‘Well, Richard,’ Amelia said seriously, caressing his stiff cock gently as she spoke, ‘I must say I have always been of the firm opinion that it is a wife’s first duty to do all she can to help her husband with his work.’
Chapter Twelve
The marriage took place immediately. The Reverend Dawes’ position and calling, and the necessity of safeguarding Amelia’s distinguished family name, demanded nothing less. Even so, it was little short of amazing to the bride that the ceremony was able to be conducted but two days later. The matter might have troubled her more had she not been in such a dazed mental state. Indeed, so bewildering and precipitous were the events of those few days that it was not unknown, in later years, for the Honourable Amelia Dawes to quite forget that her marriage had been so enthusiastically consummated before any vows were made.
Later, thinking about it, she realised the eventuality must have long been planned for. The wedding was by no means the sort of hole in the corner affair that one might have expected in such circumstances. In fact, if somewhat hurried, it was actually rather grand. Only her assent to the match had been needed, it would seem, to set wheels whirling into motion.
Mademoiselle Isobel had, it proved, a fine silk wedding gown, already made in Amelia’s exact size; not to mention a white satin and lace corset and other essential items of wedding lingerie and hose.
The jovial Bishop Briggs of Silchester, all smiles and sly asides, popped up as if by magic to perform the ceremony. Amelia’s aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Hatherby, hosted the reception at Hope Hall, festooning the great west dining room with flowers that were, almost miraculously, already at hand. There were even, it turned out, pre-prepared bridesmaids’ costumes for Amelia’s companions on the course, excepting Kirsty, who had to leave at the shortest notice, and Gretchen, who instead was harnessed to the amusingly decorated phaeton that pulled the happy couple from the church up to the Hall.
Six months of the Reverend’s unrelenting regime had wreaked an amazing transformation on the once fat woman, who had struggled so to trot up the hill, unburdened, on that first day. Gretchen was still extraordinarily buxom. Nature had never intended her to be svelte. But the merciless cross-country runs and purgatorial trips to the gymnasium had slowly turned flabby thighs into solid muscle, and made her massive buttocks strong and fabulously firm.
Amelia was impressed as the woman, naked but for her jingling leather and steel harness, bent between the shafts with shoulder muscles bunching and hauled her by no means inconsiderable load up that familiar drive. True, Gretchen’s rump needed to be flicked, more than once, by the Reverend’s whip before she pulled the little carriage into the courtyard of the hall, but the amazing thing was that she managed it at all.
‘My dear...’ The Reverend held his arm out to help Amelia dismount from the cart. The wedding dress involved a great deal of white silk in the skirts and train, and the process involved some skill and not a little rustling.
Amelia stood in the courtyard for a moment, regarding the ancient walls of the Hall, this time not with dread but with swelling pride. It was almost a year since she had arrived in this very place with her cousin, Clara. A shiver passed through her as she remembered some of what she had endured in that extraordinary year. She watched as newly respectful stable boys unhitched Gretchen and led the perspiring pony-woman off to the stables to be rubbed down, and then she smiled.
‘A pretty thing, eh, girl?’ a gruff male voice said in Faith’s ear. ‘Jack Campion always did have a rare eye for a whip.’
The maid gave a startled gasp as hands gripped her waist. She had been sent to the hall with the wedding presents and was busily laying these out on a long refectory table, ready to be inspected by the reception guests. Despite the lack of notice, presents had appeared as if by magic from all over the three counties, and she had been at the work for half an hour now.
Faith recognised the voice – and the perceptibly tightening grip on her waist – as that of Lord Alex.
‘Pity the old blackguard could not be here to present himself,’ Lord Alex continued confidentially. ‘Off on one of his trading trips, you know. Can’t say I approve myself, selling the flower of our maidenhood to Johnny Foreigner. In fact, there ought to be a bloody law. Still, I suppose he does sometimes bring some fetching confections back with him.’
Faith took a deep breath, not daring to move.
‘Still, bugger took my best filly this time. Took that little redhead from the rectory, too, did he not?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said softly, her hand trembling as she thought of what might be happening to Rose. Faith laid the little camel whip in front of the set of riding crops which Mr Kimblewick the saddler had presented to the happy couple.
‘D’ye think your master would object if we were to try it out?’ the voice said in her ear.
Faith licked her lips anxiously and wondered how best to reply. It would not do to contradict the Marquis of Hatherby in his own hall, yet the whip was a present to her master, and it was surely wrong to use it without his permission. Especially as the Reverend Dawes had not yet had the chance to try out the thing himself.
‘I don’t think that the Reverend has been able to...’ she whispered, terribly aware of the strong hands about her waist.
‘Of course, you are quite right, girl. A present is a present.’
There was a sigh, Lord Alex’s breath warm in her ear, but he did not release her.
‘Tell you what, though. I have one of my own waiting in my study. What say you we go and take a look at that?’
‘It really is not fair!’ Charlotte pouted and shook her golden locks. ‘First Amelia gets married and then Kirsty is allowed to leave. Why do we have to wear these stupid things?’
She picked up the hem of her little frock and blushed, something she had been unable to prevent at intervals throughout the ceremony. In contrast to Amelia’s beautiful elegant dress, the bridesmaids’ costumes seemed particularly humiliating. The pink satin frocks only reached down to absurdly frilly knickers. Knee socks, patent leather pumps and shepherdess bonnets completed the infantile impression. Paradoxically, the brevity and flimsiness of the costumes simultaneously emphasised the three bridesmaids’ obvious nubility by revealing a good deal of their bountiful charms.
‘Oh, do be quiet, Charlotte,’ Bella said irritably, ‘and get some rest. The Reverend said there would be games at the reception, and something tells me they might involve our bottoms.’
Bella’s bottom was already much in Charlotte’s mind; indeed, her eyes were locked on to the mass of frills that encased her friend’s rear. Bella looked especially fetching in the absurd costume. The tiny frock revealed her long legs and her full breasts pushed the garment’s front out intriguingly. Whatever she said, Charlotte knew that Bella felt the humiliation, too. She had seen how Bella had blushed in church when those rough boys leered and passed their filthy comments on her jutting breasts.
The three bridesmaids had been locked into a small room at Hope Hall until required. Bella was bent over with her eye to the keyhole, trying to see what was happening. Her buttocks and shapely legs were thus displayed to mouth-watering perfection.
At least this purgatory would be over soon, Charlotte thought, as she looked at her friend’s enticing rear view. Bella would not be able to lord it over her for much longer. Indeed, she was already making plans to turn the tables and get some revenge...
‘Bottoms?’ Linnet said in an anxious little voice. She also seemed to be finding the office of bridesmaid a real trial. Nervous as she felt herself, Charlotte could not resist the chance to goad the girl, who was pacing up and down, chewing her knuckle.
‘Did you not see the wedding presents before they went up?’ she asked as innocently as she could. In truth, her mouth went dry at the memory, and she almost wished she had not mentioned the subject.
There was a silence. Charlotte suppose
d the other two were thinking the same glum thoughts as she. It was only natural, given the Reverend’s reputation and interests, yet it had been startling how many of the dozens of parcels that had flooded into the rectory seemed to contain implements of corporal correction. There had been bundles of rattan from the cane suppliers, birches made in handicrafts classes by the girls at the reformatory, crops from Kimblewick’s, whips from the women’s institute and manacles with gleaming chains from the locksmiths. It was a good bet that the Reverend would want to try his presents out without delay, and that might mean this very day.
‘How did Kirsty get away? That’s what I want to know,’ she said, suppressing a shiver. ‘What did that little slut do to get let off early?’
‘Nothing you would not do,’ Bella retorted.
‘I think it must have been something serious,’ put in Linnet. ‘I saw her talking to the Reverend this morning.’
Charlotte snorted. ‘Serious, hah! I would be let off, too, if I was prepared to...’
‘Something’s happening,’ Bella cut in. ‘Oh, I see who it is. Charlotte, I think they must be your friends.’
‘My friends?’ Charlotte asked, suddenly puzzled.
‘Yes, you know,’ Bella said in a mocking tone, ‘from the police station.’
At last, Kirsty thought, as she jumped out on to the platform and filled her lungs with clear Glen Sgiursar air. The enforced detour to Kyle of Lochlash for the assembly of the Bound Presbyterian Church had been frustrating. She suppressed a shudder at the memory of her encounter with those massed ministers in black. Still, it had been well worth it. The members of Peebles’ grim sect had been shocked by the revelations of his perfidy. He would be a far less formidable enemy without his kirk to back him up.
She increased her pace. The journey had been long but Kirsty felt far from tired, only eager to confront the interloper in his lair.
The Reverend had offered to help, even to postpone the wedding to come with her, when the letter came. Kirsty had been profoundly grateful for that. He was a good man, she thought as she loped off to her first port of call. But she had assured him she could deal with the situation herself.
Her twenty-first birthday had been but a week ago. That must have prompted Minister Peebles to make his move. The Reverend had shown her Peebles’ letter, offering a great deal of money if he would keep Kirsty incarcerated at the rectory indefinitely. As if an upright man like the Reverend Dawes would have succumbed to bribery! Kirsty almost laughed at the idea. Peebles had better have offered a few fleet Clan Slat lassies for the Reverend’s pony cart. There were enough comely shepherd maidens with whippable bottoms in the glen for Dr Peebles to have spared a couple from his ministrations.
It would not have made any difference, she told herself. The Reverend was a man of principle; he would never have...
Kirsty stopped short and a strange shiver ran down her spine. Then she laughed and started off again.
‘Amelia, you really do look lovely!’ Lady Alicia smiled and took her hand. The woman’s own dark beauty was enhanced by a gown of deep green velvet and long gloves of delicate black lace.
‘Thank you, Aunt Alicia.’ Amelia inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment.
‘A most impressive ceremony, and so quickly arranged.’ Jamie Fanshawe winked at Amelia but she managed not to blush. She had suffered sufficient insults at that particular young man’s hands whilst in the Hope Hall nursery; she refused to let him get the better of her now things had changed so decisively.
‘Especially getting the bish to do the honours,’ he continued, turning to smile at his companion. ‘We thought we would get the bridegroom to do us.’
Amelia’s cousin, Clara, blushed at the reference to her own impending nuptials. She looked as beautiful as ever; blonde ringlets and peach complexion set off by a gown of pale yellow silk.
The attention of the party was briefly drawn by Jamie’s comment to Amelia’s new husband. The Reverend Dawes had detached himself from the welcoming party to once again peruse the wedding presents, which had been set out on a table at the other end of the hall. Amelia watched his strong back as he bent over the display. A fine figure of a man, she thought proudly, wishing she could suppress the tinge of unease she felt at the way he pored over his fine new riding crops.
‘Ah, here come the Ormorunds,’ Lady Alicia said brightly as the plump magistrate and his wife were shown into the hall. ‘I expect the guests will be arriving thick and fast now, Amelia. I had better go and hunt up that husband of mine. I just hope the old goat is not off buggering the bridesmaids!’
Amelia felt herself blush at her aunt’s directness. ‘Um, quite,’ she said, uncertain how to respond to this remark.
‘It would be quite improper,’ Lady Alicia said, suddenly serious. She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Before the cutting of the cake, I mean!’
‘Isn’t it a beauty, girl?’ Lord Alex asked eagerly, holding the little whip out for Faith’s inspection.
Beautiful was not the first word that came into her head. It was plaited from some sort of tawny leather, and there was no doubt that the workmanship was fine, even if the thing lacked the chased silver rings around the handle that ennobled the wedding present whip. To Faith’s terrified eye, however, it did not look like it would hurt one whit less for the lack of decoration.
She trembled in his lordship’s study, naked now except for corset and stockings. There was no doubt in her pounding heart that she was about to get a whipping. The only question was quite how much the unfamiliar whip was going to hurt.
Lord Alex sat in a comfortable chair and motioned her to stand on the other side of the hearth, a few feet from him. Tentatively, she stepped to the place indicated, aware of his eyes on her semi-clad body as she did so.
‘You are a pretty little baggage,’ Lord Alex said thoughtfully, as he toyed with the whip and perused her at leisure. ‘Have I ever flogged you before, d’ye know?’
There was something particularly appalling about the fact that he could not remember. It made Faith wonder quite how many girls Lord Alex had whipped.
‘No, sir,’ she said, blushing furiously.
He indicated that she was to turn with a twirling index finger.
‘Damn me, but I don’t know why,’ he grunted. ‘That’s as pretty a little arse as I have seen. It isn’t even lined, girl! Old Dawes must be losing his zeal!’
Faith closed her eyes for a moment at this absurdity. It was true that she had escaped the Reverend’s correction for a few days, but only because he had been so busy with the other girls.
‘Turn around again and step closer.’
Trying to keep her hands still at her side, Faith turned slowly.
‘I said step closer, little trembler. Come along.’
A couple of reluctant steps brought her within his reach. Lord Alex transferred the whip to his left hand and reached out with his right. His fingers moved between her legs and she moaned.
‘Be quiet, girl. Feet wider apart.’
Faith bit her bottom lip as he continued to fondle her.
‘What silky curls. I can almost see why Richard lets you keep them. Of course,’ he tugged at her pubic bush, ‘while you are with us, they will have to be shorn.’
Faith shivered with fear at this, but he gave her little time to contemplate the comment.
‘Open up the front of your corset now, I want to see your bubbies.’
Cheeks reddening, she obeyed, struggling with the corset, which was so tightly laced that she could only unhook the metal fastenings with considerable effort, and by breathing in.
‘Just drop it, girl. Place your hands behind your head, and keep your feet apart.’
Faith could feel the heat of the fire fanning against her left flank. Her face felt even warmer, though, so furious was her blush.
‘My lord, what a pretty
pair of titties. I’m almost tempted to fetch a whip to them instead of treating that chubby bottom to this.’ He lifted the camel whip languidly and used a loop to caress her naked belly. ‘Can’t think why I haven’t borrowed you before. Still, you are to stay here whilst the happy couple go on their honeymoon, so we can make up for lost time.’
Faith began to tremble at his words.
‘Didn’t he tell you? Too busy, I expect. Well, I’m sure we can keep you entertained until they return from Latizago. They’ll only be gone a few months... Now, now, no need to blub about it, girl.’ He stood and placed a hand between her legs, cupping her sex fondly, and lowered his voice to an ominous purr. ‘I have not even thrashed that pretty bottom yet.’ He lowered his head and kissed her belly, his whiskers tickling the soft skin. Simultaneously he slipped two fingers into her copiously lubricated cunny, gently rotating the digits until she moaned helplessly in response.
Lord Alex raised his head and suddenly her gaze was caught in his. He winked. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘I’ll give you something to cry about forthwith.’
He pulled the thick bundle of nettles slowly across the girl’s right breast, then her left. Katriona Macleash opened her powerful lungs and shrieked with pain. The sound echoed around the dungeon walls. He inclined his head and enjoyed the splendid sound until it had subsided to mere sobbing.
‘I’m most disappointed, child.’ Minister Peebles shook his bald head sadly as he lowered the nettles to inspect his work.
A bloom of tiny white blisters had risen on the surface of his captive’s breasts. Katriona was a handsome girl of twenty, possessed of a fine mane of glossy dark brown hair. She had a shapely figure, with large firm breasts and big nipples. These, if pressed, the minister might have admitted were amongst his favourites. They stuck out now like throbbing red thimbles, almost begging him to bend his head and chew...
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