Read Portrait of a Disciplinarian Online

Authors: Aishling Morgan

Portrait of a Disciplinarian (12 page)

‘The Emperor weighed in at ninety-five exactly this morning,’ Sir Richard remarked after a while, ‘but Drake’s beast is well over the hundred, damn him. Would you like to walk down to the sty with me after lunch, girls? Or would a drive be more to your taste? We might go to Launceston.’

‘Hermione is practising piano with the Reverend Porthwell,’ Victoria Truscott pointed out, ‘and if you are going out in the car, you might give me a lift. Lord Salisbury is not at all well.’

‘I’m not having your damn dog being ill all over my upholstery,’ Sir Richard answered. ‘Why can’t the veterinarian come here?’

Stephanie was no longer listening, but had gone into a daydream in which Mrs Catchpole had lost all touch with reality and spanked Aunt Lettice for not eating her trout. Just possibly, she considered, it might be worth dropping a hint and seeing what happened. After all, Lucy Catchpole had been with the family for over forty years, and nothing would induce Sir Richard to sack her. There was a faint smile on her face as she imagined Lettice’s slender buttocks exposed for spanking, and she let her mind dwell on the delicious fantasy as lunch continued.

Afterwards, she followed Hermione out on to the terrace, hoping for a proper reconciliation after the morning’s spanking, which they hadn’t had a chance to discuss, and a restoration of what she felt to be the
proper
order of things. It was only right and proper that she should be spanked by her mother, and perhaps occasionally by her grandmother. Great-aunt Victoria she could accept as an unavoidable disaster, like a volcano or typhoon, which in turn made the lesser aunts lesser disasters. Being done by Vera Clapshott really was a bit much, but there were compensations involving the application of Sootho. Even the thought of getting it from Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe made her want to grind her teeth, and yet she had never been able to rid herself entirely of the feeling that it was appropriate. Hermione was another matter.

Big sisters spanked little sisters, not the other way around. That was the natural order of things, and she burned with resentment at Hermione’s behaviour. What Hermione needed was a long talking to, an even longer spanking and a cuddle to make her better, preferably in immediate succession. Unfortunately, one look at the sulky expression on Hermione’s face as she stood picking the petals from a luckless primrose made Stephanie realise that it was a subject to approach with care. First she would have to make Hermione see the error of her ways, and meanwhile there was something else she wanted to know.

‘What’s this about you cramming with Porker?’ she asked as she came up beside her sister.

‘I failed my music exam,’ Hermione complained, ‘and Great-aunt Victoria says I have to do it again, which is completely silly, because I hate piano, and I have no intention of playing, ever, and I don’t like Porker Porthwell at all.’

‘He is a bit of a beast,’ Stephanie agreed, ‘but think how much money we’ll be able to clean him out of. You can leak the Emperor’s weight, as well, while you’re there.’

Hermione managed a weak smile and carefully removed the final petal from the primrose, letting it flutter to the ground. Stephanie waited a moment, then spoke again.

‘You were a bit of a beast too, spanking me like that.’

‘You were going to spank me,’ Hermione pointed out, ‘and you needn’t pretend you wouldn’t have got me bare, or teased me, or been rude with me.’

‘I wouldn’t have stuck a hairbrush up your bottom!’ Stephanie protested.

‘You might,’ Hermione said. ‘You did that time Great-aunt Victoria caught us.’

Stephanie winced and took an instinctive glance back across her shoulder.

‘That’s as maybe,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s not the same, is it?’

‘Why not?’ Hermione demanded.

‘I’m older than you,’ Stephanie pointed out.

‘So what?’

‘So … so you shouldn’t spank me!’ Stephanie was outraged that Hermione could possibly fail to comprehend such a basic fact. ‘Do I go round spanking the aunts, or Mama?’

Hermione shrugged.

‘Well, then,’ Stephanie went on. ‘I think it’s only fair that you come up to my room later and I give you a jolly good spanking, and a nice cuddle afterwards to make you better. I don’t want to quarrel.’

‘Then don’t spank me,’ Hermione told her. ‘And if you try, you’ll be the one who gets it, Stiffy. But I’ll give you a cuddle.’

Stephanie made a face. It was a hard offer to refuse, and yet she was determined to get back on top. Obviously she had been in London too long and lost the authority she had always enjoyed over her sister, but she was sure that once she had Hermione’s bottom nice and hot she could reassert herself. It was just a question of finding the opportunity.

‘All right,’ she said, and held her arms open.

They came together, holding on to one another for a long moment before breaking apart with a gentle kiss. Inside the house, the grandfather clock in the drawing room chimed the half-hour.

‘I’d better go,’ Hermione said. ‘I’ll see you this evening.’

Stephanie watched her sister walk from the terrace with considerable irritation and no less curiosity. Hermione usually accepted such unpleasant things as piano lessons with at least moderate good grace, but today she seemed unusually sulky. Something was going on, just possibly something to do with Hermione’s mysterious new philosophy about nudity, which was both intriguing and worrying. Strolling indoors as if in no great hurry, she sat down where she could watch the drive and pretended to read.

Hermione soon appeared, dressed in a pink frock, which was unusual for her, and looking more agitated than ever. She set off up the drive. Stephanie finished the story she was reading, then followed. Hermione did not take the Bridestowe Road but made for Bidlake, then turned north along the main road and across a field to the rear of the rectory. The faint tinkling of a badly played piano was audible as Stephanie stole into the rectory garden by the back gate and took up a position behind the screen of a yew hedge.

The music stopped but, having had to suffer in just the same way, although with a different tutor, Stephanie knew exactly where Hermione would be: in the music room at one end of the building, seated at the piano with her back to the main window. The ancient wisteria that cloaked much of the rear of the rectory allowed her to peer through the panes with little chance of being observed. Inside, her sister was indeed sitting at the piano, her face set in a stubborn scowl. Standing beside her was the Reverend Benjamin Porthwell, curate to Bridestowe Parish, with his cassock raised to reveal well polished black boots, dark socks held up by suspenders, plump, hairy legs unencumbered by underwear, and an erect penis.

Although it was only the third male organ Stephanie had set eyes on, she was fairly sure it was not a typical
specimen
. Freddie Drake’s was handsome and virile. Lias Snell’s was ugly, but still virile. Porker Porthwell’s was grotesque, not at all virile, and oddly in contrast with his globular body. It was long and thin, with a small bright-red helmet and a skinny shaft, stretched so taut that thin purple veins could be seen. All of that would have been bad enough, but it paled into insignificance beside the fact that the organ was so severely twisted that the helmet almost faced backwards. Beneath it depended a pair of monstrous testicles, the outline of each clearly visible within a pink and almost completely hairless scrotum: altogether a peculiarly unpleasant set of male equipment.

The window was open, and his voice carried clearly to Stephanie as he spoke, high and piping, full of barely suppressed excitement.

‘We agreed, didn’t we, Miss Hermione. If you get it wrong you have to touch. Now take hold and pull up and down a little.’

Hermione made no move to comply, her sulky scowl only growing more intense. The curate hitched his cassock up a little higher, exposing a segment of rounded belly the colour and texture of lard. Hermione reached out, very gingerly, to tap his erection with a single, sudden motion. He wagged one plump finger at her, his voice firm and yet also wheedling as he spoke.

‘Oh no, young lady. I’ll need a little more than that, I’m afraid. Come along now, take hold and pull up and down, just a few times.’

Hermione bit her lip, extended a hand, then stopped.

‘If … if we should be proud of what God gave us,’ she said, ‘and I should think it a privilege and a pleasure to touch your thingy, then why is it my punishment?’

‘Ah ha, but it’s not a privilege or a pleasure for you, is it?’ he retorted, once more wagging his finger. ‘If it was, we should have to find some alternative punishment, shouldn’t we? The same goes for removing your clothes.’

Hermione frowned, then with sudden decision reached out to grasp his cock, which she gave a few inexpert tugs before hastily letting go. The curate gave a long sigh, checked his watch, then spoke again.

‘Once more, and do try, or we’ll just have to have those darling little titties out again, won’t we?’

After wiping her hand on the piano seat, Hermione put her fingers to the piano keys, hesitated a moment, then began to play, producing a set of notes so discordant that Stephanie couldn’t even identify the tune.

‘Dress down. Titties out,’ the curate demanded, sounding anything but disappointed.

Hermione obeyed, scowling furiously as she pulled her arms out of the shoulder straps of her dress and folded down the front. She was naked underneath, her puppyfat breasts lolling bare and round as she glanced up at the curate.

‘Let that be a lesson to you,’ he said, but as she turned back to the piano his fat pink tongue extended to moisten his lips. ‘Try again, three times, and if you don’t get it right, off comes that pretty dress.’

Again Hermione tried, her bare breasts quivering as she played, and if anything the attempt was worse than before. The curate drew a heavy sigh.

‘I really don’t think you are trying at all, Hermione. Perhaps having to sit bare bottom on your stool will help?’

‘You said I had three goes,’ Hermione pointed out.

The curate gave a sceptical grunt and stood back a little. He began to fiddle with his cock, keeping it erect with his eyes fixed on Hermione’s bare breasts as she tried to play her piece again. She was no better than before, and he shook his head sadly. Once more she tried, so ineffectually that Stephanie was left wondering if the two of them were playing a game, and Hermione might actually want to be made to take her clothes off.

The expression on Hermione’s face as she stood up suggested otherwise, and the way she lifted her dress
and
peeled it off looked genuinely reluctant. Yet she was naked underneath except for stockings and shoes, her chubby pink bottom quite bare as she settled it back on to the piano stool.

‘Spankies next,’ the curate announced eagerly. He had abandoned the effort to sound authoritative.

Hermione’s fingers were shaking so badly as she tried to play her piece once more that it would almost certainly have been wrong anyway. As it was she made a hash of it, and the curate immediately bent down to plant a firm smack on the two meaty pink bulges sticking out over the edge of the piano stool. Hermione was left with a pink hand mark on her bottom and shaking harder than before, so that her next attempt was worse still. Again her bottom was smacked, and Stephanie saw that tears of frustration and shame had begun to trickle down her sister’s face.

‘I don’t think you’re even trying!’ the curate declared. ‘If you can’t do better than that, I’ll have to make you do you know what.’

He was now so close to Hermione that when she turned her tear-stained face up to deny the accusation his cock was just inches from her mouth. Stephanie grimaced at the thought of having the hideous thing so close to her own face, and began to wonder if she should intervene. Yet it was impossible to be sure of Hermione’s true feelings, while there was also the morning’s spanking to be taken into consideration. She decided to carry on watching, telling herself that her decision had nothing to do with the sharp thrill she had felt at the thought of seeing her sister take the fat curate’s cock in her mouth, which seemed to be what he was expecting.

‘Once more,’ he demanded, masturbating himself shamelessly, his small, bright eyes flicking between her breasts and the reddened bottom meat bulging over the edge of the stool. ‘And stick it out a little more.’

Hermione obeyed, adjusting herself so that her thighs were on the stool but her bottom cheeks pushed out
behind
, the tight star of her anus clearly visible between them. The curate, now red-faced and masturbating vigorously, nodded for her to begin. Hermione played and failed as miserably as before. As the last note faded he lost his temper with her, or seemed to, reaching down to aim a salvo of hard smacks at her cheeks.

‘I’ve warned you before!’ he declared. ‘This time it goes in your mouth!’

‘No!’ Hermione answered him, with what Stephanie was sure was real revulsion. ‘Not in my mouth!’

His response was to plant several more hard smacks on her bottom, making the flesh jiggle and redden even more.

‘Take it in your hand then,’ he demanded, ‘and quickly.’

Hermione pulled a face, but did as she was told, taking hold of his erection. He stood back to his full height, lifting his cassock and the shirt beneath to reveal the full rotundity of his stomach, which had begun to quiver like an enormous pale jelly as Hermione masturbated him. Her breasts were also quivering, to the same motion, and her big pink nipples were stiff, despite the look of utter disgust on her face.

The look was mirrored by Stephanie. As Hermione pulled the curate’s cock up and down, the head rotated, reminding Stephanie so forcefully of a patent corkscrew that she found herself looking to see if it had a left- or right-hand thread. She had just worked out that it was right-handed when he began to speak again, his voice low and guttural.

‘One day I’ll make you suck it. One day, Hermione, my angel, I’ll make you suck it … and when you are my wife … I’ll stick it right up that pretty cunt, every night, and in your mouth … and up your cunt again … and in your mouth … and up your darling bottom …’

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