Inveigle ~ Chapter Five

Chapter 5: Another spanking and a dire warning

Although the walk was humiliating, Charlotte also felt excited by it. To be seen naked, walking down those rich corridors not knowing who would be around the corner, was in a strange way very liberating. Her bottom was very sore and burned painfully. At every step it felt as though someone was holding hot coals very close and she dare not stop.

Samantha too had similar feelings. 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, a bottom which swayed in such an erotic and mesmerising way!

Along one particularly narrow corridor, she walked up closer to Charlotte and gently cupped a cheek of her bottom in her hand. It felt hot. It was an amazing feeling. The tips of her fingers strayed into the crease where her bottom met the back of Charlotte’s thigh. Every step on that side made it feel as if her fingers were being gently mouthed by some big soft lips.

Charlotte let out little moans as her delicious crease nibbled at her dear friend’s fingers.

Eventually they reached the kitchen and walked in. The sensual peaceful walk ended abruptly.

Miss Blunkett, the housekeeper who doubled-up as the 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 at them. ‘‘Hmmm? No! I thought not!’’ Her face was red and the vein on her left temple was visibly throbbing.

Once again the girls looked towards each other. They guessed 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, whilst 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 of onlookers who stared back at her. There was little sympathy.

A Mr.Trentham vintage photograph taken of a girl, a parlour maid, getting a brisk spanking from the housekeeper, pretty much as Samantha and Charlotte would before the onlookers. The screams and slaps ooze from this photo!

Charlotte was over the ample lap next. The public humiliation that she had yearned for only minutes before was suddenly being granted in the most humiliating way possible. Naked, before the people you had to work with every day, being spanked very 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 tiptoes.

Eventually the afternoon’s 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 you. 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 resides in an asylum. 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 alongside him in high society. On her own she can be very 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 and 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 were all shocked at how she was picked to work here? How lucky did you think she was? 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 that 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!’’

A Peek inside the Black Cellar…

Lady Jacqueline, you have to realise was an extremely powerful, intelligent woman. Her Doctor husband had talked at length about controlling the mind by suggestion and influence. To an average maid or mill girl, she must have seemed like a force of nature, a dark malevolent force of nature.

It was personified in her room, her cellar.

Most girls returned from her cellar dungeon, but there are no records to show how many did not.

A young girl would be offered a drink, a good red wine with a potion inside. She would not be at all used to alcohol, let alone a drug laced one. Like an innocent Disney girl, facing a dark Queen of Sorcery, she would be lured easily…”Follow me dear…”

Alluring in her ‘Gentleman’s Attire’ Gentleman Jacqueline would lure a girl behind a curtain, concealing a secret door.
Gentleman Jacqueline would tell the girl to sit.
Gentleman Jacqueline would watch the girl go drowsy, the flickering candles and her soft voice, like the potion laced wine, would intoxicate her.
A girl would pass into sleep looking into her eyes, and when she awoke, as if by some form of magic…
Thinking she had closed her eyes for just seconds, the girl would wake to see some magical transformation.


The girl would realise she was now naked, and at that moment, when Lady Jacqueline could see the realisation…it would begin!
The Conrol of Lady Jacqueline

“Crawl to me!”

…mesmerised the naked girl would crawl to the feet of her Mistress.

There will be more visits to Lady Jacqueline’s Cellar, but back to the story…

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 onto their white spartan walls

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 of 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. He was hardly ever at home and, when he was, their paths rarely crossed. This was the only view of him they had as a rule.

Two black sweating horses stomped, slid and whinnied to a stop at the command of the driver. He quickly jumped down, placed a wooden chock either side of the wheel nearest to him and then opened the door. A set of steps two treads high was placed by the door 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 then chillingly both turned to look up at the two horrified girls, who both jumped back from the curtain. Together the Master and Mistress climbed back in, and the carriage disappeared into the tunnels.

​The girls 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 windows rattled, but thankfully no creaking stairs were heard, nor muffled sounds from hidden passageways. Eventually they sat side by side on Charlotte’s bed.

​It was Charlotte who spoke first. ‘‘I’m scared Samantha, please cuddle me.’’

​Samantha gently held her terrified friend tightly. 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. Samantha looked down into Charlotte’s eyes and whispered. ‘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 achieved 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 girl, ‘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 anything 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 for each other. It was a love which ran deep and solid with the foundation of fear, hard times and shared hopes. They were smashed!

​One thing they did each have was a little piece of card 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-out daisy chains and two matching stones in the rough shape of hearts, which they had found one beautiful summer Sunday only a few weeks ago, when they had both almost confided their love for each other.

​As they were looking at their treasures, so too was Lady Jacqueline. Back home with her husband they had gone up to their bedroom. She stood by her chest of drawers, near a glowing fire. She had just finished telling her ‘Prince’ of the beating she had given the two girls, and the second one that she had instructed Miss Blunkett to give them. She pulled out the top drawer, and looked at the array of canes and floggers. She pulled out the second drawer 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 to top drawer one and took a long yellow flexible rattan cane. He swished it noisily through the air, the terrible sound making her flinch.

​She bent over the same lion stool as the girls had done and took twelve light strokes on her upturned cheeks. She could not take anything firmer. The collection of implements was primarily 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.

When they were both satiated, she turned to kiss him catching sight of 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 an open wound, surface in his mind.

​Jacqueline went to bed and quickly fell to sleep. The master of the house left her and went 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, but 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….’Jack’!

​Upstairs in the girl’s bedroom the two girls were 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 a 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. They were wearing their grey woollen coats over their two sets of clothes. Everything they owned was on them. It was a dry, but cold night. 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 parkland and onto the main road