by Lucy Wild
When she had been draped over his lap, her deliciously pert posterior pointing up towards him, he had been utterly delighted. The sight of her pale porcelain skin had done things to him that no woman had ever done before. Emotions had built up deep within him that he was not used to, indeed they were emotions he barely understood. All he knew was that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone. But it would not be enough to just have her. He had to dominate her. He had to take her. She had to know that he was in charge.
He had initially decided to spank her as revenge for her playing him for a fool. But as soon as her posterior came into view, his reasons changed. It became less about revenge and more about control. He wanted her to let him take control of her. The first step was humiliating her. He had predicted that she might leave afterwards but he knew she would be back.
Striking that first blow upon her buttocks had been exhilarating, a sign of things to come, as he had no doubt she would continue to misbehave whilst remaining under his roof. The feel of her skin under his hand had been intoxicating and he had drunk in the sight of her reddened flesh as she squirmed underneath him. He had doubted her desires for the briefest of moments as she fought to free herself but when she looked up at him, he knew. Her eyes told him to continue, they spoke of an awakening, of something she had kept hidden and could never admit, a need for him to continue. Her kicking legs had even separated between the fourth and fifth blow, revealing the glistening soft pink flesh that proved everything he had thought. She was as lust filled as he was at that moment.
He waited all day but she did not return. By the evening he was beginning to doubt himself. Had he misinterpreted things? Was she genuinely furious with him for the spanking? Had she decided to go to the Academy or perhaps to run home with her tail between her legs?
He rode out to her parents’ house, arriving after dark. A bitter wind blew across the grounds as he passed his horse to a groom. He walked up the steps to the door at a brisk pace, finding Lord and Lady Brentwood waiting for him on the doorstep. “Have you news of our daughter?” Lady Brentwood asked before he had even removed his coat.
“She is not here?” George asked in return.
“No, she left without a word. We have been worried sick. I never should have agreed to send her to Kensington.”
“All this over a vase,” Lord Brentwood muttered, shaking his head mournfully. “I never liked that vase anyway.”
Lady Brentwood grabbed George’s wrists. “If you have any idea of her current location, you must tell us.”
“I am at a loss,” George replied. “I thought she would be here.”
“Have you seen her then?”
“I have.”
“Where? Where was she?”
“She was a guest of mine for the night but this morning she left without a word.”
Lady Brentwood’s brow furrowed. “What’s got into the girl?”
“Perhaps she went to Kensington after all,” Lord Brentwood said. “Just to spite us for changing our minds.”
“But she doesn’t know we changed our minds, dear.” Lady Brentwood turned from her husband back to George. “We should send word to the academy.”
“I will ride there myself,” George said, already buttoning his coat. “Winifred is faster than any messenger you might send.”
“If you find her, bring her home to us,” Lord Brentwood said, his eyes widening. “Please.”
“Of course,” George nodded before spinning on his heels and heading outside. The groom had his horse ready in minutes, Winifred looking most put out at having her rest interrupted so abruptly.
George’s mind whirled as he rode out to the Academy. It had been many years since he had been there and the place had changed hands since his time. The new owner was rumoured to be a crueller man than the previous proprietor ever was. He feared for Caroline if she had gone there. He would have good news for her though. Her parents wanted her to go home. Part of him was glad for her, the anxiety in her face would fade once she knew her home was secure once again. Another part mourned for the loss of an opportunity to see her posterior presented for him once more.
What was that feeling that took over him whenever he thought of her? It confused him for some time before a revelation hit him in an instant, almost strong enough to send him flying off the back of his horse. It was love. That was why he was confused. It was a feeling he had never had before, an emotion he barely understood. He had fallen in love with her.
Had that been the case when he asked her for a kiss? He thought back to that time. No, it was not there back then. All he had wanted was to conquer her. But why had it mattered so much?
He was no closer to answering his many questions by the time he reached the academy. He tied his horse up outside the building and looked up. It was little changed from the time when he had worked there. The strangest six months of his life. He had been twenty-one years old, barely old enough to take charge of anything. Yet he had been left there when old Fenston had wandered off for his afternoon pint, in control of almost a dozen young women, responsible for their education and discipline. Being the age he was, those hour long lessons had primarily taught him and them how to flirt with the opposite sex. But that was a long time ago. Who knew what went on in there now.
Taking a deep breath, he reached for the bell pull and yanked it solidly downwards. Deep inside the building, a jangle announced his arrival. A shudder passed through him uncontrollably a moment later. Something bad was about to happen. He did not know how he knew, it just struck him as a certainty. He could turn and leave and that would be that. But if he remained, once he was inside, something bad was going to happen.
A moment later the door opened and he saw inside the academy for the first time in almost a decade. The ancient woman on the doorstep looked out at him, a lantern held dangling from her left hand. “It is late,” she croaked. “What do you want?”
“I seek Lady Caroline Brentwood.”
The woman was good but not that good, her face flickering alarm for the briefest of moments. She soon regained control of herself, her eyes narrowing. “There’s none here by that name. Be off with you.”
Chapter 7
Caroline considered herself lucky. She had escaped from that wicked villain, George Hudson. That was unexpected good fortune. She had been sure his door would be locked and she would be trapped with him but she had been able to leave with little struggle. He had not even come after her. Not only that but within minutes of reaching the lane at the end of his land, a coach had passed that had actually offered her a lift. She had not even asked.
The driver smiled at her as he lifted her up amongst the rooftop denizens. She thought of asking to be seated inside as a Lady should. She refrained as she realised she had no money to pay for the journey onwards. She looked across at the driver but he was already on his way once more, guiding the horses forwards.
There had been many stops to collect and drop off passengers but eventually they drew near the academy and she climbed down, thanking the driver who only smiled and nodded in return.
The coach continued on its way and she turned away from it, looking up at the academy. It was a squat red brick building in an otherwise nondescript street. People walking past seemed unaware of the place. It made no overtures to the public, there were no advertising hoardings entreating passers-by to enrol their children. There was only a brass plaque by the door. Kensington Academy for Recalcitrant Young Ladies. Above it a knotted whip barely visible engraved in the metal. She had half expected to hear screams of agony through the windows but there was only silence coming from within.
Walking up to the door, she paused for a brief moment. Did she have a choice? She could wander the streets but there were people out there worse than George. She thought of her encounter in the woods and shivered. Anything was better than risking that again. Besides, the place was visible to the street. People were walking past all the time. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?
Sh
e yanked at the bell pull and waited, trying to stop her fingers from trembling. Her heart pounded as the door opened and an ancient woman answered. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her lips barely moving.
“My parents enrolled me. My name is Lady Caroline Brentwood.”
“Bring her in,” a man’s voice echoed from further down the hallway. The old woman stepped aside. Caroline walked in as a tall man strode towards her down the corridor. “My name is Michael Kensington,” he said, his hand outstretched to shake hers. “You need no introduction, Lady Caroline. I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents on many occasions.”
Caroline inclined her head. “A pleasure to meet you Mr Kensington. I must say, you are not what I expected.”
“Ah, the rumours. They are persistent things. Wipe them from your mind, Lady Caroline. This is an academy for breeding excellence, that is all. Come, you must be tired after your journey. We will take tea in my study.”
He turned and walked away, Caroline following him along a stretch of narrow corridor. They turned right, passing by several closed doors before stopping by a solid dark wood door which blocked the corridor. “Just need to find the key,” Kensington said, rummaging in his pocket.
“You keep your study locked?”
“Better to be safe than sorry,” he replied. “Ah, here it is.”
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow Caroline through first. She did so and caught a glimpse of a dark shadow to her left before a pair of hands caught hold of her. “What’s happening?” Caroline had chance to ask before her world went dark. A blindfold was tied over her eyes as a gag was wrapped round her mouth at the same instant. She had no idea how many people were involved but her wrists were being held in a tight grip to prevent her fighting, someone was even holding her ankles, binding them together whilst she did her best to struggle free.
“Welcome to the academy,” Kensington said behind her, his voice completely different. Gone was the light humour, in its place a cold empty quality reigned. “I am sure you will love it here.”
Caroline could do nothing as she was picked up and carried along the corridor. She had no idea where she was or what was happening. She did her best to scream but the sound was muffled behind her gag. She heard the creak of a door and then she was stood up on her feet again. Her locket was taken from her neck as Kensington breathed in her ear. “That will suit my wife,” he said softly. “Far better than it suits you. Undress her.”
Hands descended on Caroline and she again attempted to scream. It was as if she was surrounded by violent harpies. Whoever was there tore at her clothing, wrenching it from her, giggling as they did so. She was tugged left and right as her dress was shoved her shoulders, pushed down her body to her waist. Only then were her ankles untied. She managed to lash out a single kick before she was held again, the dress reaching her feet and being pulled away. She could feel cold air on her as her underclothes were taken from her in minutes leaving her naked, her hands and ankles bound, her vision still useless behind the blindfold.
She was yanked off balance and almost fell, caught in a strong pair of hands as terror bubbled up inside her. The humiliation of being naked and being unable to do anything about it was overwhelming her senses and she barely felt the object she was bent over. It was a wooden structure and she was tied in place around it, bent over it. Was it a tall bench of some kind?
Her stomach was pressed into the wood, her chest dangling forwards in thin air, her hands tied to something before her, hooks on a wall perhaps by the way her arms were pointed forwards. Her ankles were bound to whatever she was bent over and only then did the hands move away from her, leaving her with her posterior pointing backwards, her breasts swinging free, her head swimming with fear and shame combined.
“You might wonder about my methods,” Kensington said, pacing behind her, his echoing footsteps reaching her over sensitive ears over her own heavy breathing. “I can assure you they are tried and tested.”
Caroline attempted to scream again but Kensington ignored her. He continued pacing before stopping directly behind her. “I find the reasons for misbehaviour stem from one place.” He paused for a moment as Caroline felt a cold liquid pouring onto her buttocks. “The posterior is the seat of so much ill discipline,” he continued, something cold and wet running down between Caroline’s buttocks. “We shall begin with an insertion and then you can spend some time thinking. Brace yourself, this may make you wince.”
Chapter 8
George stood across the street from the academy, thinking hard. The old woman who had answered the door seemed happy enough to answer his questions. She was adamant Caroline was not there, having never heard of her before. In the end, George thanked her for her time and bade her farewell. He watched the academy closely whilst deciding what to do. He might have been able to believe the old woman if she had kept her scarf more tightly tied around her neck. But it was just loose enough for him to catch a glimpse of her locket as she had gone to close the door on him, a locket that looked an awful lot like the one Caroline had been wearing. It could be no other.
He thought back to his time at the academy. There was a back entrance, one that not many people knew about. It was down an alleyway, an unmarked door that led directly into the kitchen. In his day, it had only been used for the weekly food deliveries.
He knew that crossing the threshold of the place would mean he was on the wrong side of the law. There was a chance he would be arrested for breaking in. There was no guarantee that Caroline was in there anyway. She might be anywhere else. But if that was the case, what was the likelihood of that old crone having the same locket? She was in there, he knew she was. But why lie about it? What was happening to her in there?
He crossed the street and walked away, turning right down the alleyway, sending a cat howling away when it saw him marching towards it. He turned right again down a narrower alley, stopping by the door he remembered well. It looked as if it had not been painted since his time there. Glancing left and right, he then tried the handle, finding it locked. Of course it was. That would have been too simple.
He walked back round to the street in time to see a coach pulling up by the front door. From it descended a young woman in a spotless white dress, her parents beside her, the family resemblance unmistakeable. “Be good, darling,” her father said. Who was she? He knew her. It took a second and then he placed her. That was Eleanor Risby, daughter of Sir Charles Risby. So she was being enrolled here. Had they found out about his time with her sister Josephine in the garden? Was that the reason? He ducked his head, hoping Sir Charles would not look his way, just in case.
“Can you not come in with me?” Eleanor asked.
“No dear. The letter explicitly said you must be alone. I would hate you to make a poor first impression.”
“Oh father. Mother, can you not change his mind?”
“I am sorry, my child. You know your father as well as I. Now, be good and we will see you soon.”
As the girl walked up to the doorstep, her parents rode away and George watched closely. As soon as Eleanor was inside he walked up to the door, ringing the bell and waiting. It was not answered. He frowned, ringing again. The ancient woman opened it a moment later. “You again? I tell you, there is no Caroline Brentwood here. Call again and I shall have you dealt with.”
“No,” he smiled his best smile. “I have come to speak to Eleanor Risby.”
“None here by that name. Now begone.”
She went to close the door but George grabbed it in his hand. “I just saw Eleanor enter. Lie to me again and it is you who will be dealt with.”
The old woman paled suddenly. “What do you want?”
“I wish to speak to Mr Kensington at once. I want to know exactly what’s going on here.”
“You may wait in his office and he will be with you presently.”
George was shown to a room along the corridor. As he stepped inside, the woman pulled the door c
losed, leaving him alone in there. He looked around him. The shelves were filled with books similar to those from Fenston’s days. There were religious volumes one side of the window and educational textbooks on the other. The desk was the same as back then. George felt a strange sense of nostalgia looking at it, remembering his time here. He had only been playing at work really. The family had been rich enough for him to never work but as a youngster, he had taken it upon himself to explore employment, finding it deeply distasteful except for one factor. The women. He had taken what he had learned and applied himself to seducing as many as possible since then, though none had touched him like Lady Caroline. He had not even kissed her and yet she meant more to him than any of the others ever had. And she was in here somewhere. He was sure of it.
The door to the office opened and a man in his fifties entered, his smile fixed on his face. “I believe you wish to speak with me,” the man said, mopping his brow as he crossed the room. “I am Michael Kensington. Please, take a seat.”
“Good day,” George began. “I am Lord Hudson. I believe you have a friend of mine here.”
“Oh yes?”
“Lady Caroline Brentwood.”
Kensington frowned. “I do not think so.” He glanced down at a book laid open before him, running his finger down a list of names. “No, no one of that name. I am sorry to disappoint you. Have you travelled far?”
“Do not play games with me,” George snapped. “I know she is here.”
“Are you accusing me of lying sir?”
“I suppose you are going to tell me you have no Eleanor Risby here either?”
“Eleanor is here. She is currently unpacking in the dormitory. Would you like to speak to her?”
“No. I want to speak to Lady Caroline.”
Kensington stood up. “I am sorry but I am a busy man and I have no time for games. You must excuse me Lord Hudson. My wife will show you out.”
