by Paul Markham
Desperate to focus her mind, and trying hard not to watch Lady Catherine, Sophia unzipped the sides of her bottoms and slid them down her thighs and legs, then over her feet. As instructed, she folded them over the coat-hanger before putting it down and sliding her knickers, with some hesitancy, along the same pathway. She felt incredibly clumsy as she experienced difficulty in finding the pocket, but eventually she located it and inserted the small, crumpled up brilliant white cotton garment inside her still warm bottoms.
She was barely able to walk to the door, but she did reach it in the end, and, after having hung the coat-hanger on the hook at the back of it, over the top of Sir Digby's tweed jacket, she walked back to the desk, where she picked up the cushion, rested it against her front, where her knicker waistband had been a few moments earlier, then bent forward. She tucked her hair behind her ears, then grasped the far side of the desk, folding her fingers round it.
"I'm ready, Lady Catherine," she whispered. She moved her feet slightly apart and braced herself with all the strength that she could muster.
Lady Catherine turned round and walked back towards Sophia. She could not help but notice how very vulnerable this girl looked, a girl who, only a few hours previously, had been luxuriating in a totally misplaced sense of superiority.
Eleanor had been quite adamant that, had it been left to James, Sophia would have been withdrawn instantly from the Horsemanship course, and would have been summoned home very sharply, to face her father's indignation, which could well have ended in an experience not dissimilar to that which now awaited her. She had, however, felt that whilst James would have considered that such behaviour merited administration of the cane, he would have been deeply reluctant to carry out the necessary disciplinary process.
As for Eleanor, she had been convinced that the matter needed to be dealt with immediately and not left to fester until Sophia was returned to Penbury Manor. Since Sir Digby would not have been at all happy at the prospect of having to deal with a young woman in this way, it was left to Lady Catherine to administer the agreed four disciplinary strokes of the cane. This being the first time that Sophia was to be punished in this way, it had been agreed that she would be offered the choice of a preparatory hand spanking.
It may have been a measure of the sincerity of Sophia's contrition that she had waived the hand-spanking, despite the advice both of her mother and of Lady Catherine, neither of whom was a stranger to the rattan. Nonetheless, both of the older women had determined that, if Sophia were to accept this form of punishment, she should determine which of the options she wished to exercise. Thus it was that Lady Catherine was now within but a few moments of bringing the cane down firmly on the yielding roundness of the unclothed bottom that was awaiting her attention.
Sophia closed her eyes as tightly as she could, following the sounds of Lady Catherine as she moved into the disciplinarian position. She braced her leg muscles almost to the point of suffering cramp. She barely felt the lightest of touches as the cool rattan landed with exquisite gentleness just above the point where the base of her buttocks met her thighs. She shivered involuntarily and Lady Catherine paused.
"I am about to begin, Sophia ..."
Sophia nodded as the left hand of Lady Catherine rested briefly in the small of the young woman's back, in a gesture of reassurance. "Try to remain still, please, Sophia, as I do not wish the cane to stray."
Sophia nodded again and fought back the tears. Lady Catherine tapped the base of the two buttocks gently and positioned the tip of the instrument at the far edge of the girl's right buttock. The cane slid slowly towards Lady Catherine and then back to where it had been previously. There was a further light tap before that incredibly long blink of an eye began, during which the cane is no longer in contact with the taut-skinned buttocks.
The hiss of the cane as it raced towards the bent girl was almost disproportionate to a gesture that involved little more than a sharp flick of the wrist, but the impact was sufficient to prompt the deepest intake of breath that Sophia had ever taken, and it was but a matter of nanoseconds before the incandescent heat generated by transformed kinetic energy raced along the sensory neurones to register its vigorous protest in a mind which, illogically, refused to take guarding action in response.
Lady Catherine paused and watched as Sophia's head shot back, sending her hair flying in all directions, whilst her back arched and her buttocks became first taut, then relaxed, then taut again, in a rapid cyclic pattern, in a vain attempt to disperse the unbearable sting. Sophia's head fell forward again and her ankles slowly ceased to twitch as control was regained, and the great muscles began to calm down again. Lady Catherine monitored the rapid breathing rate closely, and waited until the young woman had calmed down sufficiently to take the next stroke.
The accuracy of Lady Catherine's wrist might have surprised some people. She was by no means amateurish, and there was something almost artistically pleasing about the deepening red hue of almost perfectly parallel lines that revealed the landing sites. After the second stroke, Sophia took a considerable time to settle down again, and it was not until three or four minutes later that she had mustered sufficient control to prepare to accept the third stroke, which left her back arched, her hair flying even more vigorously in all directions, and her breathing very difficult to control. She hopped from foot to foot and let out whimpering sobs.
"Do we call it a day now, Sophia?" enquired Lady Catherine, her left hand resting in the small of the young woman's back again.
Sophia's head shook as her determination to see this through gained the high ground. Thus, for the fourth and last time, the cane was laid across Sophia's cheeks, right along the Equator. The stroke itself was swift and accurate, with no tapping precursor. Sophia shot to her feet and reached back, delicately clutching her burning bottom. She was fighting to breathe slowly and deeply and to keep her legs straight. Tears were pouring down her face, and deep sobs were racking her trunk, raising and lowering her shoulders and causing her abdomen to contract and relax in quick succession.
Lady Catherine wiped the cane and put it back in the cupboard before returning to Sophia, whom she took into her arms as if she were her own daughter. "It is done now, Sophia, and that is all that will be said about it."
"B-b-but what about Sir Digby?" retorted the distraught young woman.
"Oh, don't worry about that. You can leave Sir Digby to me."
Lady Catherine winked and smiled in a way that brought relaxation to Sophia, who was now aware of a hint of something that her mother had experienced many years earlier.
---oOo---
All things considered, Sophia managed a fairly substantial dinner, much to the delight of her hosts. Sir Digby made no direct reference to the events that had taken place earlier that morning, and a hint of an enquiry as to what had transpired that afternoon, during his absence, had been deflected with an expertise that a batsman facing an Australian pace bowler would appreciate greatly, whereafter the conversation had moved on to dressage and to the art of winning the obedience of what can often be headstrong and wilful creatures under stressful conditions.
In the small hours of the morning, Sophia awoke from a light sleep, despite three glasses of the excellent, robust red wine that had accompanied the roast pheasant. She turned over and was wide awake in an instant as the evidence of her earlier encounter with Lady Catherine made itself felt.
Instinctively, she reached back and felt four substantial ridges extending across her shapely buttocks. She rolled over onto her front again and folded her hands on her pillow, staring straight in front of her. She felt the welcome cool of the air on her bottom, but she also became aware of feelings she could neither describe nor explain. She reached back again to feel the welts and was immediately struck by a strange butterfly sensation in her abdomen.
Her mind wandered in various directions in search of an answer, but none was forthcoming as she ultimately drifted off into a light sleep again, her bottom lit by the moo
nlight that flooded the room through a gap in the branches of the climbing shrub that bordered her bedroom window. The two curves of her buttocks were shown up in tantalising relief by the eerie moonlight, with the four neat and geometrically-precise lines crossing her cleft at evenly spaced intervals.
---oOo---
A distant bark betrayed the nocturnal activities of a prowling fox, several fields away. In a perfectly concealed nest just outside Sophia's window, a brood of chicks nestled snugly and silently under the protective wings of their mother. Below, Caractacus - the result from a curious blending of feline genetic strands woven into an extremely heterogeneous and pampered cat - prowled silently along the gravel path beneath the ivy, disbarred by virtue of size and lack of practice from totally unnecessary hunting. A small mouse peered, some might even say sneered, over the top of a narrow gutter at the incongruous sight below, oblivious, but thankfully also invisible - by virtue of its motionless state - to the approaching silvery shape of a barn owl that was gliding silently during its descent through the night sky on its final approach to its growing family in its lair in the dovecote, above the stable block.
Exploration
The early evening air was almost heady with the fragrance of the skilfully-nurtured roses that filled the flower beds that decorated the west lawn, against a backdrop of a substantial area of woodland, made up of deciduous trees whose leaves spoke softly as the gentle breeze gave them voice. The sun had not yet slipped down behind the woodland canopy. A subtle, slightly hypnotic hum of insect activity blended with the whispering trees to create a bucolic symphony of natural sounds, interspersed occasionally by the busy, yet not incongruous chatter of the different bird species to whom this was home territory. Silently, Samson and Delilah moved slowly, without clear motivation, round their territory, raising their heads occasionally to cast a broader gaze over their domain.
Outside the house, a quiet murmur of conversation blended peacefully with the surroundings, as Eleanor and Michelle worked their way slowly down a bottle of New World Chardonnay and shared their news, their thoughts and all the other facts and imaginings that form the substance of dialogue between two very close friends. Their quiet, soft voices blended perfectly with the general atmosphere, whilst their giggles occasionally countered the excited chirping of the birds.
As the sun finally settled behind the woodland treetops and a hint of refreshing coolness began to displace the comforting warmth of the day, Eleanor placed the bottle and the glasses on the tray, called Samson and Delilah and went back into the house through the French windows in the drawing room. Michelle put the chairs back under the table and followed her friend into the house, closing the doors behind her. She turned for an instant and looked admiringly, without a hint of envy, at the beautiful place that was home to James and Eleanor, also to Sophia Louise, now a blossoming teenager, who had inherited many of her parents' traits, but who was by no means a clone of either her mother or her father. Few people who met Sophie remained unmoved by her nature and presence. Michelle turned again and headed off to the kitchen, where she and Eleanor set about preparing a salad whilst they continued their endless conversation.
"OK, Rosie," said Michelle, "what did James give you for your birthday?"
Neither Michelle nor Eleanor could explain how this affectionate name, used only between them, had come into being and neither would have felt it at all necessary to do so. Rosie was Eleanor's name when they were chatting, just as and Michelle had, somehow, come to be known as Maisie. Eleanor dabbed a spot of mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth with her napkin and looked across at Michelle with the expression of someone who has just arrived at the check-in desk 100 miles from home, only to remember that the passports are still in the sideboard.
"Maisie... I'm so sorry, it completely slipped my mind. I'll show you when we've finished here."
The two young women finished their supper and Michelle set the filter machine going to make coffee whilst Eleanor went off to meet the ravenous cravings of two perpetually hungry Labradors, half of whose bodies gyrated at an increasing frequency as the two bowls drew nearer and their fresh water bowl was placed by their sides.
Eleanor returned from the annex into the kitchen, stacked the dishes into the washer and then took a tray from the cupboard by the sink and put out the crockery they needed for their coffee. She then slipped out of the kitchen to the dining room and returned with two generous measures of the Armagnac that both of them had come to appreciate.
The conversation continued in the drawing room for a good hour before Michelle reminded Eleanor once again that she had not yet been allowed to see this birthday present that had actually left Eleanor completely speechless.
Eleanor put her cup down and smiled. "Right, Maisie, come on, let me show you something that will take your breath away."
Michelle put her cup down and looked quizzically and affectionately at Eleanor. For a brief moment, she was aware of a feeling with which she was by no means unfamiliar, as she took in, once again, the amazing loveliness of her best friend. She smiled, relaxed by the Armagnac, and allowed her thoughts to wander for a short while. Eleanor looked up at her and returned the warm sign of their deep friendship. She felt so comforted by this young woman who had come to mean a great deal to her and with whom she had shared so much in her life since coming to live at Pendene Manor. She, too, looked with tenderness at the warm, friendly and far from unattractive countenance of her best friend, framed in long, wavy honey-blonde hair that always looked so very slightly unkempt, but in a manner that actually enhanced her attractiveness. She felt totally safe and at peace with Michelle and her love for this woman was never in question.
Eleanor stood up and held out a hand. "Come on," she said, in the manner of a very proper young Miss who is about to show her best friend her new dolls house, "I have something to show you."
The two women giggled conspiratorially as they headed out of the drawing room and across the hall. With an artificial slowness, as if savouring the anticipation, they went up the ancient staircase and walked round the landing to the master bedroom door. Ceremoniously, Eleanor opened it and invited Michelle to close her eyes. Eleanor then took her hand and led her gently into the bedroom and closed the door before putting a hand on each of Michelle's shoulders and guiding her gently to the right of the ivy-framed window.
"OK, Maisie, you can open your eyes now."
There was a stunned silence for what seemed an age as Michelle opened her eyes and looked at the large portrait hanging in a polished oak frame. Now, something of Eleanor's lightness of spirit had evaporated as the atmosphere was transformed into what could only be described as awe in its true sense. Michelle reached a hand out to steady herself against the foot of the bed and gasped, audibly. She was completely immersed in the picture for quite some time before slowly turning to Eleanor. With a harmony of thought and action not uncommon amongst friends who love one another as these two women did, they found themselves looking at one another and, almost simultaneously, each reached out to the other to brush away a tear that was beginning to form.
"Eleanor," said Michelle, the lightness of girl pals temporarily suspended, "I don't know what to say. Do you mind if I sit down for a moment, please?"
Eleanor led her friend round and the two of them sat on the edge of the bed. Slowly, Michelle found she was able, once again, to focus her mind and she drew her gaze away from the portrait to look at Eleanor. Her hand brushed against Eleanor's fingers, that were spread out on the duvet, supporting her. Eleanor looked at Michelle and took hold of the offered hand. A slow trickle of tears was moving down her beautiful face and it was no more than a matter of moments before Michelle was fully in tune with her and the two of them were in a close, tender embrace, comforting one another.
After a couple of minutes, as tears flowed almost silently onto loved and trusted friends, the two of them sat upright and held hands at the edge of the bed.
It had cost James dearly to pluck up the enor
mous courage needed for the huge gamble he had taken and to put his plan into action. He had gathered together dozens of photographs from albums in his study and assembled them into a very special collection. He had then placed this set of pictures in his overnight case and had gone off to the Cumbrian hills, ostensibly for a weekend's walking with some friends from schooldays.
In point of fact, he had been with just one friend from schooldays, and not primarily to enjoy the delights of Blencathra. His friend, Simon, would have been written off by the school as a complete disaster, had it not been for a new art master who had been appointed during the year when they had been preparing for their GCE examinations. His keenness of eye had not been confined to works of art, for he had not taken long to identify a latent talent in Simon. This he had encouraged, nurtured and developed by persuasion and cajoling even pressure that some might have thought tantamount to oppression!
After the GCE's, through which Simon had managed to scrape with just two C passes and one A distinction, the two boys had parted company, since Simon had never returned to school and the letters James had written to him had never been answered. In fact, that is how the situation would have remained had it not been for the most unlikely of coincidences.
One day, whilst Eleanor had been shopping in Birmingham, James had been walking round an art gallery when his eye had been drawn to a pencil drawing of a nude female subject. For some reason, he had not been able to take his gaze away from this picture. It was not a feeling of anything remotely pornographic that had attracted James' attention, for the picture could easily have been displayed to an audience of any age, being totally free of anything distasteful. It had been the exquisite subtlety of the way in which it had been drawn, almost giving life to the female shape so sensitively portrayed there, that caught James totally off guard. However, that was not the end of James' surprises for, on closer examination, he recognised a familiar name in the bottom right-hand corner of the picture? Simon Hepplewhite!
