by Sarah Veitch
She automatically made for the rosewood trestle, but Sir Kempton put a restraining hand on her arm. 'No, the whipping stool will be more appropriate this time, will hold your small arse more firmly.' The girl knew that it would also display her more fully to the watching crowd. 'Kiss the tawse,' her employer continued. Patsy pressed her painted lips slackly against the punisher. It felt slightly rough to her sensitive mouth.
It would surely feel so much rougher on her bum. Even so, the new auctioneer was anxious to get her punishment over with. That way she could soon be home enjoying some cold cream on her bottom and sipping a much-needed glass of gin. Taking a deep breath she faced the whipping stool and bent haltingly over it, letting her head hang down.
'This isn't the most comfortable position, so we won't keep you there long,' George murmured conversationally.
'After the tawsing, sir, am I free to go?' Patsy said.
'No, we like to give a culprit pleasure after the pain. It ensures they'll willingly accept a sore bum for future misdeeds,' Sir Kempton said easily. 'But after you've groaned your way to orgasm I'll have my chauffeur drive you home.'
The new auctioneer swallowed at his imperious words. Someone ran a considering hand over her flesh and she looked into the mirror before her to see that George was the one doing the caressing. 'She can take six of the tawse easily,' he said.
'Dyson - would you like to help out?' Sir Kempton asked, smiling at a man in the front row. 'You've always been most adept with the long tawse on a soft bare bottom.'
'My pleasure, sir,' the newcomer said with a gleeful wink.
Patsy looked warily in the highly polished wall mirror at the approaching man. In turn, he looked at her helpless naked rotundities. 'Very fetching,' he said to no one in particular, accepting the three-tailed punisher from George. Patsy flinched as he laid both of his hands over the hot cane marks as if he was assessing them. Then he stepped to one side of her and lined up the tawse.
The bloody thing stung more than she'd feared. Patsy exhaled loudly as the smooth strips of leather licked over her upturned bum. She half lifted her head in protest, rubber-sheathed breasts moving against the lower legs of the floor-bolted whipping stool. Then, remembering that to protest too much meant accepting a new punishment or leaving Sir Kempton's employ, she stayed obediently in place.
'Ask me nicely for stroke two,' Dyson said. Mutinously, Patsy did so. Someone in the crowd whistled twice. The second stroke was laid on low. It reawakened one of the earlier cane marks. The twenty-three year old yelped and kicked for a moment, but remained bent over the fully-displaying stool.
Now beg for the third,' Dyson ordered.
'Please give me the third,' Patsy muttered reluctantly. She was damned if she'd call this taunting rich bastard sir.
'Address him as Master,' Sir Kempton cut in.
Patsy brindled over the stool. 'No! He's not my Master.'
'We're all your Masters whilst you're being punished for poor service,' her employer said.
'I only failed to sell a few whips and canes,' Patsy blurted out, beginning to feel quite sorry for herself.
'Yes, but they could have been Chinese statues worth many thousands,' Sir Kempton explained in a weary voice. He sighed. 'A man or woman who really loves their work sees each task as an enjoyable challenge. How can you learn to be a proper auctioneer if you can't even run a small private Auction House like this?'
Patsy didn't believe that the two things were really the same, but her bum was bared and displayed so she figured that she was in no position to argue. 'You've made your point! And... em... I do want to learn to run real auctions. So please, Master, lay on the third tawse stroke,' she said.
Her new Master obliged, the leather warming the helpless central swell. God, her poor flesh felt tender. She whimpered for a few moments then asked for the fourth. Dyson laid it on. The three tails reddened her cringing extremities and its lash made her squeal and move her hips from side to side. Patsy groaned again; her raised bare bum was burning brightly. She was unsure if she could bear strokes five and six.
Stalling, the twenty-three year old opened her eyes and stared into the mirror. Dyson smiled. He walked closer to her lower charms. 'I don't hear you asking nicely for the fifth taste of my little friend,' he murmured, brandishing the punisher.
'I need... a few more minutes, Master,' Patsy said. 'Why?' Dyson countered, his eyes assessing.
The girl looked coyly away from the implement. 'To compose myself.'
Dyson stared at her for a moment. 'A walk's supposed to be relaxing,' he said thoughtfully. 'It's meant to take a nervous girl's mind off her worries. I'll take you for one now.' He looked over at George, Tan you bring me a lead and collar, George? Mm, the one for naughty girls.'
Surely he wasn't going to parade her like a floppy puppy? Patsy wriggled over the whipping stool in a paroxysm of humiliation and desire.
'I'll take the two extra tawse strokes,' she muttered. 'Please, Master, I want them.'
'You can have them after you've shown all of the nice men your sore bottom,' her new Master said.
A moment later he knelt and fastened a heavy black collar around her neck. It was snug but not at all constricting. Then he clipped on a short black lead with matching silver studs. Finally he had George lift her from the whipping stool and position her on her hands and knees like an obedient canine. Then he tugged gently at the lead.
'Walkies,' he said. Colour flooded Patsy's facial cheeks. Lust reddened her sex rim and caused it to drip. Her thighs felt weak with yearning. Suddenly she wanted to climax hard and fast. Dyson seemed to know. 'You'll see the animal's in heat,' he remarked to the first row of watchful gents. 'You'll get relief soon enough, pup,' he continued, patting her head. He pointed at the rows of outstretched knees then lifted her until she lay along three sets of expensively-trousered male laps. 'Just wriggle along each row on your soft warm tummy whilst the men inspect you,' he instructed, before briefly spanking her naked bum.
Keen to escape the stinging slaps, Patsy did as she was told. She'd come so far that she was now determined to earn her orgasm. Christ, they'd seen her bare her bottom for the cane and the tawse; did it make much difference if they saw those same globes in close up now? But the men didn't just look. Instead, they palmed her flesh until she trembled with excitement and shame and an ongoing frustration. One played briefly with her intimate parts and she almost came.
Not yet,' Dyson chipped in. 'Remember you've still to beg sweetly for the last two tawsings.'
'I'll beg. I'm asking nicely for them, Master, really nicely,' a desperate Patsy said.
But another four rows of men still had to inspect her parts. Patsy was lifted from the first row and walked on her collar and lead to the second. Again, she was lifted onto the eager and often erection-filled laps. Again she writhed slowly along, having her maidenly curves spanked and fondled. 'Please let me taste the tawse. Oh please,' she whimpered, anxious to move on to her climax, her pubis swollen with need.
At last the final auction client stroked her thighs and Dyson led her back on all fours to the chunky whipping stool. With something akin to relief, Patsy got clumsily back in place.
'Please lash me hard with the three tailed tawse, Master,' she whispered wantonly. 'It's what my bad bum deserves.'
She tensed then untensed as the leather corrector seared down. Hell, that Dyson gave a hard tawsing. Was he just being heartless or was he intent on further exciting her pulsing sex?
'I need... I beg for the final stroke across my hot bare bum, Master,' she said hoarsely.
'Is it a sore bum?' Dyson taunted, trailing the fingers of the tawse over both aching cheeks.
Patsy let her breath out in a heartfelt sigh. 'Oh yes, sir!'
'Tell me how sore,' Dyson said.
Patsy skulked humiliatedly over the whipping stool. By looking in the mirror she could see the watchers straining eagerly forward.
'It's so hot that I can hardly bear it,' she whispered, 'and I want
to beg for mercy but know I can't.'
'Good girl,' Sir Kempton chipped in. George smiled approvingly. Dyson applied the final searing stroke. It went diagonally, reheating both already-tender buttocks. Patsy roared and flexed her feet and brought her hands back, then slowly quietened and lay, quivering, over the stool.
An hour later, having eaten and drunk lightly in Sir Kempton's rooms, Patsy got into his chauffeur driven vehicle. Her employer pressed a thick bundle of notes into her accepting hand.
'This salary should keep you going all week. Report here at the same time next Saturday,' he said matter-of-factly. 'There will be another auction for you to run then.'
'Erotic paintings on sale this time, is it?' Patsy smiled. Her equilibrium was slowly returning. 'Or will I be selling more swishy whips and canes?'
Sir Kempton smiled knowingly. No, my dear, we'll be auctioning carts and bridles for naughty Pony Girls at this sale - and you won't just be selling them. We'll want you to demonstrate by being saddled and pulling a cart.'
Ancient Remedies
'Our Master wants you to pleasure him now,' the messenger boy said breathlessly.
At the youth's words Eva dropped the bluebells she'd been gathering. The master had last availed himself of her treasures three months before.
'Let me prepare myself...' she whispered, beginning to reach under her calfskin tunic, but the messenger firmly grasped her upper arm.
'Nay, he'll scourge me or put me on half rations if I'm delayed. We must be on time.'
Five minutes later the messenger led Eva into her owner's main cavernous room. A pine-scented fire crackled invitingly in the corner and soft bearskin rugs were strewn across the flagstones. Eva reminded herself of how lucky she was to live and work in such comfort, when many people dwelt in rough wood shacks or seaside caves.
'Show me your charms, fine maid.' At her seated Master's words Eva stepped reluctantly forward. He was a fair man as long as his serfs did exactly as they were bidden. But she'd failed to obey...
'Unveil your curves,' he continued now, smiling at her with evident anticipation.
'Sire, I didn't have time to...' Eva hastened to explain.
The Lord of the Kingdom frowned and leaned forward slightly. 'I asked for action, not words, little maid, for I am a man with many responsibilities and too few hours.'
'Yes, Master,' the eighteen year old said. Slowly, she pulled her calfskin garment up to reveal her slender waistline. She'd bound strips of calfskin around her lower portions to help evade the keen March chill.
'What instructions were you given after your last visitation?' the supreme ruler asked.
'That I should always be bare beneath my tunic in your presence, sire,' Eva reluctantly answered. Unable to meet his gaze, she stared fixedly at the ground. 'Only I didn't know that you were going to send for me today and my bare flesh feels the cold so cruelly when I work outside.'
'You'll be warm enough in a minute,' her owner said, and his meaning was all too apparent. 'Very hot indeed.'
'I pray you... is my crime really so large, sir?' Eva stalled. Her bottom could never get used to being disciplined.
The man looked saddened at her ill thought words. 'Girl, this isn't fully about your outer cladding.' She kept her eyes downcast as she listened to his speech, 'I have to rely on everyone here to do exactly as I say - for that will help us rally together in the bad times. My kinsfolk must obey me without question if we are to survive periods of famine and pestilence and war.'
'I understand now, truly I do.' Like her friends, Eva found that the threat of being publicly stripped always led to sudden bouts of contrition and understanding. 'If sire would show some clemency?' She risked a quick peek at him through her long dark fringe.
But the bearded nobleman immediately shook his head. 'Clemency is only for first time miscreants so your delaying tactics have already earned you additional punishment.'
'Sire, please, I...'
'Remove the strips of cloth that you shouldn't have been wearing,' he continued, slapping one large palm against the other, 'and raise your robe.'
Grimacing with shame, Eva reached back and located the loose knots which held the smooth calfskin in place. She undid each and pulled them slowly away from her pale young hemispheres then lifted her modest shift dress. At her master's command she also kicked off her thong sandals and pushed them obediently out of the way.
'I see that your cheeks have fully recovered from the whipping I gave them three months ago,' the nobleman said thoughtfully.
'Yes, sire, but they hurt for a very long time after their chastisement, sire,' a blushing Eva said.
'Well, you forgot to salt three haunches of beef yet you are supposed to be trained in all the fine arts,' her Master retorted. Eva quivered anew as he added, 'I hear that reddening your backside markedly improved your behaviour, that for a while you became the hardest worker in the land.'
Eva knew that he spoke the truth. She'd been newly sold to the master at the time and hadn't really been trying, for her previous owner had been old and had let her do more or less as she pleased. After her new master had taken his belt to her she'd sworn that she'd be a perfect serving girl, and for a few weeks she'd been very good indeed.
'Ask nicely for your birching,' her strong-armed owner said now.
Eva knew that if she didn't fully humble herself she'd receive an even more extended flogging. 'I've foolishly disobeyed my loving Master...' she started with hard won honesty.
'And what happens to girls who rebel against the communal good?' the ruler of the surrounding land enquired.
'They get...' she thought of her master's many implements. 'They feel your whip upon their bottoms, sire.'
'We use the word arse in this kingdom rather than bottom, don't we, my wilful little friend?'
Eva skulked about on her belly as she prepared to use the ribald word that her master desired. 'Yes, sire. My...' Her voice broke slightly, 'my arse needs to be leathered until it's completely docile and trained.'
'Good girl. You have a certain way with words,' the nobleman murmured. 'Maybe when you're older you'll be promoted to our camp's Storyteller and will get to retain your clothes.' His voice hardened slightly. 'But for now you are a pleasure serf who has failed to give pleasure and has earned ten lashes of the whip.' He stayed silent for a moment, obviously deciding how he wanted to position her. 'I think we'll have you standing in the punishment room with your arms and legs splayed out in an X formation. That way these wicked globes will be stretched nice and tight.'
So saying, he rang a bell and two menservants arrived. 'No need to carry me. I can walk,' Eva said proudly. She wanted to show her master that she was fully contrite and brave.
'Get the braid-handled whip ready,' the Master said to one of the men. 'She knows how she's to position herself. I'll be along presently to make her dance a jig.'
Five minutes later Eva slipped her bare feet into the calfskin cuffs which the men had fastened to the floor. Then she stretched up until her hands curled around the cuffs which emanated from a ceiling pulley. Now she was held with her arms and legs scissored apart to their fullest extent. She wasn't tied as such - if she wanted to she could remove her wrists and feet from their supple bindings. But she knew that to do so would just result in an alternative chastisement.
'How many are you in for?' one of the manservants asked as he pinned Eva's tunic far up her back. She quivered as he stared at her youthful bottom.
'Ten,' she whispered, blushing to the roots of her hair.
'I'll wager your arse will be as striped as a big cat's tail and twice as wriggly,' the second man cut in with a rueful grin.
Eva swallowed at his words, then swallowed again as her master arrived and was handed the flogger. Her bottom shuddered as he walked behind her and she sensed that he was lining up his arm for the first hateful swing.
'Count each lash out loud, maid, and thank me nicely for it,' he said matter of factly.
'Yes, sire. Oh, I'm s
o sorry for covering up my bum without permission, sire,' Eva managed breathlessly. She wished that she could take the punishment across her hands or over her back or narrow shoulders. It was so shameful, having this man contemplating her small oval buttocks with their secret dark divide.
Even as she mused, a long line of fire streaked across the centre of her cheeks. The girl cried out and pushed her body forward by a half-digit. That was as far as the bindings would allow. 'I'm not hearing you,' her Master said coolly as she shook her newly-striped rump from side to side and tensed up her muscles in the hope of unseating the focused pain.
'Thank you for lash one, sir,' Eva mumbled belatedly.
'You were too slow and you failed to speak with feeling,' her Master said in a detached voice, 'so you'll have to endure the first lash all over again.'
This stroke was somewhat heavier than the first. It licked against her taut smooth skin, accentuating the lower curve of each tender hemisphere. The whipped serf groaned, but quickly added, 'Thank you for repeating stroke one, sire. My bottom humbly requests stroke two.'
'Ah, if only it would stay quiet and sweet and humble,' her owner murmured, and she sensed that he was lining up the punisher. 'Instead it soon starts to squirm and wail.' He reddened her rump with stroke two, and Eva thanked him tremulously. Again she flinched and shook her haunches the little she could from side to side.
'Do you remember the fuss you made after I birched you for giving such poor massages?' her owner murmured reminiscently.
'Yes, sire. I'd never been birched before, sire,' Eva whispered feeling increasingly sore-bummed and shy. She quivered as the man stepped forward to palm and knead her bare extremities, and her face turned the colour of her backside.
'Remember what I said then about my wanting you to be servile? Remember how I instructed you to use the most base and demeaning words for everything?'
