Rectory of Correction (16 page)

Linnet looked around wildly. Amelia could see the moisture welling in her limpid eyes. She hoped the little slut would be silly enough to plead not guilty. For luck, she gave the handful of hair she still gripped a vicious twist.

‘Aaaaooow... oh, please,' Linnet whimpered. ‘I plead guilty. I am sorry, though I really don't know what it is I have done.'

‘She does not know what she has done to deserve this,' Bella mocked, shaking her head in faux sorrow. ‘That is what they all say.'

She reached out the cane and used the tip to lift Linnet's chin until their gazes met. ‘I am going to spank you, little Linnet. I am going to spank you very hard, because – well, because I want to, and because I can. After that, these other two bitches will want to play some games with you, I expect, but they will have to wait their turns. Let her go, girls. Get up, Linnet, and take your blouse off. Then I would like you to come and put yourself over my knee.'

 

Faith tried to swallow but she did not have sufficient saliva for anything but a dry gulp. The man's rough hand was travelling up between her legs. There was something deeply unsettling about the way he felt her, his hand brusque on the naked skin above her stocking tops. It felt more like livestock being appraised at auction than a young woman being fondled by a man.

‘Firm and creamy flesh. Nice, chubby bottom.' The hand stroked her bare cheeks now. ‘Hmm, certainly she has very smooth, fine skin.'

Faith gave a startled gasp as his strong fingers probed between her legs again, but higher this time. The shock made her look up, blinking. The young maid found herself looking into her master's cold eyes. Blushing furiously, she dropped her gaze again.

‘Well, well,' Jack Campion's voice was rich with amusement. ‘The little slut is undeniably responsive!' He chuckled as his finger explored her cunny. Faith gave a little whimper, closing her eyes completely now, only her long and rigorous training and the watching presence of her master making her stand still.

‘You have a very saleable bit of girl-flesh there, Reverend. Not a virgin, and not as fat as some of those sheikhs like them, but she is pretty, well trained and responsive, and blondes always command a hefty premium in Fejr.'

At last the hand desisted. Opening her eyes, Faith saw the Reverend Dawes beckoning. She trotted over to her employer and proffered her tray. To her distress, but not surprise, he did not immediately pour himself a brandy, but sat perusing her engorged nipples with an amused smile. He took a leisurely pull at his cigar and then held the glowing cylinder up thoughtfully. Fervently, Faith wished he would not look quite so intently at her nipples while waving the burning cigar around.

‘Very nice of you to say so.' The Reverend kept his eyes fixed on Faith's nearly naked breasts. ‘So how much might you offer, if I was to sell?'

‘Oh, I think I could go to five hundred guineas,' Jack said softly. ‘And do you want to sell?'

Faith felt herself go rigid. Until that moment she had thought the discussion all a cruel game. Being quite used to those, she had been more concerned with probing hands and glowing cigars than with what the men were saying. Suddenly, a sense of panic gripped her. What if her master was serious? The prospect was appalling. Surely they would not ship her abroad to sell her as a slave! Her eyes met her master's, mutely pleading with him. She could read nothing in his pitiless stare. He could not, would not, surely? It was too awful to think that she might be bought and sold by these men, just like-

‘Faith,' the Reverend said with just the hint of a smile, ‘go and tell Rose that we are ready for her.'

 

 

‘Get a move on, Gruntie, I'm getting hellish bored.'

Tears welled in Gretchen's eyes at this. She was trying, she really was; it was all so unfair. An hour had passed since that first, furious paddling. An hour of effort and acute discomfort regularly punctuated by pain. Gretchen had inched across the floor, scrubbing with the brush between her teeth, the exertion causing perspiration to bead across her back.

Kirsty, by contrast, had stalked about the kitchen, her high heels clacking loud against the stone flags of the floor and echoing around the room. Occasionally, she passed a remark.

‘I quite like it here,' she had said to Gretchen's dumb distress. ‘You all moan but I think the Reverend is all right. I just wish I knew what was going on at home, now.'

Every once in a while she would, with easy grace, deliver a stinging paddle stroke to Gretchen's throbbing bottom.

‘Come on, buck up you fat slut,' she had said merrily. ‘You know, you look awful funny like that, like a human scrubbing brush. Still, you probably always were a scrubber, aye?'

There had been nothing Gretchen could do but endure the pain and the indignity, and there was nothing she could do now but work on and pray.

Kirsty was hard to ignore, however. She stood a few inches in front of Gretchen's face. The girl had very shapely ankles and small feet, and these, in their polished shoes, were in Gretchen's way. She could not work further forward without splashing the prefect's brilliant stilettos. Something told her this would not be a very good idea. Not knowing what else to do, she stopped.

Very slowly, Gretchen raised her head. Kirsty's ankles were sheathed in sheer black silk. She followed the legs upwards, up the shapely shins and dimpled knees. The prefect's stockings were secured at mid-thigh with white and mauve lace and elastic garters. Above these was a pale expanse of smooth, flawless thigh.

‘Look at me.' Kirsty's voice was slightly husky.

Gretchen continued to raise her blinking eyes.

The little pleated skirt was cut to flounce out from the hips and, anyway, was far too short to reach the girl's garters. Gretchen, looking up from almost below it, could see straight up to the furrow between her legs. Kirsty's cunt was trim and lightly furred with red-gold curls. The bound woman could make out something glistening.

‘Would you like a rest, pet? Do something different for a wee while?' Kirsty asked quietly.

Gretchen, who found herself transfixed by the sight beneath her tormentor's skirt, nodded quickly.

 

There was no question about it. Amelia had to admit that Arabella Huntingdon-Wickham really did know how to spank.

She held Linnet over her lap with what looked like contemptuous ease, though the girl squirmed and bucked in desperation. With her right hand Bella placed, rather than rained, the smacks down on the rapidly reddening little bottom.

‘Ooh! Ah! Oh! Ouch! Please stop, it hurts!'

‘It's meant to hurt, you little bag of mischief!' Bella laughed, delivering another stinging spank to the wriggling girl's leg.

They were shapely legs, if rather slender, Amelia thought, as she quietly slipped her fingers underneath her own skirt. Indeed, Linnet had a lovely figure altogether for all that she was slim. Her bottom might not have been very big, but it was very sweet. The girl's flawless upper thighs above her stocking tops had turned from the palest peach to an angry red. Her bum cheeks were getting even redder as Amelia stood and watched.

Bella, evidently, saw no need to rush her work. She had ordered a slightly sulky Charlotte to keep her eye glued to the keyhole when Linnet had started really shrieking.

‘Just gag the little slut,' Charlotte had suggested.

‘No, I like to hear her squeal. You can, if you like, when it is your turn. Now watch the door, Charlotte, or I swear I shall put you over my knee instead.'

Charlotte glared mutinously at her erstwhile friend, but Bella had been busy with her victim, and eventually, with ill grace, she took up her station.

‘You are really giving it to her,' whispered Amelia, impressed despite herself, as another flurry of explosive smacks rained down upon the squirming bottom.

‘I like to use the hand on girls with tender bums.' Bella looked up and grinned before delivering a terrific smack right on the sweet spot. ‘I like to feel them wriggle when I warm them.'

‘Ow! Ow! Mercy! Please! Ouch!

‘Well, she seems to be feeling it, Bella, that's for sure,' Amelia said. Linnet's bottom looked as if it had been boiled, glowing a fiery scarlet from the white lace trim of her corset to the inky tops of her silk stockings. The squirming girl was sobbing bitterly between gasps of pain, as the punishing hand impacted on her rear, over and over.

‘Do you really think so?' Bella graced Amelia with a beatific smile and fetched Linnet another tremendous smack across the thighs, chuckling at her victim's agonised squeals. ‘Yes,' she said thoughtfully, ‘I suspect the little minx is starting to feel something.'

 

‘Aye, that's it. Aye, that's the spot...!'

Gretchen made a muffled, grunting sound. This time, however, it was not a scrubbing brush filling her mouth, but something altogether softer.

Kirsty had removed the gag but, to Gretchen's chagrin had left her legs stretched by the spreader bar and kept her hands cuffed behind her back. She had braced her bottom against the kitchen table and instructed Gretchen to put her tongue to work. The woman had been glad enough of a chance of respite from her original task, having been taught the error of that misjudgement, but Kirsty turned out to be a most demanding taskmistress.

‘No, not yet you little slut. Lap between the lips, my clit will wait. I want you to taste me and learn who you are tonguing.'

Gretchen learned all right, though her ability to taste Kirsty's copious juices was marred by the fact that the prefect punctuated her instructions by leaning forward, bending over her attendant, and delivering a series of explosive cracks of the paddle on her already sore behind.

‘Don't you pull away from me, miss!'

With one hand Kirsty grabbed a hank of Gretchen's hair and forced the woman's face hard against her crotch. With the other she delivered another flurry of paddle smacks. Gretchen did not mean to pull away but the pain was so intense that her head kept jerking back in response. The paddle strokes provoked more jerks, which in turn earned her more strokes. She was caught in an agonisingly vicious circle.

Somehow, at last, she managed to ignore the scalding pain sufficiently to keep her face pressed into Kirsty's pubic bush. Her plump cheeks were soaked now, but how much was Kirsty's slickness and how much her own tears would have been impossible to judge. Her bottom was so sore that the whole of it seemed to be throbbing, but she forced herself to ignore the pain and put her soul into tonguing her tormentor.

As Kirsty's climax started building, with a series of shudders from her pelvis, the girl discarded the paddle altogether and grabbed Gretchen by both ears. Then she fairly ground herself against the other's face to an accompaniment of muffled squeals. The prefect lifted her legs and wrapped them around Gretchen's neck. Strong young thighs squeezed her head in an anaconda grip that left her struggling to breathe.

Fortunately for her, Kirsty's crisis was not prolonged. The iron grip relaxed before she was entirely suffocated and at the same time she felt her ears released. Gretchen collapsed, gasping, into a kneeling posture, gulping lungfuls of sweet air.

Whether it was some mysterious reaction to her situation, or a result of the chafing chain between her legs, Gretchen was left half-delirious with her own desire. Still, she had enough sense left not to beg Kirsty. Instead, she looked up with pleading eyes.

‘What do you want, eh?' Kirsty pushed strands of hair away from her face and sneered down at her. ‘No, don't tell me. I know what it is, you writhing slut. Come on, kneel up, like the begging bitch you are.'

Anxiously, Gretchen did as she was told, wondering what Kirsty intended for her. She licked her lips anxiously, tasting Kirsty's juices as she did so.

‘Is this what you want, slut?' Kirsty asked with a mocking smile.

Gretchen moaned helplessly as the girl hooked the toe of her shoe into the chain that ran between her widespread legs. Kirsty simply used her foot to increase the pressure. A few contemptuous tugs were quite enough.

Her orgasm was like nothing she had ever known before. A great incandescent flash of ecstasy engulfed her. Gretchen's private hell turned into heaven for an instant. Waves of pleasure convulsed her abused body and she screamed, but this time not from pain.

As sense seeped back into her mind, she became aware of the cold stone floor beneath her face. Then she saw the highly polished shoe tapping impatiently a few inches away. There was a wooden paddle, too, discarded on the floor nearby.

‘Well, Gruntie Gretchen, are you going to lie there gasping like a landed fish all evening?' a lilting voice from above asked pleasantly.

Gretchen watched with dawning understanding as a girl's hand reached down for the paddle.

‘All right, you fat bitch,' the voice said. ‘Recreation break is over. Someone has a lot of work to do.'

‘The master wants you,' Faith said flatly, any sense of pity she might have felt completely vanquished by relief. ‘But first I have to put you in restraints.'