by Sarah Steel
'Yes, Miss Edwina. Is there to be a Hunt Ball?' she asked brightly, her head swimming with the prospect of music, dancing and stolen champagne.
'No, my girl. Her ladyship will, I believe, be quite alone during the weekend. She merely wishes to use you as her personal maid.'
Closing the study door behind her, Tuppence felt her heart hammering rapidly. The memory of Lady Draco's riding crop across her bare bottom burnt as hotly as her whipped cheeks had done during the chastisement across the kitchen table. The memory of Lady Draco's breath against her buttocks caused her to shiver.
Miss Edwina's words flooded back to haunt her. To use you as her personal maid. The words filled Tuppence with a delicious dread - just as Lady Draco's tongue would no doubt fill her wet heat before the weekend at Draco Hall was over.
Across the woods and fields, the distant church clock in Wenlock Parva struck nine. Tuppence was abed. She counted the nine chiming strokes as they broke the silence of the darkening summer night. An owl in nearby Spinsters' Spinney hooted softly. Farther afield, prowling the corn stubble for rabbits, a vixen barked. Fretting about her impending weekend at Draco Hall, Tuppence could not sleep. She struggled to sit up in her narrow bed, and realised that she was hungry.
Minutes later, the maid was tiptoeing out of the pantry, clutching a glass of milk and two ginger sponge fingers. As silent as her own shadow, she mounted the stairs, treading carefully to avoid the steps that creaked treacherously. Just as she reached the turn at the landing, the yellow light of a lamp shone from an opening door. Tuppence froze, her abrupt halt so violent it caused some of the milk in the glass she was clutching to spill and splash the bosom of her cotton shift. She rubbed the wet breast with her wrist, thickening and peaking the nipple.
In the gloom of the landing, she peered to discern which of the stern sisters approached behind the glare of the lamp. If it was Miss Edwina, she would be taken up to her bedroom for a harsh spanking. Tuppence crammed a whole finger of moist ginger cake into her mouth and swallowed painfully. If it was Miss Victoria, she would be marched down to the pantry, stripped naked and given a severe caning. Forcing the rest of the incriminating ginger cake into her mouth, Tuppence ate it greedily and swallowed her milk. If it was Miss Emily, she would be strapped mercilessly cross the bare buttocks right then and there on the landing.
It was, Tuppence sighed with relief, Miss Elizabeth.
'Naughty Tuppence,' the gentle sister said mildly. 'Out of bed?'
'Just checking that the pantry window was fast, miss.'
'And helping yourself to milk and cake, I see,' Miss Elizabeth remarked, holding the lamp up high to inspect the crumbs of ginger cake adhering to the maid's wet breast.
Tuppence was surprised to see that Miss Elizabeth was carrying the green ledger - the punishment book - under her left arm.
'I read with interest that Lady Draco had occasion to use the crop this afternoon, Tuppence.'
The maid merely nodded silently.
'Turn and face the wall and raise up your shift. I wish to inspect your bottom.'
'But—'
'At once, Tuppence. Be a good, obedient girl and do as you are told.'
Slowly, Tuppence turned to face the wall. Pressing her head against the flock wallpaper, she inched up her thin cotton shift until it rode over her hips and buttocks.
Miss Elizabeth peered at the maid's exposed bottom in the lamp light, Tuppence flinched anxiously as her mistress picked up the lamp and brought it closer to her buttocks, worrying if the brightly burning globe would touch and scald her own globes. She clenched her cheeks together tightly as she felt the heat approach her naked flesh.
'Please keep still, Tuppence,' Miss Elizabeth whispered, kneeling.
Down in the hall, the pendulum clock ticked quietly, counting off the minutes slowly. Tuppence lost all sense of time. With her arms just beginning to ache, she remained facing the wall, exposing her bottom to her kneeling mistress.
Soft sounds - a liquid lapping - filled the silence of the night. Tuppence shuffled uncomfortably. Her toes stubbed the green leather punishment book where Miss Elizabeth had put it down on the carpet. Gazing down to her feet, Tuppence caught a glimpse of the flickering shadow on the wallpaper.
'Head up, Tuppence. Keep your eyes closed.'
Tuppence obeyed her mistress instantly. Behind her closed eyes, the image continued vividly. Tuppence could hear, could smell - and had briefly glimpsed the shadow play of - Miss Elizabeth playing with herself. After inspecting and perusing the six stripes bequeathed by Lady Draco's crop across the maid's bottom, Miss Elizabeth was now fingering herself furiously.
Tuppence stiffened as, suddenly, her mistress slumped forward, burying her face into the bottom before her. Tuppence grunted as Miss Elizabeth's nose delved deeply into her cleft and shuddered as her mistress, spasming in her climax, dragged her open mouth across the maid's cheeks. Soon Tuppence felt the tongue and then the teeth of her orgasming mistress at her bare buttocks. Two trembling hands, the fingertips wet and sticky, alighted against Tuppence's cheeks, framing and controlling the deliciously rounded bottom. Tuppence pressed her face into the flock wallpaper, flattening her tongue against its velvety surface, as the nuzzling face of the kneeling woman buried itself deeper into the maid's soft warmth.
Later, silence reigned. Tuppence could only hear the rush of blood singing in her ears. Miss Elizabeth rose briskly and arranged her skirts. Leaving the lamp on the carpet, she struggled to open her small reticule.
'Straight to bed with you, my girl.'
'Yes, Miss Elizabeth,' Tuppence whispered, accepting the silver shilling her mistress pressed into her hand.
'And be sure to come and see me directly you return from Lady Draco. I want to see your bottom after a weekend at Draco Hall.'
'Yes, Miss Elizabeth.'
Strapping Muscles
From his desk at the bay window, Dr Breunig watched the setting sun glinting on the Mercedes in the distance. His leather gloves closed into tight fists as his artificial hands clenched at the sharp horn blaring impatiently as the speeding car tore up the narrow driveway. He sighed aloud at the sound of squealing tyres on loose gravel.
Rising slowly from his desk, he crossed his study, dragging his mashed leg behind him. Wincing as the Mercedes scrunched to a halt outside - Dr Breunig hated fast cars since his accident, nine rears ago - he prepared to meet the Cabinet Minister.
Your son missed Oxford by a whisker?'
'Corpus Christi. And by a little more than that. Rollo got in with a bad set. Gambling. And worse. Missed the scholarship by a mile.'
'Any official difficulties?' Dr Breunig asked delicately, avoiding any direct reference to MI5.
'Squared the Chief Constable but the damn tabloids are sniffing around. Need to get him out of the limelight and back to his studies.'
'Ah, the tabloids.' Dr Breunig nodded sympathetically. 'Chersey Manor is certainly out of the limelight, Minister. We are, as you see, well off the beaten track. And we will offer your son every opportunity to focus on his scholarship,' he continued, purring reassuringly.
'Offer him?' the Cabinet Minister spluttered, purpling. 'The hound wants strict supervision and firm discipline. Can you manage that?' The Cabinet Minister's tone was doubtful.
'Most certainly.' Dr Breunig nodded emphatically.
The anxious parent eyed the crippled, gloved hands even more doubtfully. 'Are you—' he hesitated. 'Are your staff quite up to it?'
'Chersey Manor is not a crammer for duffers,' Dr Breunig countered suavely. 'We have a unique regime here. Give Rollo to us and I assure you he will be very glad to go up to Oxford after the summer. Very grateful indeed.'
'You sound so certain—'
'I am. The curriculum is particularly suited to bringing out the best in obdurate young men. Eighteen?'
'Just. Well, he's in the car with his bags. I'd better send him in.'
'One moment, Minister. You have been fully briefed, I trust? Should you deci
de to entrust your son to our absolute care, there must be no contact. We run a spartan routine here: no frills or fripperies. No half day visits into the village, hampers from daddy or phone calls from mummy.'
'Splendid,' the Cabinet Minister beamed. 'Glad to get the young blighter out of my hair for a couple of months.'
'So long as that is understood. Bring him in, then. He's just in time for gym.'
'Gym? Hope you're not going to waste time—'
'Rest assured, Minister, exposure to the rigours of physical education and training are exactly what young Rollo needs at this crucial stage in his development.'
'Mens sana in corpore sano?'
'As you say, Minister. I shall be assigning Rollo to Miss Pringle. She is perfectly capable of taking the young man in hand, believe me. Former Olympic bronze medallist. Takes a very firm line.'
'Gets results?'
'Three of her former charges are in the F.O. and I believe a fourth currently meddles with the base rates at the Treasury.' Suitably impressed with these credentials, the Cabinet Minister gingerly shook Dr Breunig's crippled right hand and strode out where Rollo sat yawning in the chauffeur-driven Mercedes.
Rollo, a gaunt, dark-haired Adonis, stood languidly in the large reception room, waiting for a servant to collect his three cases. Brisk footsteps approached. It must be the maid, Rollo presumed. Quite tasty, he thought. Good breasts and amazing legs. Those lack lycra leggings showed every smooth curve of her thighs and buttocks. His cock thickened and twitched. She'll probably come to my room after lights out for a couple of tenners.
Taking his hands slowly out of his pockets, he gestured to his baggage. 'Get these to my rooms,' he drawled, his youthful voice already carrying the assured tone of money and privilege.
'Rooms?' snapped the athletic blonde in the lemon sleeveless vest and tight leggings. 'No rooms here, laddie. Room. You get a room.'
The 'laddie' annoyed him almost as much as her brisk Scottish accent. He scowled.
'Room. Which you will do well to keep neat and tidy at all times—'
'I say, girl,' Rollo drawled dismissively, 'just get my cases—'
'Miss Pringle, laddie. Don't you dare "girl" me. Pick them up yourself. Come along. At once.'
Rollo tossed his head back and snorted angrily. He was about to deliver a withering rebuke when the stern blonde, ten years his senior, pounced. Before he knew it, she had grappled him facedown across an oak table and was deftly yanking down his designer jeans and blue boxer shorts.
'Listen, laddie, and listen carefully,' she snarled, fishing out a small leather belt from her cleavage and unfurling it with a snap. 'From now on, you only speak when spoken to and you obey every order instantly. Understand?'
Rollo, struggling to get free from the armlock pinning him facedown onto the table, writhed in vain. She released him but kept him prostrate by grasping the nape of his neck.
'Hands together, out on the table,' she barked.
He refused. The short strap cracked down viciously across his bare buttocks. He yelped - and obeyed, stretching his hands out across the sheen of the polished wood.
'Palms together.'
His left hand found its partner.
'Like you're saying your prayers,' she whispered, adding darkly, 'you'll need them, laddie, you'll need them.'
The strap that had seared his rump was quickly wrapped around his wrists, pinioning them in severe bondage. He splayed his fingers in a reflex of fear. Suddenly rolling and twisting, he made a bid to escape. The blonde laughed harshly and reached down, almost leisurely, to cup and squeeze his balls. Rollo froze instantly into a statue of meek obedience.
Releasing his balls, she thumbed his cleft. 'Spread 'em,' she commanded, palming his upper thighs apart. 'Perfectly still, mind, during punishment.'
The bare-bottomed Adonis, stripped of his boxer shorts and air of easy arrogance, slumped across the broad oak table, his hot breath clouding its polished surface. Flexing her right knee up into his buttocks, the blonde reached down and unlaced her white pump. Slipping it off, she caught it deftly and planted the rubber sole across the swell of his left cheek.
'You are here for the next seven weeks, laddie. You will be under my control every moment. You, and your bottom, are utterly and absolutely mine to punish as I please. Work hard, very hard, and you might just avoid too much pain.'
'Bitch—'
The supple pump swished down five times, reddening his cheeks mercilessly. He grunted and squirmed, his fingers splaying out in anguish.
'We can do this two ways, laddie. There is the hard way, or there is the very hard way. I am now going to give you a taste of what you will receive if you even dare to think of disobeying me. Do you understand?'
Rollo mouthed a soft obscenity.
Swipe. The rubber sole cracked venomously down, searing his buttock's swell with a scarlet kiss. Rollo yelped. The blonde gripped the pump tightly and swiped it down nine more times - slowly, deliberately and very painfully. The punishment left his buttocks burning. The blonde paused, wedging her lycra-sheathed thigh against his left buttock. The crimson globe wobbled gently as the shiny black thigh nestled into its hot flesh.
'Now, laddie,' Miss Pringle purred, resting the sole of the pump down upon the bottom it had just blistered, 'we're getting to know each other properly. It's really quite simple. Just listen and obey.'
'My father—'
'Is paying good money to have you straightened out and fit for Oxford. No problem. You're just over-privileged and under-disciplined. Nothing that a spell of intensive corrective training cannot fix—'
'No, do carry on, Miss Pringle. I trust you are treating our new arrival to Chersey Manor to the customary welcome?' Dr Breunig enthused.
Miss Pringle turned and saluted him with the upraised pump.
'Pray continue, and let the welcome be memorable, if you please.'
The pump cracked down with renewed vigour four times in savage succession. The witness to the onslaught rubbed his gloved hands feverishly as Miss Pringle positioned the rubber sole across the crown of the punished cheeks and dragged it slowly across the savaged flesh.
'You will address me as Miss, and only Miss, at all times,' she said sternly. 'Even under your breath; even,' she whispered, 'in your dreams.'
Rollo whimpered.
Crack. The pump spoke harshly. As did the punisher: 'Understand?'
'Yes,' Rollo replied, sullenly.
Crack. 'Yes, what?'
'Yes, Miss.'
Dr Breunig shook his head sadly. 'Goodness me, a slow learner, Miss Pringle. Do you think we'll ever get him into Corpus Christi?'
'He'll learn,' she murmured.
'I'm sure he will, under your strict tutelage.' Dr Breunig beamed as he departed.
Miss Pringle tossed the pump down onto the carpet and trod her right foot into it. Raising her leg up, she planted her foot down dominantly upon the punished cheeks to tie up the laces. Stooping, she yanked away the penitent's jeans, shorts, socks and shoes, rendering him utterly naked from the waist down.
'Pick up your cases,' she commanded, quickly undoing the strap at his wrists and curling it affectionately, 'and follow me.'
Rollo blushed deeply as he rose from the table, struggling in vain to cover and shield his gathering erection. He rubbed his wrists and folded his hands together at the base of his belly.
'Cases,' she commanded, perusing his erection as he juggled with his baggage - one in each hand, the third under his arm. The case under his arm slipped. Stepping up to reposition it, Miss Pringle felt the tip of his thick penis prod her belly. Rollo shuddered and averted his gaze. She caught his chin in a fierce grip and gazed directly into his eyes.
'You are a very impertinent young man. Cocksure, hm? There are ways of dealing with cocksure young men,' she purred, unfurling the leather strap so that it brushed the twitching shaft. 'Painful but effective ways.'
Rollo groaned and trembled. Sensing his climax, she used the strap to trap his cock
against his belly. He came, suddenly, with a soft moan.
'You need a shower,' Miss Pringle remarked, her tone crisply clinical. 'Which means of course that you will miss tea. Turn around,' she instructed.
Obedient to her command, he turned. The leather strap flickered across his already reddened buttocks.
'Proceed.'
Head bowed, and flinching from the cruel kiss of the strap, Rollo stumbled towards the door.
She monitored his shower, making sure that the water was little more than lukewarm, and watched as he soaped and rinsed the semen from his belly.
'Wash your bottom, laddie. Get that soap right up between those cheeks.'
Rollo trod the tiles at his feet carefully as he turned to conceal his naked manhood from her intense gaze.
'No, laddie. Face me. You cannot hide from me. From now on, I own and control you completely. Now get weaving with that soap.'
Half-heartedly, the young man lathered the soap and washed his cleft. Miss Pringle snarled softly and pounced.
'When I give you an instruction, laddie, I expect to be obeyed.' Spinning him around, she grabbed a rough flannel and ravaged his cleft with it brutally for a full three minutes. Rollo cried out, begging for mercy. Ignoring him, the stern blonde stepped out of the shower, twisting the tap to cold. The naked boy gasped as he stood, transfixed, beneath the icy deluge. Teeth chattering and eyes tightly shut, he stumbled blindly out into the towel she swathed him with.
At first, she dried him almost tenderly, but as the soft white towelling reached his balls her hand grew firm.
'Time for bed,' she announced. It was only seven-twenty. Rollo glanced at her sulkily. 'Six-thirty rise tomorrow. We'll start with a couple of hours in the gym before breakfast.'
He followed her meekly to the dormitory block. The blonde opened a door and jerked her head towards the bedroom. As Rollo passed through the doorway, she spanked his bottom harshly.
