Before Mr. Cummings could answer, Mr. Braxton said, “We need our stories to match, in case they ask me. Where did you meet? How long have you known her? What attracted you to her? How did you become lovers and discover a mutual taste for spanking and the other activities that come with this lifestyle?”
Once again, silence reigned in the carriage.
“You didn’t think of things like that, did you?” Mr. Braxton asked. “Listen, if Vanessa has done this, I want to help. Tom Leslie is a good man, but he is cautious about his life. Which means our stories need to be in sync. Now, shall we spend the rest of the trip talking about things?”
“Yes, we should,” Mr. Cummings said. “I suppose I have been lax in thinking up a history for the two of us. Let’s do it now.”
By the time they stopped at a small pub for lunch, the information had been drilled into all of their heads. It was pretty close to the truth, which Maisie figured was a good idea.
She and Mr. Cummings had met while she was a tavern worker at the Poke and Bear. They were attracted to each other, and soon found their way into bed, where they discovered they shared the same cravings.
Mr. Cummings didn’t like the idea of training her at the school, because that would make it seem like business. He wanted to spend time with her away from there, and the best place to do something like that was at a house party, to make sure their first lovemaking events had not just been a fluke, and that they were, indeed, suited to each other.
“I think it makes for a convincing story,” Mr. Braxton said when they were seated at a table.
Mr. Cummings ordered for them all, shepherd’s pie with tankards of ale. Maisie wasn’t so sure about the drink, since her memories of the other night were still so fresh. She asked for water, and the serving girl sneered in response.
They ate quietly and quickly, and were back on the road so fast that Maisie wondered why they’d stopped at all.
When they pulled into Morton-on-Mare they stopped long enough for Mr. Braxton to give specific directions to Claret House, which was on an estate about five miles out of town.
They were stopped at the gate by a guard, who checked the occupants of the carriage. They got out and entered a different carriage. Maisie looked through the window and watched the one they’d come in turn around and head back to Morton-on-Mare.
“They’re very careful about whom they let into the estate, aren’t they?” Maisie asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Glover, they are,” Mr. Braxton said. “That’s why we had to spend the entire trip getting our stories straight. Some people would find the types of activities that go on here abhorrent. They don’t want unwanted eyes.”
“No, I suspect they don’t,” Maisie said. Right now she wasn’t sure she wanted to see things, either. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m a little, shall we say concerned.”
“I tried to warn you,” Mr. Cummings said.
“Things will be fine,” Mr. Braxton said. “Now, remember that you will be called by your given name, but all those in charge, both men and women are to be addressed as Mr. or Mrs.”
“There are females here with males under them?” Maisie asked.
“Yes, there are Mrs. Beales here,” Mr. Braxton said. “Aldis, you’ve been very lax in letting her know what will be happening.”
“Yes, I have,” he said. “I apologize, Mrs. Glover. Perhaps I made a mistake as well.”
“As well?” she asked.
“You being here is a mistake,” he said.
“I may be nervous, but I won’t crumble, Mr. Cummings,” Maisie said.
He looked at her and was it her imagination, or was he smiling in admiration?
The new carriage plodded along and Maisie once again looked out the window. The hills of green grass made her smile. Trees dotted the landscape, and when they made a turn a manor house loomed in the distance. The only house of this size that Maisie had ever been inside was the school in Bath. If she had to guess, she would say this one was larger.
The carriage pulled up in front of a large portico. No one was waiting outside. They got out and the driver told them he would take their luggage to their rooms. It was at that point that Maisie thought about the bag she’d hidden under the seat of the carriage that had brought them to Morton-on-Mare. She’d watched as they’d transferred the other luggage, but she hadn’t thought about her personal bag until now. That meant, she was sure, that she would lose everything that was in it.
Mr. Cummings had told her the carriage would be housed in a stable in town until the driver came to pick them up after their stay.
“Let’s go inside,” Mr. Braxton said. He indicated Maisie should go first. They entered through a large door and Maisie thought the hallway was as large as the entire Poke and Bear building.
“To the left,” Mr. Braxton said, and he pointed to a room.
Maisie pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was lavishly furnished, with large wooden chairs and tables, and a fireplace that she thought could heat the entire house.
She glanced at the tapestries, which, she could see, were medieval and featured men and women, all of them clothed, in different embraces. Some were kissing, some were gazing into each other’s eyes, and some were simply holding hands.
As her gaze moved over them she became aware of other occupants. She turned to the center where a man sat in a chair, calmly drinking a cup of tea.
Next to him a woman was bent over a long table. She was naked.
The only distinguishing thing about her was the candle that stuck out of her bum.
Chapter 10
Maisie took a step back, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. Mr. Cummings had not warned her about something like this.
The woman bent over the table was as immobile as a statue. She was so still, in fact, that Maisie wondered if she were made of marble.
“We’re so very happy to have you,” said the dark headed man. “I’m your host, Tom Leslie. This charming woman is my wife, Sylvia.” He patted the woman on the bum. “She’s very happy you’re here, also. It is good to meet you, Mr. Cummings. I’m surprised our paths have not crossed before.”
“Events will start at eight tonight, after supper,” Mr. Leslie said. “But, there is a hot pot going on right now if you’d like your submissive to join. Those who win will be in the stocks for public spankings tonight.”
Hot pot? What did that mean, Maisie wondered.
“There will be three winners,” Mr. Leslie said.
“I’m more for Maisie watching for right now,” Mr. Cummings said. He repeated the story they’d discussed in the carriage. “I wanted her to see events rather than have me teach her.”
For a moment, Maisie wondered if Mr. Leslie believed them. The stern look on his face made her think he was going to order them to leave. But when the glare turned into a faint smile she knew Mr. Cummings had somehow won him over.
“Your rooms are on the third floor,” he said. “Let me summon someone to show you. I’ve already had your luggage taken up.”
He rang a bell and a woman appeared. She wore a robe so sheer that Maisie wondered why she had it on at all, since she was naked as the day she was born underneath it, and everything was on view.
“The green rooms,” Mr. Leslie said. “We’ll see you at dinner, and if you care to view the hot pot, it will be going on all day as people arrive.”
The moment their backs were turned to Mr. Leslie, Maisie opened her mouth to ask about the hot pot. But when Mr. Cummings held up his finger she got the message to keep her mouth closed until they were alone.
The woman led them upstairs and to the right. “Two bedrooms,” she said. “You can choose which to use.” She bowed. “Will there be anything else?”
“Are you expected back downstairs, or are you for lending?” Mr. Braxton asked.
“I am at your command, Mr. Braxton,” the woman said.
“Good, come with me, then.” He winked at Maisie. “You can come and watch if you like,
with Aldis’s permission, of course.”
“Perhaps later,” Mr. Cummings said. He opened the door in front of them and indicated Maisie should enter before him.
The moment the door was closed she said, “What is a hot pot?”
“It’s a board game of sorts,” he said. “It is played at almost every party like this. The ladies who attend all want a place at the opening festivities. They enjoy being the center of attention.”
“But how is it played?” she asked.
“Let’s get changed and I’ll take you down to see,” he said. “We can scan the crowd for Vanessa. We also need to be on the lookout for James Engleton. I’m not so certain he has not set up this elaborate scheme to steal his father’s property and blame it on his mistress.”
“And if he has?” Maisie asked. “Will you contact his father and tell him?”
“He’s used me in the process,” Mr. Cummings said. “I can’t allow that if it turns out to be the truth.”
Maisie admired him for that, since the bored lord was obviously friends with Mr. Cummings.
“Let’s get you changed and then we’ll go downstairs,” he said.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’m fine until dinner,” he said. He picked up a case and tossed it on the bed. Maisie looked around for the one she’d hidden in the carriage, but it was nowhere to be seen. She hoped it would be safe while they were here.
Mr. Cummings opened the case and she watched as he shifted through the container. He pulled out a sheer piece of material and a corset.
“We’ll ask Peyton’s friend to bind you in this,” he said as he tossed the outfit on the bed.
“But I’m wearing a corset already,” she said.
“Not like this one,” he replied.
Maisie walked toward the bed and could see he was right. This corset was covered in jewels and pearls. Like the seamstress she was, Maisie wondered how long it had taken someone to make the item. If things had gone differently at the school, would she be making similar things and thinking they were nothing more than costumes for parties? Of course that’s what this was, wasn’t it—a costume?
“Undress,” Mr. Cummings said. He walked to a door next to the bed and knocked.
“Yes?” It was Mr. Braxton’s voice, and it sounded as if he had been doing something extremely exerting, because he sounded out of breath.
Mr. Cummings flung open the door. Mr. Braxton stood there with his pants down. The woman who had shown them up the stairs knelt before him, sucking his prick. Braxton had his hands buried in her hair.
Funnily enough, Maisie found herself quite fascinated by the scene. She wondered what was going through the woman’s mind. Did she feel what Maisie had thought when she’d sucked Mr. Cummings? Was there any emotion involved? Or was it purely physical? What sort of pleasure did she get from it? She would have to find the girl—no woman for she was at least as old as Maisie—at some point and ask her those questions.
As if he realized she was watching, Mr. Cummings turned to her. “Didn’t I tell you to undress?”
“Yes,” Maisie said. She tore her gaze away from the couple and started to undo her stays. Something told her she would be seeing a lot of coupling this weekend, and not just of the oral variety.
Mr. Braxton’s moans of appreciation reached her ears as Maisie undressed. She felt self-conscious about being naked in front of people she didn’t really now, but she knew this was part of it. If she put up a fuss, she had a feeling that Mr. Cummings would make her stay upstairs and she wouldn’t get to take part in the search for Vanessa.
When she was naked she reached for the corset.
“Leave it,” he said. “They’re done next door. Grab the post on the bed, with your face inward.”
Maisie did as he asked, knowing this was the exact position to be laced into a tight corset. Within moments the item came across her midsection. Maisie put her hand on the material to hold it in place while the unknown woman started to lace it in the back.
“Make it as tight as you can, and if you don’t think it will go anymore, give it one or two more pulls,” Mr. Cummings said.
“Yes, sir,” the woman said.
She tugged and pulled on the laces, and Maisie’s insides drew together. She wanted to scream that was tight enough, unless they wanted her to stop breathing. But she knew she needed to take it in stride and follow the rules, and clothing, that Mr. Cummings set forth.
When the corseting was done, and Maisie fought to even her breathing, the woman picked up the gauzy skirt and attached it to the corset with ribbons.
“Very good,” Mr. Cummings said when it was all said and done. “Please tell Mr. Leslie that I am very pleased with your help.”
“I will sir, thank you,” the woman said.
Maisie turned to look at the reflection in the glass. She’d never worn something so ornate, and it made her feel beautiful. She massaged the skirt material between her fingers.
“See you downstairs,” Mr. Braxton said. His words broke the spell she’d been under.
When he was gone, Mr. Cummings came up behind her. “We’ll go and watch the hot pot. You’ll be focused on the activity at first, but I want you to scan the crowd for Vanessa. Quite a few of the people will be wearing masks, us included, so look for a shape that you think might match her, or for the color and style of her hair.”
“All right,” Maisie answered.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She was so shocked by his question that she turned to face him. “You care how I feel?”
“I do, I’m not a total monster,” he said.
She supposed her expression must have shown she didn’t really believe his words because he huffed in indignation.
“You seem shocked by my words.”
“Well, you haven’t exactly been very caring about me,” she said.
“On the contrary, I tried to keep you away from this,” he said. “But it’s too late for that, so we need to put on our masks and go downstairs. Let me tell you about the hot pot before we get there. I want to give you time to get used to the idea, so that you’re focusing on the crowd and not the game.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and she turned to face him one more time. “The game is played with the submissive ladies or gentlemen. They stand in squares and masturbate. If they spend they are out of the game. There are three winners. Those winners will be placed in the stocks tonight and spanked and played with at will.”
Maisie shuddered. “I don’t understand. Why would someone want to be in the stocks?”
“The winners deny themselves during the game, but while they are in the stocks they can orgasm as much as they want,” he said. “Anyone at the party can play with them, and they are allowed great pleasure. They want to be whipped, and to have their quims and cocks stroked and tugged.”
“What if none of them spend?” she asked. “How do they decide on a winner?”
“It’s timed,” he said. “If three of them have enough control over themselves to not come to completion then the people who lasted the longest are the winners. Each person who wants to play has one hour in the square.”
“It could take all afternoon,” she said.
“Yes, well people arrive at different times, and it’s meant to entertain,” he said. “Remember, don’t focus on the game. Search the faces in the crowd.”
“Yes, Mr. Cummings,” she said.
They looked at each other for a few long, moments, and Maisie felt a pull in her stomach. She couldn’t decide if it was excitement, or if it was the inability to breathe because of the corset she wore.
“When we’re downstairs you need to remember to stay behind me,” he said.
“A sign of submission?” she asked.
“Exactly,” he said. “We’ll put on our masks, and I’m going to put a white strip of lace around your neck, to signify that you belong to someone. That will keep others from wanting to play with you. Never take it off w
hen you’re downstairs. If you do, it makes you vulnerable to anyone in the group.”
She felt like she should say something that sounded grateful rather than just saying thank you, but she couldn’t think of anything, so she said just that.
Mr. Cummings picked up a mask, one that was totally black and handed it to her. “Tie this around my head, please.” When she was done he picked up another, this one totally white. He tied it around her eyes and then she jerked as he placed the lace around her neck. He tightened it and she clawed at it, feeling like it was cutting off her airway.
“Relax,” he said as he rubbed her bare shoulders. “I make you this promise that I won’t let anyone touch you.”
“Except you,” she said.
“Except me,” he repeated. “You have to trust me.”
She had to admit that she did trust him. She thought he would take care of her and do exactly what he’d said he would.
They left the room and she stayed in back of him as they walked down the stairs.
“Will Mr. Braxton be wearing a mask?” she asked.
He shrugged in response. “You never really know what Peyton’s going to do.” She could hear the humor in Mr. Cummings’s voice. “He’s a bit of a free spirit.”
Maisie couldn’t help but laugh. She could see that about Mr. Braxton. Something told her he wasn’t the type of person to be tied down by rules.
When they were at the bottom level, a woman who had been standing at the door came up and asked if she could be of help. She was, as the woman who had shown them to their room, much older than Maisie had thought she would be, at least in her late thirties.
“I’m looking for the hot pot,” Mr. Cummings said.
“Through those doors,” she said, pointing at the end of the hallway.” She giggled. “Just follow the noise. It’s been busy all afternoon. Enjoy yourselves.”
She went back to the door, but not before Maisie saw she had a red piece of lace around her neck.
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