Catherine's Letters (12 page)

The handcuffs clicked and Adrienne was startled back to life. Maria had silently slipped the chain around the top frame of the brass bed. Adrienne was trapped. ‘Maria, what are you …?’ she started to ask as she turned her head. Then it became obvious what Maria was planning.

She was no longer completely naked. Now she wore a black leather harness around her waist. A second strap passed under her crotch and from its centre there loomed a large, black dildo. ‘Maria … You’re not going to … On me? It’s too big!’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Look, I’ll even make sure it slips in nice and easy.’ Maria scooped a large blob of moisturiser from the jar on the bedside table and began to smear it over the permanent rubber erection.

‘Maria, I’ve never used one of those before. Don’t you think we should start with something a little – smaller?’ But just as when she was being spanked, Adrienne’s begging was in vain.

‘Don’t be silly, darling. Do you want me to get the cane and give you another six of the best? I could, you know, with you chained up like that.’ She shook her head dumbly. ‘Then be a good girl and take your medicine. It’ll be much easier, and more enjoyable, if you relax.’

Adrienne realised resistance was futile. She also guessed Maria was telling the truth when she promised not to hurt her, and that she was doing this for her own good, believing Adrienne would genuinely get something from it. She did her best to unclench as Maria climbed on the bed behind her. A sharp slap on her bottom, and the words “bum up!” soon had her in position, and the giant shaft was being pushed home, gently but relentlessly.

Five minutes later, Adrienne could not believe she had tried to resist. She was moaning in ecstasy and slamming her hips back to meet Maria’s thrusts. Her manacled arms were at full stretch as she urged her lover on to a faster tempo. Maria’s left hand was buried in Adrienne’s sex alongside the dildo, her fingers strumming her clitoris. Her right hand reached forward to cup Adrienne’s breast and was squeezing hard, the pleasure-pain sensation sending the submissive girl into an intense, noisy orgasm unlike any other she had ever had.

Adrienne collapsed into a spanked, caned, violated, orgasmic, exhausted heap. She felt the dildo being pulled out gently and her vaginal tunnel relaxing as its mighty girth was removed. As she drifted off to sleep a thought crossed her mind.

I hope Maria’s got keys for these cuffs. Or I’m going to be very late for work tomorrow.

Chapter Eight

Maria did have the keys to the handcuffs and released Adrienne when she stirred in the small hours. They made love again in what seemed to the half-asleep Adrienne to be a dream. It felt unreal as their bodies moved together, their labia rubbing as the lips of their mouths met, their tongues flicking against one another.

They awoke in each other’s arms. Luckily, Adrienne had set her alarm the previous morning, otherwise she was sure they would have slept till noon. A rushed shower together, some cereal thrown into bowls, a strong pot of coffee, and they were off. Maria had brought a set of work clothes to change into and looked perfectly prim and respectable as she walked alongside Adrienne to the station, the pair sauntering down Fulham Palace Road like any friends, colleagues, or housemates.

Adrienne felt it best to leave Catherine’s next letter for a couple of days. She was sated and did not want the Victorian girl’s next sensual adventure to be a let-down because she was not in the mood.

On Friday night, she found herself at a loose end. Rachel was on a date, her second with the man from the squash club, which almost counted as commitment for her. Adrienne had been able to leave work on time, so walked through her front door at 6.30.

She took her time, changing into jeans and T-shirt, before cooking spaghetti bolognaise. She even did the washing-up, not wanting to have any tedious domestic chore hanging over her before she settled down to read.

Finally, she was ready. Bringing the box into the lounge, she opened it and flicked the catch to reveal the secret compartment. She had decided the case must have belonged to Connie, the recipient of the letters, and it was she who must have stowed them there so carefully. Adrienne wondered how many times Connie’s nervous fingers had opened the case and pulled out the letters to re-read the stories told by her outrageous cousin.

Thumbing through the envelopes, Adrienne found the next letter. It was dated June 18th 1886. Adrienne began to decipher the sloping handwriting.

My dearest Connie,

Oh, what a week I have had! I am now even more devoted to Miss Prior than ever! Aside from her poise and elegance, there is also her supreme knowledge and learning, and her independence of spirit. Were I of a class wherein circumstances forced me to earn my own living, I should strive to be just like her, a teacher or a governess, enlightening young minds and bringing to them the discipline and order they so badly need.

As to that discipline, Connie, Miss Prior continues to enforce it upon my life in no uncertain manner, no more forcefully than last week. It was an incident of some note and I shall endeavour to describe it as best I can.

It was on Tuesday morning that Miss Prior announced to me she had sought, and gained, Father’s permission to take me on an educational trip to London. It was the end of our morning lesson, and I had just received another dose of the martinet, followed by three stinging strokes of the cane, delivered with unusual vigour. Indeed, I was still bent forward over the desk, my skirts up and my drawers down to expose my bottom, and I was in a somewhat agitated state, as I am sure you can imagine. I was expecting and hoping for Miss Prior’s soothing touch to bring me relief, but it was not forthcoming. Instead, she made her announcement and told me to instruct Molly to pack for a two-day visit to our town house.

I was surprised to hear this and, as I rearranged my clothing, I wondered what its purpose might be. It was not the season for families of our class to be in London; indeed, on those rare occasions I have visited in high summer the smell has been almost overpowering, as you must surely know, Connie. I also wondered what there was to learn from such a visit. Granted, it may be the capital of our great Empire, the heart of our government and the civilised world, but I have frequently heard Father curse it for being overcrowded with the unwanted riff-raff from every other nation in the world. Except when his Parliamentary duties require him to attend the House he always tries to escape to this, our country residence.

Miss Prior would not answer any of my questions on the subject, but gave me the afternoon away from the schoolroom to prepare. We set off straight after breakfast, the dog cart driving us the five miles to the railway station. I shall not bore you with the details of our journey, save to say we had the first-class carriage to ourselves, and Miss Prior took the opportunity to test me on my Greek verbs. I am afraid to say I did not do well in this unexpected examination.

We had wired ahead to the footman who heads the small staff of our London residence, and so found everything in order. I dare say they take liberties when left alone, but any evidence to that effect had, of course, been removed. We ate at seven, and after supper Miss Prior took me to my room, where I was given nine firm strokes of the cane (she remembered to bring it with her!) for my poor performance in the train, before I was sent tearfully to bed, being told I would need all my strength for the following day. I blew out the candle and lay on my belly, my bottom aching and my mind full of questions.

I felt much better at breakfast, the pain in my bottom having eased, but still I wondered what lay in store for me today. But, as I told you at the outset of this letter, I have come to trust Miss Prior as a guardian, and knew it would be for my own good.

After breakfast a hansom was ordered. I expected this was because we were undertaking a journey of some miles, so was surprised when we travelled only from Belgravia to another town house in Kensington. Miss Prior paid the driver and led me up the steps.

It was a residence equally as smart as Father’s, set in a quiet square. Miss Prior rang the bell. The door was soon answered by a fair young girl in the usual housemaid’s livery. We were shown into a tasteful drawing room, whereupon the maid withdrew, having told us she would inform her mistress that we had arrived. I was heartily confused by now, but a shake of Miss Prior’s head told me to ask no further questions.

Soon the door opened to admit a handsome woman of about 40. She was striking to behold, from her auburn hair and finely formed features, to the simple but expensive cut of her plain grey dress. She greeted Miss Prior as an old friend, addressing her as Verity, which I now assume must be her Christian name. In turn, Miss Prior addressed the woman as Amanda, before they kissed each other on the cheek. They then turned to look at me.

‘Catherine, this is Miss Parker,’ Miss Prior told me. Evidently I was not to use her Christian name. Miss Parker eyed me as if assessing a prospective purchase, an action which sent a shiver down my spine.

‘So this is Catherine,’ she said, adding, ‘Yes, Verity, she is everything you said in your letter. How is she responding to her training?’

‘Most admirably,’ Miss Prior replied, speaking as if I were not there to hear her. ‘I believe she is ready for us.’ I was both puzzled and alarmed at this last remark, but felt too overwhelmed to ask what they felt I was ready for.

Tea was served by the maid, and I sat in silence as Miss Prior and Miss Parker chatted about mutual friends of whom I knew nothing. After half an hour Miss Prior announced it was time for us to leave, but that we would be back in the evening, deepening my sense of intrigue and apprehension. The boots was sent to summon a hansom, which conveyed us home in plenty of time for lunch.

The afternoon was spent reading an improving book, something I was very grateful to be allowed to do, given my caning of the night before. Dinner was served at six rather than seven, an arrangement Miss Prior had made because of our mysterious evening appointment.

After dinner, she came to my room to select a dress for me. She chose a simple design of dark green, one which I was told would be just right, smart enough to impress new company of the highest breeding, while not overwhelming any of the other guests. We were not, she told me, going to a grand ball, but at the same time it was still important to show that I was very much of the upper class.

As before, a hansom took us from Belgravia to the house in Kensington, and the same maid answered Miss Prior’s ring. My Governess had also chosen a smart but simple evening gown, hers being in her usual black.

Although the curtains to the front of the house were all drawn, lights burned in every window, and the murmur of conversation which reached my ears as I entered the hallway told me we were joining a large group of people already within. Miss Prior and I were shown to the same drawing room as earlier, but now we found ourselves joining a group of about a dozen other women. They were all slightly older than I, although one or two not by much. The oldest, a well-dressed and respectable lady, appeared to be in her late 40s or early 50s. By their appearance and dress they all seemed to be of the same class and breeding as ourselves.

We were greeted with nods and smiles, and Miss Prior exchanged pleasantries with some of the women who she obviously knew well, before taking me to the last pair of vacant chairs in the far corner of the room. The fair maid, along with two of her darker companions, was serving drinks of hot chocolate, a cup of which I took gratefully. I found it to be pleasantly spiced. As I drank, Miss Prior whispered to me that, whatever happened this evening, I was not to be afraid, as she would be my side constantly. I replied that I trusted her completely, and would obey any instructions she gave me. Nevertheless, my heart skipped a beat as I pondered the meaning of her words.

At this point, Miss Parker entered the room. She too was wearing an elegant black dress, long of sleeve and high at the collar. All conversation ceased and every eye turned toward her as she assumed her role of hostess. ‘Ladies,’ she announced, in clear and confident tones, ‘everything is prepared. If you would like to make your way upstairs you will find your seats laid out.’

Almost as one, the women rose and walked from the room. Naturally I got up with them and felt Miss Prior’s hand upon my elbow, propelling me toward the door. As we passed Miss Parker she gave me a smile which did nothing to quell my rising sense of fear and excitement. Something remarkable was about to happen here, I was sure of it.

We followed the other women, who were streaming upstairs to the next floor, and into another room. It was the twin of the drawing room we had just left, being immediately above it, but furnished in a very different fashion. To say it was a schoolroom would be to give you the wrong impression; rather, it had the appearance of a lecture theatre. A raised platform at the far end was home to a lectern, three chairs, and a strange triangular frame, made of wood, with leather padding on its crossbars. Spread in front of the platform, forming a semi-circle, were enough chairs to accommodate everyone in the group.

Miss Prior and I took up two of the seats to the rear as Miss Parker, the matronly woman, and another of the older ladies, mounted the platform and seated themselves, looking down on us as if we were a church congregation. When all was still and the nervous conversation had hushed, Miss Parker stood and took her place at the lectern, whereupon she delivered a welcoming speech. I shall attempt to recall it word for word, Connie, as it answered many of my questions, the same which I am sure you are also asking, but I pray forgiveness for any errors or omissions. As you will understand, my pulse was racing at this point.

‘Ladies of the Corporal Society, welcome to you all. As well as all the fun of our monthly meeting, this month we also have the pleasure of introducing a novice.’ At this point Miss Parker indicated me with a deliberate look, and I blushed to my hair roots. ‘Please remember how it was for yourselves on your respective first visits, and show young Catherine all the kindness and welcome you would have hoped to receive.

‘We have several issues on our agenda tonight.’ She consulted some sheets of foolscap on the lectern. ‘A number of you have made requests to be dealt with, including some who have been good enough to submit lists of domestic wrongdoings for which you were not sufficiently punished by your husbands. Still others have asked for the opportunity to administer, and wherever possible the two requests will be matched.’

One or two of the audience cast nervous glances at each other, while some were smiling in what seemed like wicked apprehension. I could not have failed to pick up on the word “punishment” as used in Miss Parker’s speech, but I still did not fully comprehend its exact meaning. The situation, however, was about to be made as clear as crystal.

‘So let us start,’ she announced, indicating with a nod to the fair housemaid, who stood at the door, that a prearranged instruction was to be carried out. The girl left, to return a moment later with her two colleagues. All carried the trays with which they had earlier served drinks, but now no refreshment was to be forthcoming.

The trays bore a fearsome selection of instruments of correction. The blonde maid led the way, her tray piled high with what seemed to be a large collection of leather whips and martinets. One near the top I could clearly see had a large, paddle-like blade. The tray carried by the girl behind her was stacked with school canes of varying lengths and thicknesses, their handles hanging over one end and their tips the other. The girl who brought up the rear had the most ominous cargo of all. On her tray was perched a champagne bucket, but no bottles nestled inside. Instead, the ribbon-bound handles of three birch bundles were clearly visible, the gentle slopping of liquid from inside the bucket indicating that they were being kept especially fresh.

I watched spellbound as the girls carried their trays past the crowd of anxious and excited women. They mounted the stage and each in turn placed her dreadful burden beside the frame, curtseying before their mistress, then leaving the room as suddenly as they had come.

All eyes were once again fixed upon the stage, as the lady of this most remarkable house spoke. ‘My friends, it is time to begin. Let us see upon whom fortune smiles first this evening.’

The matronly lady who had joined Miss Parker rose, pulling two small tin jars from beneath her seat as she did so. She offered the one in her right hand to Miss Parker. ‘As always, the recipient shall be selected first,’ she said, delving inside. She produced a folded scrap of paper, which she proceeded to open. ‘Dominique,’ she called.