The Inveigle – Chapter Five

​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.

…continued

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.

NOTE :

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.

…continued

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

Go to chapter six here …https://www.spanking-emporium.co.uk/spanking-emporium/?p=8756