12 Naughty Days of Christmas - 2016

by Jenny Plumb

  Margaret screamed blue murder and pummelled at the blaggard’s back; she managed to grab hold of his unpowdered queue, which she twisted, tugging it viciously. A large hand descended upon her derrière, a smack she barely felt through the layers and layers of dress and petticoat material, but his blow incensed her temper none the less.

  “How dare you strike me so, you uncouth barbarian, set me down this instant!” His response was another blow to her well padded behind. Margaret gnashed her teeth but could find no purchase of flesh to bite. The man shouldered a heavy wooden door open and set his burden down upon her feet.

  A furious Margaret spun and faced him, ready to fight tooth and nail. He pulled off his black mask. Margaret stared at him dumbfounded and then began to laugh. “Oh, tis only you!” she chortled with relief.

  Chapter 8

  Rose’s maid Eloise sat nervously next to Mr. Roberts; she perched high upon the seat of the gig he drove as fast as he dared to the location of the gentlemen’s picnic on the estate.

  Eloise had been with Rose since she was a young girl and had travelled over to England with her when her marriage to Lord Mortimer was arranged. Rose had assured her that Benedict knew of the New Year’s Day ladies ball. It wasn’t until the ladies had departed for the dance that she accidentally overheard the indiscreet gossiping of the other ladies’ maids. In fact, she had been shocked to discover that none of the ladies’ husbands actually knew of their wives’ whereabouts, or even their intention to attend this odd social event, a strange affair indeed that did not include husbands upon the invitation.

  Eloise went at once to report the overheard information to Roberts. The Mortimer’s butler swiftly ordered a gig to take the both of them out to the picnic in order to inform his lordship of unfolding events.

  The scowl that darkened his lordship’s face as he listened to Eloise’s explanation was a good indication to his guests that something was amiss. “By Hades, I do believe our foolish wives are up to mischief once again and this time they may be in danger. We need to rally back at Merriton where I intend to arm myself. I shall fill you in with the details on the way; come gentlemen there is no time to lose!”

  Sir Thomas, famous for his skill with foils, chose a blade from among his host’s sword collection. While Charles fetched his own pistol from his chamber, Guy also chose to carry a sword. The Colonel was adept with a blade in his hand. The other gentlemen chose to borrow pistols from Benedict’s armoury. Since their horses already awaited them, they were soon upon their way. So grim were their facial expressions that any passerby might have mistaken the dour group for bandits or highwaymen, although the rich cut of their cloth was perhaps an obvious indication as to their high standing in society.

  Arriving at Overton they found a riot of depravity. An orgy of epic proportion was underway. Benedict, the tallest of their group spotted their womenfolk huddled together deep inside the large ballroom. He caught hold of a tallish fellow as he passed by and laid him flat out with his fist. He ripped off the chap’s mask and pulled it on. The other men followed suit and began to pull the masks from men too engrossed in various lewd acts to care. One objecting thug needed total disabling and in this instant Thomas also removed the fellow’s dark greatcoat to complete his disguise.

  “Gentlemen, go rescue your lady and get her back to Merriton Hall as soon as may be. I suggest we convene in the withdrawing room and deal with our hellions once there.” The other five husbands nodded agreement, following Benedict Mortimer as he threaded his way through the confusion of writhing and fighting bodies to where their wives stood. They were themselves kicking out at the legs of passing men and tripping many a fellow up while cracking heads with their fans whenever a miscreant got too close to their group. As the men homed in on their wives, the women’s screams of outrage rang shrill as each gentleman hoisted his wife over his shoulder. Their wives took a moment to recognise their husband beneath their sinister masks. Once captured, each husband headed toward the nearest exit. All except for Sir Thomas, Margaret was nowhere to be seen.

  Thomas stared about him with alarm, where was his precious Bee? The other men snatched up their hapless wives and left Thomas frantically searching for any sign of his missing wife. All at once a chill trickled down his spine. Black Bill was at work here, Thomas felt utterly certain that the blaggard had stolen his honey Bee. He rushed from the room, pushing and shoving his way into the passageway. He ran along the flagstones until he came to a door and shoving it open, he saw the room was empty. He continued along the hallway opening every single door he came to, searching for his wife and then he heard it. A scream, Margaret’s cry, after all he’d heard her strident wail often enough to recognise her tone. He crashed into the room to see his dearest Bee struggling against a man’s advances.

  “Unhand my w-wife, sir, or take the c-consequences!” he cried, furious that his stutter should make an appearance at this inappropriate time. The fellow turned to face him still clasping Margaret’s arms. Her dress was torn, ripped clear across her bosom. Thomas’s blood boiled when he saw he was correct in his assumption, it was indeed, Black Bill, aka William Blackwell, his past nemesis.

  “Why if it isn’t the-the s-st-uttering h-husband,” Black Bill mocked.

  “Unhand my wife, you b-bastard!” Thomas growled, livid.

  “Or what, nincompoop... Isn’t that what you and your mother used to call Wiggington, Margaret?” Black Bill glanced at Margaret’s furious face. She spat at him, hitting him full in his eye.

  Thomas knew only too well how painful that disgusting deed felt, but on this occasion he actually blessed his wife for her peevish nature. He quickly took the opportunity, while Black Bill was distracted, to lunge with his sword, thrusting his foil deep into the man’s thigh.

  Bill bellowed with pain and released his hold on Margaret; both his hands dropped to protect the bloody wound on his leg.

  Margaret immediately scuttled over to Thomas who pulled her directly from the room, running with her into the passage. As they pelted toward the entrance hall, they heard Black Bill’s howls of rage echoing behind them.

  Once outside, Thomas wrenched off his stolen greatcoat and flung it about Margaret, thus screening her dishevelled state and protecting her from the bitter cold. He then clasped her waist and lifted her, helping her up onto his horse’s back before leaping up behind her. He urged his steed into a canter and then full gallop until they left Overton far behind them.

  On their arrival at Merriton Hall Thomas stopped outside the main entrance of the house, instead of riding direct to the stables, he wished to get Margaret inside into the warm as soon as possible.

  “Thomas, thank goodness you came when you did! I had no idea that William had designs upon me; I even laughed, thinking he was only playacting when he abducted me. I have been such a fool. In future I promise to heed your advice,” Margaret twittered anxiously as Thomas lifted her from his horse’s back.

  He turned a stern face to her. “You shall certainly heed my advice now onward Margaret, of that you may be certain sure.”

  Margaret chewed her lip; her husband’s brusque, glacial tone well matched the arctic air. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be sleeping on her front that night.

  The ladies sat scattered about the withdrawing room seated upon hard dining room chairs that were positioned as far apart from one another as they could be. Each chair faced the wall. Roberts had been instructed to see to the chair placement by his lordship on their immediate arrival. While each of the other husbands had assured himself that no damage had come to his beloved wife, Benedict has sent Rose to his study to await his censure, while he organised the shifting about of furniture.

  Each wife sat straight-backed upon her chair, nervously awaiting her husband’s condemnation.

  Husbands stood before their apprehensive wives with varying grim expressions, but it was Benedict alone who addressed the company brusquely. “The devious deception that wrought such mischief this day was premedi
tated by each one of you ladies and therefore warrants serious punishment. Since you decided en masse to deceive your husbands, we have concluded that it would be fitting to punish you en masse. The organisers of the deception we know to be Margaret, Rose and Imogene. After this chastisement is finished, you three shall remain behind to receive further retribution. You will now please stand and turn about, place your hands upon the chair seat and stick your posteriors out, ready to receive a sound spanking from your husbands.”

  The ladies reluctantly did as they were bid. Margaret and Rose caught one another’s eye, they had been in this socially uncomfortable position once before. Harriett and Helen were openly weeping and Imogene was heard to plead with Charles for privacy. Claudia giggled, her usual reaction to punishment, brought on by sheer nerves.

  Richard watched as Benedict lifted his wife’s skirts up over her back and followed suit, rucking Helen’s gown high, exposing her naked behind. Glancing around the room, he saw that all the husbands had bared their ladies’ bottoms ready for their spanking.

  Sir Thomas pulled a leather strap from his coat pocket and removed his coat, flinging it aside onto a settee; he turned in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, flicking a well-practiced wrist in preparation.

  Lord Mortimer produced a heavy split tawse.

  Richard watched with interest as the first strokes were laid down upon bare flesh and then a high-pitched laugh given by Claudia French distracted him. A high plaintive cry from his sister-in-law Harriett caught his attention and he realised that he was the only husband not yet spanking his wife.

  He drew back his palm and landed a heavy smack on her pretty upturned cheeks. Her flesh quivered delightfully and so he repeated the exercise. Soon he was arcing his arm high, delivering some punishing thwacks to Helen’s rather pink nates, she responded by shifting from foot to foot and whimpering. Richard cast his gaze about the room, soon realising that Helen was the only wife not yet openly crying; he certainly had some catching up to do.

  Oliver Weston had never before spanked a woman. He’d threatened to and even delivered a few swats. After all, it was the norm for a husband to spank his wife, but he had never actually envisioned carrying out the threatened spanking. Yet here he was, rather enjoying chastening Harriett and why not? After all she had been a very naughty girl indeed. She more than deserved this punishment, perhaps in future she would think twice before acting quite so foolishly.

  Guy knew the precise moment Claudia felt her chastisement fully because her laughter ceased and she wept genuine tears of remorse. Jolly good, he was making his point! If only he had not forgotten about the wretched invitation after she had mentioned it to him. He would have discussed the ball with Charles and Oliver and then this unpleasantness could have been avoided. It was Guy’s chivalry that had saved Claudia from any secondary punishment her brother had devised.

  Rose quivered and tried to hold still. She knew from bitter experience that nothing prolonged a spanking more than her writhing about. Benedict was a stickler for accepting one’s just desserts. As another burning line of pain sliced across her tender sit-upon she cried aloud and sobbed out an apology, begging quarter from a man she knew would give her none. She cringed as another stinging blow seared across her bottom, she stuttered out another apology, pleading in vain.

  Margaret, not for the first time in her marriage, regretted defying Thomas. He was an accomplished disciplinarian and knew just how to extract retribution from his naughty wife’s heart-shaped rear end. The strap he wielded with such skill hurt like blue-blazes and she knew that would not be the end of it. Thomas had whispered to her as he lifted her skirts, informing her that she could expect to receive a nightly spanking for the foreseeable future.

  Thomas himself was determined that Margaret should learn her lesson over this New Year debacle. Never before had he so feared losing her to another man. His overwhelming jealousy at witnessing her clasped in Black Bills arms had undone him, for he loved his Bee to distraction. He had loved her far longer and far deeper than she would ever know, he had waited years to claim her and she had risked all by one act of wilful defiance. Thomas determined this would never happen again, he would make certain of that and so he cracked the strap he held hard against her pearly skin, laying down another stripe of chastisement on her wicked little bottom.

  Finally it was finished, over and done with. The sobbing ladies were ordered to face the wall. Their skirts were rucked up displaying reddened, chastened arses to their husbands who stood close behind their wives. Arms folded across their chests, each man ignoring the fact that he had an uncomfortable cockstand pressing against the fall of his breeches as he gazed lustily at his wife’s scarlet hindquarters. After five minutes had passed, Oliver, Richard and Guy tugged their wives’ voluminous skirts down, hugged their humbled ladies and led them from the room. The door closed securely behind them.

  Margaret hissed to Rose who strained to hear what her friend was whispering. “We have increased to six members in the Spanked Wives Society,” she mouthed almost silently.

  Rose nodded, thinking it was scant reward for the punishment she had just received. She groaned and more was yet to come, the Spanked Wives Society was the last thing on her mind right now.

  Benedict moved over to the bell pull and tugged. There was silence while they waited for a maid to bring in the items he had requested, but eventually the knock came and he was handed a tray covered by a cloth. He placed the tray upon a side table and called Rose over to him, instructing her to leave her skirts up. Thomas and Charles gave their wives the same instruction. Uncovering the tray, each gentleman took up a dish and led his wife to a chair whereupon each husband seated himself, pulling his wife down across his lap. Margaret and Rose understood at once what was to come, but poor Imogene had no idea what was to follow and begged Charles not to spank her again.

  Margaret decided she would rather take another spanking than what was to come.

  Charles took up the vial of oil. “Put your hands behind you, Immy, and pull your bottom cheeks apart.”

  Imogene shifted. “Beg pardon! I shall do no such thing!” she stated vehemently.

  Charles gave her already scalding arse a stinging smack. “This is the final part of your punishment. Do as I ask, I plan to ginger you up.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “It is a punitive measure, also known as figging. Now then, do as I say or I shall be forced to ask for your brother’s help.”

  Imogene whimpered, she most certainly did not want Benedict seeing her secret, intimate private parts and so with no choice, she reluctantly did as Charles requested. It felt odd but not unpleasant to have oil dribbled over her crinkled rosebud. She squirmed when Charles began to push something inside her dark forbidden hole. “No, oh Charles, whatever are you doing to me?” she wailed, wriggling.

  “Ginger root,” came his inexplicable reply. Then surprised, she felt herself lifted and set upon her feet. Margaret and Rose were both standing, looking equally red faced and red eyed. Although their dresses covered them, each woman knew that they were also red arsed. It didn’t take long for the naughty young wives to start dancing from foot to foot.

  “And so it begins,” Thomas said, his head tilted as he watched them.

  “What does?” asked Charles.

  “The fig dance,” Benedict answered, watching his small blonde wife wriggle her hips somewhat delightfully.

  “Poetic justice.” Charles agreed.

  “Indeed, rather an appropriate punishment for three ladies who wanted to dance on New Year’s Day, wouldn’t you say so, gentlemen?” Thomas’s lips twitched with amusement as Margaret began gyrating in an attempt to cope with the escalating heat building inside her chastened rear.

  Benedict sauntered over to the tray of drinks thoughtfully provided by Roberts. “A stirrup cup, gentlemen?” he asked waving a crystal goblet toward them both. Thomas and Charles nodded their assent.

  Before any of them took a sip of their amber liq
uid, Thomas proposed a toast. “Gentlemen to our very hot dancing wives, Happy New Year!”

  “Cheers!” they responded in chorus.

  In the meantime, their wives frantically danced to the tune of a fig.

  THE END.

  I should like to take this opportunity to thank my readers and wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a happy and healthy New Year!

  Vanessa

  About the Author

  Vanessa Brooks

  © Vanessa Brooks 2016

  Hi, I am Vanessa, I am married and I live in Sussex, England. I hope that you have enjoyed my naughty portrayal of Christmas in colourful 18th century England. I have thoroughly researched Georgian practices to give an authentic feel to this risqué era. I mention some of the 18th century Christmas customs in my story, they are correct but the group spanking was my own invention! Christmas trees did not become common practice until Queen Victoria and Prince Albert introduced them in the mid 19th century.

  Father Christmas was brought into custom earlier during the 1600s, but in fact at that time he was depicted wearing green and was a symbol of cheerful enjoyment. He was not at all as we would recognise him today. He was not known as the gift-giving gentleman dressed in red until the 1850s, which is why I did not include any mention of him in my story. Please note that the carol, I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In, was sung in varying forms even earlier than the 18th century but was not actually written down until the 1800s by one William Sandys.

  If you would like to know more about the couples you met in this novella, then here is a list of books that tell you the very different story of each of these couples’s difficult courtships.

  His Colonial Rose – Benedict and Rose’s tale. The prequel: written jointly by Beth Bennett and Vanessa Brooks.