Rectory of Correction (6 page)

‘Not a very good show, Gretchen. I expect better comportment under correction, especially for such a gentle tickling as that. You will take a detention, too. Now, dear, back to your seat and draw a nice picture of the martinet for me.'

 

‘The best silver for the Reverend,' Faith said as she straightened the tablecloth, ‘plain pewter for the girls.'

She used the lace trim of her apron to measure the edges of the cloth, keen to ensure it was placed evenly over the table. The Reverend Dawes was quite capable of producing a ruler and measuring the overhang at either side, punishing any discovered slovenliness with a cane stroke for every eighth of an inch judged out of place.

‘Pewter is better than those little sluts deserve,' Rose spat, polishing the Reverend's silver cutlery with no less concentration.

Faith smiled as she began setting out the place mats. Rose seemed to be having difficulty adjusting to the new arrivals. The red-haired girl was jealous, she supposed. For her part, Faith was rather glad to see the house filled with vivacious girls. Anyway, she reasoned, as she positioned the last mat, with six pert new bottoms to preoccupy the Reverend's disciplinary zeal, life was sure to be a little easier for the maids.

She hurried to the pantry for the butter dish and cruet. As she placed them on the table Faith heard emphatic footsteps stalking down the hall. The familiar fluttering in her belly began at once. She felt a sudden guilty fear, as if he could somehow have read her hopes that the trainees might cause a distraction and spare her some of her master's more rigorous attentions. Spare her tender bottom, anyway.

‘There you are.' The Reverend looked from Rose to Faith and back again with a fierce hunger. There was a husky, slightly strained tone in his voice. Though she kept her eyes downcast, Faith had glimpsed the cane in his hand as he entered. There was no doubt about it. The master's blood was up. He seemed to be making some sort of choice.

‘Faith, bedroom, stripped!' he growled. ‘Rose, present!'

Faith fled, heart pounding in her breast. She recognised the symptoms, although she had never seen the Reverend Dawes quite so furiously aroused. If that was the effect teaching his class had on him, then her earlier hopes were perfectly forlorn.

Rose must have recognised his mood, too, and moved quickly, in a rustle of silk, to raise her skirts and bend over the back of a dining chair. Even though Faith fairly scurried to the door, she heard the whooshing of the cane and a meaty crack of impact as she fled. The sound echoed in her ears as she hurried up the stairway to the Reverend's bedroom. She paused before the door and took a deep breath before entering, for this sanctum always filled her with a sense of dread and awe.

The Reverend's room was large and luxuriantly furnished. At first sight it was conventionally decorated and thoroughly respectable. Faith knew what the engravings on the walls depicted, however. Long evenings spent chained to the brass bedstead, awaiting her master's pleasure, had given her the leisure to admire the draughtsman's skill, if not his choice of subject matter. The prints depicted the flogging of comely young ladies, of all races and complexions, from around the world.

Faith found these pictures exerted a horrid fascination, but she knew she had no time to peruse the scenes today. How long would Rose's plump bottom distract him? she wondered as she quickly unbuttoned her dress. The answer came almost at once as the door flew open.

‘Good God,' he bellowed, ‘how long does it take you to strip, you lazy little slut?'

Faith had finished struggling out of her uniform. She wore no drawers, only a long black satin corset and silk stockings, but the corset was a devil to get off.

‘Leave it!' he said hoarsely as her fingers began to tug at the beast's front fastenings. ‘Come here and get down on your knees.'

Faith needed no further bidding. As quickly as she could she scuttled over and sank to her knees before his towering figure. The only sounds in the room for a long moment were the ticking of the mantel clock and the creaking of her corset as she got into position.

‘Flies,' he growled.

Faith knew her fate now as her fluttering fingers unbuttoned the fly of his coarse tweed trousers. The cane swished in his right hand still, cutting through the air impatiently as she completed her task. His left hand caused the blood to surge to her cheeks, however, for in that he held the butter dish.

His erect manhood sprang out of his fly like some long-incarcerated prisoner, suddenly released. The sight of it, as always, filled Faith with almost reverential awe. She bowed her head towards his purplish glans and began to lick.

‘No!' The slap caught her across the face, knocking Faith sprawling sideways across the carpet with a gasp. ‘Not today, you greedy little slut!'

The Reverend seemed to be having trouble maintaining his self-control, not a phenomenon Faith had often witnessed before.

‘Bend over the end of the bed,' he ordered.

With a whimper, Faith hurried to obey. Her corset creaked lustily in protest as she struggled against the resilient whalebone stays. Feet wide apart, for this position was not new to her – and the penalty for closing her thighs had been enthusiastically demonstrated time and again – she clutched the satin eiderdown in desperate hands and waited for her bottom to explode with pain.

‘Do you need a few stripes to warm you up, girl?' The Reverend sounded very strained now.

‘No.' Her own voice sounded weak with fear. ‘Th-thank you, sir...' Faith scarcely dared believe she might escape a thrashing at this stage, but his question had sounded genuine enough.

The cane landed on the eiderdown beside her right hand. A startled gurgle escaped from deep in her throat as strong fingers probed. ‘Good God,' the Reverend's voice rumbled close to her ear, ‘you little slut. You're dripping like a tap.'

Faith felt herself blush to the roots of her hair as he continued his brusque appraisal of her state of arousal. He gave a low chuckle that made her want to disappear with shame. Then she felt his fingers withdraw and pat her bottom fondly.

‘Your juices are running down the insides of your legs.'

There was a moment's pause and then she felt his finger probe her anus.

‘Hold still, you saucy bitch,' he murmured as he applied the butter. ‘I shall still give you a few licks with the stick if you do not keep that sweet bottom in place.'

Faith could not prevent a moan escaping. She had no wish to earn herself a whipping, but the maddening sensation of his lubricated finger as it explored her anal ring was driving her way beyond distraction. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stay in position as he teased the sphincter muscle into relaxation. All Faith could do was to bite her bottom lip and grip the eiderdown in white-knuckled hands.

There came another pause. Her corset creaked a little as she failed to keep quite still. The mantel clock continued to tick away ominously. Still, she was sure she could make out something else. A quiet, rhythmic noise that could only be the heart-stopping, toe-curling, clitoris-tickling sound of a man diligently lubricating his erection with best butter.

‘Ooh...!'

‘Quiet!' he snarled, sounding to her terrified ears more savage dog than man.

Faith moaned despite his order as she felt his glans nuzzle against the ring of tender tissue. She let out another little cry as the nuzzling became a push. Then she groaned as his lubricated cockhead slipped inside. Her whole body squirmed in response.

‘Wriggle all you like, you won't escape me now, you little slut!' the Reverend chuckled as he worked himself, inch by inch, into her hole. Faith whimpered as his great cock pushed deeper inside her. She would split, surely. It was too big. She was too tight. A gurgling noise came from deep in her throat as she squirmed helplessly on the relentless fleshy skewer.

Faith turned her head and sought respite from the sensation by biting into her own naked shoulder. Surely it was not this big before?

Suddenly, the strong hands that had gripped her hips reached around and grasped the top of her corset, unhooking the front of the garment with almost contemptuous ease. Faith, whose eyes were screwed tight closed, felt her full breasts spring out of their prison.

‘Ooh, sir...' she gasped as he took her breasts in his hands, kneading the tender flesh with a brusqueness that was very close to painful. She squealed as he thrust himself ever deeper, completely captive in her master's iron grip. A growling sound escaped him as he reamed her. Faith had never heard anything quite like it. The Reverend Dawes took her engorged nipples between finger and thumb and twisted until she shrieked in mindless response.

Faith had been buggered before, over this very bedstead, but this time there was something new; a more furious intensity. The Reverend thrust deep inside her, then eased his cock at least halfway out. Then Faith squealed like a piglet as he pistoned in again. Dawes fucked her ruthlessly. She shrieked as he buried his teeth in the back of her neck.

‘Please,' she moaned, completely lost in a red mist of sensation, ‘I must...'

Normally Faith would never have dared ask it, let alone beg, but the buggering was taking her to a place somewhere beyond fear and pain. Amazingly, the Reverend responded, releasing her left breast and dropping his hand, searching out the necessary place.

‘Oh, oh, yes... don't stop,' she moaned as he withdrew and then thrust deep inside once again. His hand had found its target, closing over her crotch, and her pelvis did its best to move in response. Each brutal thrust of his cock now forced her forward, grinding her clitoris against the heel of his hand. It did not take many strokes before her body simply exploded with pleasure.

‘Oh! Ah! Yes, yes, yes,
yes
!' Faith howled as ecstasy engulfed her, barely aware of what she was saying or doing. Perhaps it was her abandoned bucking that triggered her ravisher's response, or the convulsive tightening of her anal ring around his cock as she squirmed in her climax. Whatever the catalyst, she felt him grind his manhood even harder into her rear and the air was filled with the blasphemous oaths that frequently preceded the Reverend's thunderous ejaculations. Swept away on a tidal wave of pleasure though she was, Faith could have sworn she felt something hot and wet and impossibly copious hose deep in her entrails.

Her master recovered himself first, although his erection was slow to subside and he still filled her.

‘Come on,' he chuckled, releasing a throbbing nipple to slap her cheek gently.

Awareness of her situation seeped into Faith's mind all to quickly. She was still bent over the end of the bedstead, the Reverend Dawes' manhood still wedged deep inside her. Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was the cane, lying on the coverlet. She pushed away the memory of abandoned behaviour in her crisis.

Strong hands gripped her corseted waist and she was lifted, still impaled, and carried around to the bed. Only then did he pull her up and off him, with an audible plop. Faith found herself held out, stockinged feet some inches from the floor, before he tossed her easily on to the bed.

‘Grip the bars behind you, girl, and spread them.'

Faith did not need telling twice. On her back, she reached behind to grip the bars at the head of the brass bedstead, making sure her legs were spread wide before she dared turn to her master.

He was naked now, washing his detumescent cock with water from a bowl. Faith watched her master's lean body with a sort of anxious admiration. As he towelled his manhood dry it began to swell and stiffen again. He turned to her and his cock twitched in his hand as he perused her. Faith felt her whole body quiver under his gaze. She had to grip the bars tight to fight the urge to cover her exposed cunny.

‘Right, you saucy little baggage,' he growled, ‘ready to go again?'

 

‘Would you like some of this on yon weals, lass?' Kirsty proffered the cold cream with a cheery smile.

Amelia paused. The sense of relief she had felt in loosening the dreadful drawers was passing, and it occurred to her that the Scottish girl might speak to her more respectfully, but the cold cream did look inviting, and her bottom still throbbed so...

‘Very well,' she said with rather ill grace, after a moment's hesitation, resolving that she would not put herself over Kirsty's lap. Kirsty did not seem put out, however, but was apparently content to smooth the soothing ointment over Amelia's welts as she stood in front of her.

‘God, Bella, the man is an absolute brute. These weals are raised like burns...'

‘Ow, not so rough, Charlotte, they still sting like the devil.'

Charlotte smoothed cold cream on her friend's martyred rump while Kirsty performed the same office for Amelia. Gretchen fiddled with her drawer laces whilst Linnet watched the others with wide eyes. Having been granted permission to unlace for ‘quiet time' after lunch, all the girls were now naked except for their silk stockings. Only Gretchen still struggled to unfasten her drawers.

‘Ach, it is a knot I cannot undo...' she muttered as she struggled fruitlessly with the lacing. Amelia could not help but watch her with amusement. Despite her cruelly tight stays and drawers, Gretchen had eaten greedily at luncheon. Now, as she battled to remove her constrictive underclothes, her face had gone quite puce. At that moment there was a loud ripping sound and every pair of eyes in the dormitory turned her way.