The Mortification of Isabel

by Lindsay Ross

  I began to perceive a pattern in our intercourse. It seemed Margaret was always seeking to reassure me that all was well or expressing regret when I was discomfited by events. It appeared she really was concerned for my welfare and I felt myself warm to her again. When she spoke of her forwardness in assuming intimacy I took her hand and said that it was my shyness that had been the obstacle and nothing more. I confessed I was a green girl who needed to learn about the world.

  “Does that mean we may be intimate friends in time, my sweetheart?” asked Margaret, rather plaintively.

  “I have every reason to hope so,” I replied, turning to her with a smile. “You have been so kind to me since my arrival at Drydon Hall.”

  “I meant what I said about your beauty,” Margaret added, making me blush again. “I think the female form is so much more pleasing than the male physique. I dote on your soft curves, my angel.”

  “You are beautiful too,” I told her.

  “Oh, you say that to flatter me, darling girl.”

  I was quick to reassure her, “Not at all. I saw you without your clothes before you got into bed and observed you had a lovely figure.”

  Margaret lent across and kissed me briefly on my lips and I hoped no-one was looking out of a window in the house but I did not recoil. I could not bring myself to utter Margaret’s extravagant endearments but I squeezed her hand to indicate my feeling for her.

  ***

  When we returned to the warm kitchen, John informed us that our master was calling for me. Margaret must have seen the effect this news had because she placed a hand on my arm and told me to have courage.

  “He will give me double punishment,” I said, trembling with fear. He will punish me for deserting him on the last occasion and for being late today.”

  “Would you like me to speak to him on your behalf?”

  “Oh, would you do that, Margaret? I would be eternally grateful.”

  “I will say how contrite you are and how it was really my fault that you are late this morning because I took you out to the garden for a stroll.”

  “I fear he will punish me nevertheless.” John had left the kitchen and there was no one else present so I told her that Mr. Povey had threatened to chastise me on my bare bottom.

  “That is his way, dearest. The master believes in bare bottom spankings and even punishes the maids and footmen in that way on occasions. He feels it is more acceptable to them than having their wages withheld. Mr. Povey may be applying the same policy in your case, darling. He may think you would prefer not to lose money because of your misdemeanours.”

  “Has he ever punished you like that?” I asked Margaret rather boldly.

  “Oh, yes, sweetheart. He has had me naked for a thrashing on many occasions.”

  “Naked?”

  “Isabel! Don’t sound so shocked. Remember he cannot see you.”

  “Why does he insist that we are naked?”

  “He says it is the proper way to punish young girls and that clothes get in the way. We ought to hurry, angel, otherwise we will increase his anger still further.”

  Margaret stopped me on the landing outside my bedroom and told me to wait inside while she went in to see the master to act as go-between.

  I sat on my bed still trembling. The thought that I would have to walk about into his room without my clothes made me feel sick with dread.

  Margaret emerged some minutes later.

  “You are to leave your clothes here, my dear, and go to him. He will use a Martinet which is not the very worst of his instruments of correction and he says that I can be present. I hope that is some comfort, dear friend?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Thank you for interceding on my behalf.”

  Margaret helped me out of the rather plain, Quaker-like dress I had put on thinking it was appropriate as day-wear considering my clerk-like function in the house, followed by my two petticoats decorated with broderie anglais (which struck a more frivolous note). I was wearing elastic suspenders attached to the border of my corset to support my stockings and she unhooked me and rolled the stocking down my legs.

  “Your legs are as shapely and strong as a ballerina’s,” she whispered.

  Now Margaret unlaced my stays and the front closing bodice of my dress, then my under petticoat came off so that I was down to my chemise and drawers. At this point she kissed me full on the lips much more passionately than she had done before.

  “You are the loveliest of girls,” she said. “Now your undergarments, Isabel.”

  When I was quite naked she led me by the hand and knocked lightly on the master’s door.

  “Ah, you take a remarkably long time,” Mr. Povey said, addressing me as I imagined though it was difficult to know where he was looking because of his mask.

  “I am very, sorry, sir,” I said.

  He was standing by the hearth with a long stick in his hand tapping his leg with it, obviously the Martinet to which Margaret had alluded.

  “Margaret is going to prepare you in the bedroom,” he told me.

  There was a curtain screening off his bedroom from his sitting room and Margaret took me through to the huge four poster while our master remained warming himself at the fire.

  With gentle hands and whispered reassurances, Margaret arranged things so that I lay on my stomach across the bed with a bolster and cushions under me so that my lower half was raised up to offer a better target Then she used stockings which appeared to come from her apron pocket to tie my wrists to the spars of the bed head. I imagined this was to prevent me using my hands to protect my rear. Then she stuffed a stocking into my mouth and tied it tightly behind my head so that no sound could escape my lips.

  Lastly, to my great surprise, Margaret clambered up on the bed and sat on my shoulders facing Laurence Povey.

  “It is better for you if you do not move about on the bed, Isabel. I will help you stay still.”

  I couldn’t see my master but guessed he had come into the bedroom annex because I heard Margaret guiding him to the best position from which to strike his blows.

  His aim was not perfect and the first stroke landed in the small of my back across the lower part of my spine and I must have tested Margaret’s strength to the utmost by the way I bucked and kicked yet she held me firm. The gag did its work reducing my intended scream to a muffled groan.

  She gave him more advice about his stance and position and the next swish of the cane landed full on the fleshiest part of my bottom.

  “How was that, Margaret?”

  “Your aim was true, sir.”

  “It felt right,” he said, “and sounded right.”

  Another stroke landed and Margaret held me tight.

  “Be my eyes, Margaret. How do the trollup’s cheeks look now?”

  “Marked with three bright stripes, sir.”

  “Are they raised up and hard to the touch?”

  I felt Margaret draw her finger along the line of one of the welts. “They are raised high, sir. Her skin is very soft and downy and the cane has altered it very markedly where it has landed.”

  “Take my hand, Margaret and let me feel them.”

  I felt more fingers tracing the welts and sobbed bitterly from pain and humiliation. I could scarcely belief the severity of the strokes and the agony they occasioned.

  “These blows are no more than feather-light tickles. How does the little tart receive them?”

  “I’m afraid she’s is in tears, sir.”

  “Then heaven help her if I have reason to be less forgiving.”

  “She is not used to the cane, sir.”

  “Nor the whip, I wager. But she will feel both on her soft virgin skin if she cannot improve her attitude and demeanour. She has been found wanting, Margaret. I am not impressed with the start she has made.”

  With that, he cut me again more fiercely than he had done before as if to underline his words.

  “Any change in colour, Margaret?”

  “Some of the early m
arks are now purple at the edges, sir.”

  “You have not described the creature’s rump to me save for her soft flesh. How is her arse shaped?”

  “Her bottom is pert, sir, but pleasantly rounded.”

  “Is it jaunty and proud? Does it protrude?”

  “It does, sir. She is certainly not flat there.”

  “Not like a skinny young boy?”

  “No, sir. Very much a woman.”

  “And a nice deep cleft between her womanly cheeks?”

  “Indeed there is, sir.”

  So this strange conversation continued literally over my head as though they were discussing an inanimate object like a vase or table or if a living creature, perhaps a prize pig.

  “Untie her,” Mr. Povey ordered. “She has work to do.”

  ***

  I was made to go straight from my caning to the desk naked as I was but found I could not sit down for the pain and I had to write standing up. I was also obliged to write quickly to follow the speed of Mr. Povey’s dictation because flagellation appeared to serve as his muse. It was as though the stirring of his blood was accompanied by vigorous mental activity and his account of Matilda’s tribulations proceeded apace. I cannot remember his words verbatim but the gist was as follows:

  The abbot summoned the postulant Matilda daily, usually on two or three occasions during the day and night. He explained he wished to help her overcome her overweening vanity for the good of her immortal soul and he would apply a test he had devised for his young charges which was called The Purity Test.

  For the test the abbot stripped himself naked and ordered Matilda to do the same.

  She was required to assume a posture of humility and stand close to him. The essence of the test was simplicity itself. If the abbot had an erection, Matilda failed and had to do further penances. If he was not aroused, Matilda passed the test and would not need to mortify her body.

  Matilda failed the test repeatedly because her body was still an object of desire, the abbot explained. If she could achieve a state of grace in her mind and in her heart, her body would follow and men would no longer be filled with lust when they looked at her without her clothes.

  The abbot hung a sign about her neck bearing the legend I am Filled with Vanity and made her crawl naked on her belly scrubbing the floors in the refectory, chapel, dormitory, hall and stairs, every part of the convent. Whenever she encountered another sister she had to beg her to walk across her supine body so her back and bottom bore her sister’s whole weight and became bruised. The abbot said they would help crush the tyranny of the physical self so that Matilda could become as completely spiritual as it was possible to be. She should rejoice that her hair had been shorn; it was a symbol of her total renunciation of the vanities of the world. She should rejoice that she was under personal instruction from the abbot. There was a chance she could be redeemed if she did what she was told to the letter and if she prayed hard.

  I made another discovery that night which set my heart racing again. When I was about to leave the master’s sitting room I saw a portfolio of drawings half open on the floor near his chair. I walked carefully across the room to take a closer look praying that the creak of a floorboard would not give me away. When I opened the portfolio I was shocked to see drawings of naked men and women engaged in sexual acts or displaying their most private parts. In some of the drawings, which were skilfully executed, people of both sexes were being whipped or caned some with their bodies restrained in strange contraptions. One picture that made me feel hot and excited showed a handsome young man with an enormous erection.

  If these were drawings made by my master before he was blinded they seemed to confirm the impression I had gained that his interests were strange and perverted.

  Chapter Four

  I experience Sapphic delights as my Lover become more pressing and I discover the Dungeons of Drydon Hall

  When at last my master released me from my duties, I went to my room rubbing my bottom vigorously for my cheeks continued to throb with pain. But as I crossed the corridor, Margaret materialised as she had done before and I saw she was carrying a small bottle. She bade me lie on my bed face down so she could rub my welts with salve which turned out to be the contents of the vial I had seen. She rubbed me gently and I found the liquid was like balm, lessening the pain to a considerable degree. Margaret took great time and care, her tender ministrations becoming like caresses, so much so that in the end pleasure conquered pain. Eventually she washed her hands in the basin in the corner of my room while I slipped into a state of bliss half way between waking and slumber.

  She returned to her task but this time she asked me to part my legs so she could slip her fingers between my thighs. I raised my bottom a little so that she could gain easier entry. This time I had no desire to resist or to protest, partly because I was already greatly relaxed and partly because the sensation was pleasurable from the beginning.

  On this occasion I was the one to speak Margaret’s name in a reverential voice accompanied by long sighs.

  I amazed myself how wet I became as my pussy responded to the gentle thrusting of her fingers, then heard an echo of my own thoughts.

  “Isabel, you’re so juicy.”

  “I know. You make me so.”

  “This position is a little awkward, dearest darling, but you cannot lie on your back until your bottom has healed.”

  “Just don’t stop, Margaret,” I replied quite shamelessly. “I’ve never had feelings like this before. My quim is singing with joy.”

  “You have a delicious honey-pot, my lovely girl.”

  “I had the chance to finger yours but spurned it, silly goose that I am.”

  “There will be plenty of opportunities for you to frig me, beloved, but this is my turn.”

  “You make me forget my pain.”

  “Pain can be a precursor of pleasure.”

  “I had not thought so, Margaret.”

  “Is it not more exquisite because you felt such agony before?”

  “I have nothing with which I can compare, Margaret, being so inexperienced.”

  Margaret lent over me to kiss my bare shoulders and while she went on pleasuring me with the fingers of her right hand, her left hand caressed my bottom. After a time she gave my cheeks the lightest slap.

  I was surprised and said, “Surely you do not wish to spank me as well?”

  She laughed but gave me more of the same little taps so that my cheeks quivered.

  “Do not pretend that it hurts, Bella, you dissembler.”

  “I am afraid that it might.”

  “Is it not more of a piquant sensation somewhere between pain and pleasure?”

  I conceded she was correct in her description of the feeling as I was experiencing it at that moment but I told her I was fearful of being hurt as I had been by our master’s Martinet.

  “Perhaps the principle is the same, however.” I was not sure if Margaret was making an assertion or asking a question.

  “I am not sure if I follow you but I have no objection to anything you have done to me so far. On the contrary.”

  “Can I confess something, darling Isabel?”

  “I hope we can share all our thoughts,” I said.

  “It was when you were tied up stretched across the master’s bed.”

  “What about it?”

  “You looked so appealing.”

  “I know you like my body, Margaret. Why does it need to be the subject of a confession?”

  “I think you misunderstand me. You looked so helpless and vulnerable in your bonds.”

  “You liked seeing me tied up?”

  “I felt my master was lucky to have you presented to him in that manner. I confess I was envious.”

  “You have no need to be. I will be happy to oblige you as long as you do not cane me as hard as the master.”

  “You would consent to bondage if it pleased me?”

  “I see no harm in our playing little games together,
” I said, still enjoying her fingers inside me. I wondered if my state of bliss was causing me to be reckless but I think I would have promised her anything at that moment.

  “Oh, my darling,” she said. “It is something I’ve dreamt about since you came to Drydon Hall!”

  “Did you like me even then?” I asked, fishing for more compliments.

  “You will never know how my heart leapt when you came into the house out of that dreadful storm. Although you had sent that little portrait, I thought you much more beautiful in the flesh. I have adored you since my first sight of you.”

  “I have never had such pleasant words from anyone, Margaret. I am sorry I do not re-pay you in the same coinage but I am unused to giving and receiving tokens of affection.”

  “Isabel, I would like to show you part of the house you have not yet visited. We will be able to continue our intimacies there.”

  “But you will have to withdraw your fingers?”

  “Only for a very short time, my angel.”

  “Should I get dressed?”

  “Go as you are. Just put on your slippers.”

  “But what if the servants see me? John, for instance?”

  “We will not be observed, I promise.”

  Margaret led me to the staircase and we descended further than the first floor to what I assumed would be cellars. We found ourselves facing a heavy metal door and Margaret produced a key from her apron and turned it in the lock. I wondered what on earth she wanted to show me in this strange location.

  We lowered our heads to make progress along a passage with a low ceiling and came to a large room that had the appearance of a prison. There were no papers or decoration on the stark stone walls and a complete absence of furnishings and furniture that could have made the place hospitable. The light was provided by burning torches set into the wall and by one or two lamps but it was still a place of shadows and foreboding. My only thought was that Margaret wanted to show me a place of historic interest, a dungeon where prisoners had been shackled in times gone by.

  I shivered partly because it was cold and I was still naked and partly at the idea of the human suffering that must have been experienced by those unfortunate enough to be incarcerated here.