleak little room with ill fitting windows.
Samantha was the bolder of the two, and a month after saying yes to the three month trial at the Master’s House, temptation got the better of her. Their Mistress was out, in the local town, stocking up essential supplies and seeing her friends at the local tea rooms. Their Master was out at a medical call. Although a respected land and mill owner, his name was known in London as an eminent Doctor and Surgeon.
Charlotte had never been upstairs, but Samantha had when on her separate duties. She shouldn’t have, but on two previous occasions she had explored rooms she was not allowed in, and had described the bed chamber of her Mistress to the entranced eyes of Charlotte.
Miss Blunkett the housekeeper was always busy, so were the few servants, but occasionally the two girls actually got top side of their jobs and had time to chat, especially if both the Master and Mistress were out of the house.
The house was empty, other than the downstairs cooking staff. They had a rare day without the supervision of their Mistress. Miss Blunkett entrusted them to polish silver and was busy with her own tasks, what better chance would they ever have to investigate together? They left the silver after a quick rub of the cloth, and hand in hand crept up the grand curved staircase.
Their Mistress was probably thirty five to forty years old, a slim quite attractive woman. She had excellent taste and the two girls loved her dresses and finery. Forest green hat and coat, with tan leather gloves and boots were a sort of trade mark, although she had a few similar outfits. She had forest green dresses, as well as reds, pinks, and many pastel shades. As they walked in to her bedroom they could see dresses in abundance, jewels in pretty boxes, lace, ribbons, bodices, and undergarments. Temptation was irresistible, within half an hour both were dressed like ladies and were dancing and laughing.
Unbeknown to them, the tea meeting had been cancelled at the last moment due to a circulating illness affecting three of their Mistress’s friends. She loved her monthly meetings at the ‘place to be seen’. She was mightily peeved at the irritating situation, it was a hot afternoon and she was going to rush straight upstairs and slip into something cool. Then order a light afternoon lemon tea with cucumber sandwiches, and go and read in the garden, sat in the shade of the trellis .
The Mistress walked briskly through the grand entrance hall and straight up the stairs; on reaching the landing she could hear laughter and gaiety. She trod lightly to the doorway of her bedroom and stood looking through the doorway in disbelief.
She coughed, and stood still, her face stern and set in a severe frown.
The two girls froze on the spot, looked at each other and turned towards the doorway.
Their Mistress took slow strides towards them; she turned to see that obviously many dresses had been tried on, and discarded quite shamefully on the floor.
The girls faces turned ashen, they knew they had done wrong, they knew that they were where they should not be. They had been caught red handed. They could not speak, no excuse was possible. Whatever punishment was decreed they would have to take, they had no defence whatsoever.
At the bottom of the four poster bed stood a magnificent seat, in purple studded velvet, with four gilded lions, one at each corner. Opposite was a dressing table of equal splendour. Resting on it were two candlesticks, an oak backed hair brush and matching mirror.
The lady of the house glided towards the dressing table, her beautiful green and cream dress with bustle rustled as she walked. She picked up the hairbrush, turned to the girls and spoke in soft clear instruction as she patted it against the palm of her hand. ‘Take off all your clothes, I mean every stitch. Stand each side of the lion stool and bend over with your hands resting on the velvet. You are not going to forget this afternoon for a very long time.’
Trembling, the two girls did as they were told too. They had no choice. In the society they lived in they had to submit to both Master and Mistress.
Their faces were only about a foot away from each other as they stooped naked.
‘On your toes both of you! And stay that way. I am going to beat your bottoms severely; I want them pushed up to meet every painful slap of this heavy brush’.
Tearful eyes were locked on each other as they both lifted another two inches.
Mistress walked to Charlotte first. The cold oak back of the brush caressed her cheeks, then smack, spank, whack, crack, smack! The blows came hard and fast, with absolutely no mercy.
Charlotte looked into her friends eyes for comfort and found it. But her own thoughts surprised her… ‘Oh the pain! It burns through my rump with every stroke, it burns like a fire, oh! It hurts so much. I need to escape from it, I need to rub and beg her to stop, but I know I mustn’t. Yet what is this feeling in my crotch, this tingling, and this wetness. Oh stop, please stop…no don’t, don’t stop. Oh every burning hard smack feels like my bottom is being cut deep, the heat, the burning, oh my God when will it end! I don’t want it to end. The heat has come through to my tummy, the pain is magnificent, the submission is delicious, oh my goodness, my pussy is throbbing, and I desperately need to rub my cunt. Oh my bottom, no more please, please no more, oh just a few more, oh god yes, yes!’
The thrashing ended, her mistress walked to Samantha, who was looking deep into Charlotte’s eyes, with longing, and hunger.
Samantha then looked into her friends eyes for comfort as she had done hers, and also found it. The cool oak back of the brush stroked her cheeks and it began. Smack, crack, spank, whack, spank. The blows came hard and fast once more, again with no mercy.
Keeping her lustful eyes fixed on her friends equally lustful returned gaze, she took her punishment well, but her thoughts surprised her… ‘I wish I was doing this to someone, Oh the pain, to inflict such pain on an upturned delightful rump must be amazing. Oh it burns so much, yet is seeps into my soul, it is reaching my pussy. I wish I was thrashing Charlotte’s fine bottom. Oh God this hurts, no more please, please, but maybe a little, oh I am so glad I know how it feels. I want to cause a feeling like this. I wish people were watching, I wish we were at Mistress’s dinner party and all the gentlemen and ladies were stood looking. I want to rub, I want to beg, but if it was me I would double the thrashing if I did so! Oh God I am almost coming, this is so surprising, so different to what I expected. Oh God it hurts, please, please my Mistress stop! I want someone to beg me to stop, I want Charlotte to beg me to do this, and beg me to stop. I want to be called Mistress!’
‘Now stay like that, and think about what you have done, and don’t ever do it again, or it will be my riding crop, in the dining room, before everyone!’ She walked out with all their clothes, and they heard her go downstairs. Charlotte leaned forward and kissed her friend. She kissed her back, passionately.
Charlotte whispered. ‘Will you rub my bottom better later?’ Samantha whispered back. ‘Only if you rub mine, too.’
They kept quiet then, and gazed into each other’s eyes.
Their Mistress returned, and dismissed them, closed the door, lay on the bed, lifted her dress and used the handle of the oak back brush to pleasure herself to orgasm.
The two girls, naked, made their way to see the housekeeper to get their clothes back. The shame of that walk and the stares they received will live with them forever.
The story s finished, I am editing it and adding a chapter at a time.
One of every girls favourite is ‘Neddy’, my little rocking horse with a saddle. It has appeared in many shoots and is quite a favourite with my followers on Twitter and Tumblr. I tend to use it on the more seasoned spankees, because I make it a rule that I use a riding crop on their bare bottom, if they sit on it.
I have many techniques, but more often than not I get them to rock it as if galloping on a small horse. I use the crop to make them go faster and jump over imaginary fences, hedges, streams, gates etc… “Come on! ….WHACK! You can go faster than that, gallop you naughty girl, gallop! WHACK! …there is a fence coming up, come on, jump high…CRACK! Owwwwwww!”
One of my clients, I never give names, always comes in her bright red suit, which she has to wear for her job. She looks wonderful galloping away, skirt up high knickers down! She asked that I never wipe the saddle, so I don’t. Some girls don’t want to go on because of that, but some want to go on just for that! Some like to put a wipe down on it, to sit on. I remember Samantha saying as she stood frowning, looking at the stains…”A lot of your girls have been very excited on this saddle Asa!”
It’s true! A lot have had an orgasm and their juices have run freely. Here is Kate, showing you a typical scene…
“Ohhhhh Neddy! Hello, I have seen you a lot. So, let me get this right, if I sit on there, I have to bare my bum whilst you whack it with a riding crop, yes?”
She sits on. “Tally-Ho! then Mr.Jones, make me gallop!”
‘That’s it Kate, now start rocking, and when you have a good rhythm, bend right over and push your bottom right over the edge of the saddle for me.’
‘That’s it, keep it going…now faster, come on Kate, faster, make it rock high!’
This is my view as I put one hand on their back and whack their bare bottom!
This is Kate in the position I spoke of, her bottom right over the edge. Kate had a fabulous orgasm and said..”Bloody hell Mr.Jones! That saddle makes contact in just the right places.”
The humiliation of having to remove her knickers completely and pass them to the attractive Head of Discipline was over, now stood with her pussy and bare bottom on show, it was time to bend over the high spanking stool, to receive a spanking, on the bare. Not by the hand, but with a wooden ruler.
Miss Kenworthy reached for the beech ruler. Twelve inch long, one and a quarter inch wide, a quarter of an inch thick, and not flexible. This can deliver a shap sting at the best of times, but in the hands of this lady, it was a wicked painful instrument of discipline.
She stood for a minute, examining the bottom and girl she was to punish. This was her dream job, she had loved everything about spanking a naughty bottom since being a young girl. And now, she is paid to do so, in a school full of naughty girls. Saint Helena High School for Wayward Girls.
Why not click on Photo Stories and read them?
She rested the cold beech wood on Charlotte’s beautiful plump buttocks, and smiled as Charlotte took a sharp intake of breath.
And then, the silence was broken with the glorious sound of a fast hard spanking. The sound of flat wood on soft skin echoed around the room, quickly followed by squeals and screams…
On and on….
Swiftly, firmly and clinically the spanking was delivered.
The chastisement was over, and Miss Kenworthy ordered Charlotte to the high spanking stool.
She told her to bare her bottom. Now, before we proceed, think about it. When I was at school this happened for real. in the privacy of the Headmaster’s offices, or like my school, a punishment room, bottoms were bared. Knickers were removed.
Total authority, the backing of the education board and parents. If a teacher or Headmaster/Mistress told you to bare, you had no choice in the matter. If you tried to resist, you would be held by P.E. Staff, maybe the school matron, or prefects and the punishment increased, quite likely tempers would rise and anger would deliver a less controlled punishment.
I remember that our vaulting horse had leathers straps with buckles, to fasten your legs wide. I never saw it used. But one day I remember it threatened in assembly…” When I find the culprit who did this, I shall flog them …on the bare buttocks, WITHOUT MERCY BEFORE THE WHOLE SCHOOL!”
That sent a shiver down everybody’s spine!
So Charlotte has no choice, the Head of Discipline, Miss Kenworthy only in her late twenties, Charlotte would be only ten years younger, but a woman in all senses of the word.
Miss Kenworthy stands and watches her squirm and tremble to reveal her private parts, she would smile at her torment. Enjoying knowing that after this ritual a whacking of her lovely bare bottom would happen.
Let’s enjoy it…
“Why have you stopped, take your knickers right off and pass them to me.”
What a moment of absolute submission, authority, and Domination this is.
As in the introduction and previous chapters, please understand this is an illustrated novel under construction. I will no doubt change things as later events in the story, and this may affect things, causing changes in earlier chapters, so it all fits together…
Continued from previous chapter…
…The audience has settled down after the interval. It’s time for the stars of the show to take centre stage.
Samantha, the most famous Domme at the Inveigle…
And Charlotte, the most famous submissive…
Samantha, resplendent in a black and pink burlesque style dancers costume struts onto the stage, pink ostrich feathers on her head. Her pink and black mask is held on a stick. She stands erect and stares the cheering audience down to silence. She is a magnificent woman, a beautiful woman, one of the most beautiful of all ‘The Inveigle Girls’. Her strawberry blonde hair catches the light, as do her teeth and eyes.
Similar to the accolade that Sapphire received, tokens of adulation and love are thrown. Roses, handkerchiefs, knickers, and folded notes cover the stage. Tossing her mask to a grateful woman sat in the middle of the front row she turns to look at the rear of the stage and tugs a long black leather leash.
Charlotte is pulled on to the stage, and comes to stand by her Mistress.
Their eyes meet and they kiss, a passionate long sensual kiss. You could hear a pin drop.
Emma looks up to the same box which first go her attention, the lady in the black mask moves to the edge of her seat, sexily. Her right shoulder is moving rhythmically, you know without doubt what her hand is doing.
Samantha and Charlotte begin their act. It is an erotic trapeze act. It is the newest and most talked about act that The Inveigle has ever done.
Two rope ladders fall from above, so do two trapezes.
Charlotte, dressed in a forest green circus style outfit, discards her matching mask, tossing it to the lady sat next to the one who caught Samantha’s. Both girls walk in time to the music which is played by Sapphire on her violin (naked again) and sung gently by Eleanor, who before coming here was an opera and music hall singer. The music is ‘Canzonetta Sull’ aria. It’s beautiful and a trapeze will always swing beautifully in time to it, so too will the steps of a beautiful woman’s bottom climbing up a rope ladder.
In near perfect time they climb up, staring at each other in a lustful knowing gaze. They reach their platforms and climb onto their trapezes. To a gasp Charlotte falls and catches her trapeze bar in one hand, she laughs, turns to place her other hand on the bar and starts to swing. The song drifts through the air beautifully.
Samantha gracefully mounts hers, puts a foot to each side and slides down provocatively, bending her knees. The audience let out a long sigh. She then stands up again and pushes, their timing is perfect as Charlotte meets her in the middle of the air to grasp her ankles. They stare and hold their gaze for a few seconds and release, to swing back away from each other to the sides of the auditorium, and then gracefully back towards each others to show their skills.
They leap through the air, over each other, under each other, and at times it seems through each other, to raptures of applause.
Out of breath, shiny with sweat, they take their applause eagerly.
The song’s volume increases as each girl strips naked on their platform. Samantha sits on her trapeze, legs apart and swings to Charlotte who is leaning forward over hers, again she grasps her ankles, but this time slides up to lick her Mistress, to perform what was then known as ‘tipping the velvet’. An excited Samantha shudders to orgasm quickly. Charlotte is skilled in the use of tongues.
The audience cheer and the girls slide down to the stage, where Charlotte walks to a raised brass bar, on two supports. She stands legs apart and grasps the metal bar, looks over her shoulder and smiles to Samantha.
Samantha walks to her submissive.
The fame of this part of the act is the talk of the city’s underground Domme/sub culture. There was no music now; you could hear a pin drop. Samantha looked to the audience and her eyes caught the light again as she smiled wickedly at them, Charlotte’s responsive body was a joy to see too. Public use of her body excited her to the core; she wanted to be seen being used, as much as Samantha enjoyed the public approval of her sexual skill.
Charlotte was sideways to the audience; Samantha was stood to her side facing the audience and began to run her fingernails slowly, excitingly and sensually over Charlotte’s back, all the way down to the top of her bottom. The delightful way in which Charlotte responded was observed by the drooling audience, half wanting to be Samantha, the other half wanting to be Charlotte.
Samantha bent forward, unclasped her hair and let it cascade over the back of her submissive, she began to kiss down her spine, in little steps, to stop just above her bottom. Her eyes caught the light once again, flashing for a second, like the gleam of a diamond. She stared at the audience and smiled.
Charlotte pushed up on tip toe, her bottom yearning to be licked.
Samantha straightened, with a superior look on her face, to look down at the shape of her pleasure girl. Her fingers of her right hand walked around Charlotte’s body as she arched down again, to reach around to her nipple which she tugged, squeezed and stretched. Her left hand did the same to the other nipple.
Charlotte’s knees tremble visibly, which delighted the audience.
Samantha let go, straightened her body again and slid to her right one step.
Again her eyes caught the audience as one eyebrow rose, and her right hand slid to Charlotte’s bottom. Using just one finger, as gentle as she could, she stroked up and down the crack of her bottom. She shook, and spoke… ‘Spank me Mistress, please.’
The caress continued for a short while, then stopped, it was time to spank.
The spanking began, light fast smacks, then harder, slower ones. Samantha’s hand began to rise higher and higher as the smacks got louder. Charlotte could now be heard letting out little squeals. Delight or pain? Everyone knew, it was both.
Samantha moved to the back of Charlotte, and sank to her knees, then began to lick the bright red bottom. She turned her head to the audience, her eyes bright, and wicked, but not cruel. Her hands pulled Charlotte’s dumbglutton, (as it was known in those days) apart and licked Debbie’s wet slit until she came in violent contortions and screams of pleasure, to scream loudly… ‘Fuck me Mistress!’
Samantha again turned to the packed audience, and spoke to them. ‘Shall I?’
To a woman they all shouted their response. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
A girl came back with an oiled leather attachment which she strapped around Samantha’s waist and groin. She left, and Samantha began to stroke the glistening tool as if she was a man. Charlotte begged again, ‘Oh Mistress, please, use me now!’
Samantha turned to the audience and winked. Then she fucked her hard, until Charlotte came again, with one hand removed from the bar rubbing herself quickly.
‘I need to achieve my own pleasure again now.’ Samantha said to the audience. ‘Who on the upper tier will be the lucky winner of the golden ticket?’
Eleanour walked on to the stage again and held her hat out to a panting, heaving breasted Samantha. She rested the hat, upturned, on Charlotte’s lower back, who was now holding the bar with both hands again, she too was panting. She drew out a number and passed it over to Eleanor, who held the ticket aloft and shouted the number out. ‘Two hundred and seventy six!’
The woman in the black mask hit the edge of her box in a fury with a riding crop, stood up and walked away.
The lady in the winning seat put her half face masquerade mask up, and walked to the stairs with a friend, her ‘prize winning guest’. The audience clapped in unison waiting for them to appear on the stage to take their prize.
They walked on triumphantly, Samantha took one woman’s hand, and Charlotte took the hand of the other lady’s. Then they all walked through the curtains at the back of the stage, leaving Eleanor stood alone. ‘And that my dear Ladies is the end of the show! Goodnight all.’ The Inveigle’ wishes you all a safe journey, and we can’t wait to see you again, bye bye!’
Abigail, her hair up on the top of her head as usual, with a delicate feather arrangement, stood up in her box, turned and went to the stairs. She wore a low cut dress, which cradled her ample bosom. Her waist was always tied tight in a corset, which gave her a ruddy, wild and lusty complexion. She could have walked straight from the moors of a Bronte novel instead of the private door beside the stage. As was her manner, she surveyed the scene of a satisfied audience with pride, and with one eyebrow raised. People said she could talk with her eyebrows. Many a young Inveigle Girl had shuddered in shame at her harsh stare, eyebrow raised as she was scolded. Others had melted in her gaze of approval with both eyebrows holding the sultry eyes in their shadow.
She knew exactly what needed at all times, and the girls knew it. Without question the house girls did her bidding, so too did the show girls. She loved them all like daughters, she’d chastise and nurture as she saw fit. They loved, admired and respected her. She was the Inveigle. But most of all the girls knew one thing for certain, she would protect them, they could sleep easy in their beds because of her. She was constantly busy, always adjusting and tending. The Inveigle was her life’s passion. The girls were her children, and in both esteem and adoration she was known as ‘Mummy Bear.’ This wasn’t said behind her back, the only thing behind her back was the constantly swaying bottom of hers, still firm and pert despite its years. She knew exactly what they called her, and if she ever heard it whispered or spoken she would clasp her hands in pleasure and smile to the ceiling! Protection was in her mind as she screwed up the ticket with the seat number of the lady in the mask. She did not trust her, there was something evil about her, she would never win a night of passion with her two treasured stars of the Inveigle stage.
She stood back to the wall, as a woman dressed in a police officer’s uniform, gently pushed by her and strode importantly to the front of the stage. She coughed, and then commanded the audience to stand and sing the National Anthem, which was the tradition in every theatre of its day.
Emma and Melanie stood, each looking into the eyes of their partner and singing, hand in hand, then, sadly, it is time to leave. Another Inveigle night over.
Masquerade masks raised again, they walk still hand in hand, lit by the gas light to the waiting row of cabs. They summon theirs, the man was ready and waiting, as always, and climb aboard.
They sit inside and talk excitedly about the show and in particular about Charlotte and Debbie. ‘How do two such young girls end up starring in a show like that?’ One of them asks the other.
That’s a very good question, so let’s begin this story of love and spanking by doing just that.
We need to go back in time a few years to a cotton mill, about twenty miles outside the capital. An austere, grey gloomy place, about as far removed from the comfortable, beautiful, and sexy Inveigle as you could possibly get.