He stood back watching her long slender fingers running deep in her crease, lending it a silky shine which for one moment he was very much tempted to penetrate. But that could wait, it would require time and effort to bugger a virgin, and at that precise moment it would be a lot less tiring to take Smithers.
'You can get up now, Holland,' he said, buttoning his trousers. 'Go down to the storeroom and collect your uniform. Tomorrow you will begin your term of hard labour, but occasionally, when it pleases me, I shall require your presence here, and if necessary administer the same.'
Olivia bowed low and then, standing up, looked at her hand. 'What shall I do about this?'
Her palm was still greased and glistening.
'Lick it clean,' he said. 'You may find it quite to your liking.'
Olivia walked along the corridor taking great care not to get lost, trying to discern what, if anything, that strange taste resembled.
Chapter Three
The uniform that Olivia collected had been originally intended for a female much shorter and less well-endowed than herself. The hem that should have reached past mid-calf barely covered her knees, and her generous breasts, straining at the front, prevented the buttons from entering their corresponding holes. But, she was soon to realise, in that she was not alone, for every Sunday all the uniforms were taken away and washed and had shrunk so much none of them fitted anyone.
Olivia had been set to work in the laundry itself and in the steaming heat she laboured stripped to the waist, or more often than not, attired only in her drawers. It was not unusual for some of the women working over the boiling vats to take off their underwear and set about their tasks entirely naked. Through dense clouds of steam they moved like spectres, their bodies glistening with sweat, their hair tied up behind or falling lank around their gleaming shoulders. In such an environment modesty was in short supply, as was privacy. When Olivia asked where she could relieve herself the overseer merely pointed to a tub in the middle of the room, where, out of sheer desperation, she squatted alongside whoever happened to be there at the time. Those who were forbidden to leave their place of work, such as the mangle or washboards, simply wetted their drawers as they worked and were obliged to continue thus for the remainder of their shift.
On her first Sunday in the laundry Olivia was summoned quite unexpectedly into the yard where, all the other inmates now bereft of their uniforms, stood around in semi-naked or naked groups for the purpose of witnessing a public flogging. The girl, who had not been quick enough in removing her uniform, suddenly took fright and bolted towards a low door that led into the main quadrangle.
'She'll get an extra twenty for that,' someone behind Olivia whispered.
What happened next sickened Olivia to the stomach, and gave her the first insight as to just how far the other inmates had been brutalised into tormenting each other.
'Fetch her back, and a day's rest for the one who does!' roared the overseer.
At once the entire congregation rushed for the door, pushing and shoving, punching and kicking, to be the first to lay hands on her. Olivia brought up the rear and watched in horror how a previously docile assembly of cowed women could so quickly transform into a pack of snarling she-wolves. The girl ran back and forth along the perimeter wall like a frightened rabbit as the pack slowly closed in. Making a final hopeless attempt to scale it, she leapt up and began a slow ascension of the brickwork. The pack gave her enough time for her bare bottom to reach head height and then a pair of hands seized her between the legs. The girl screamed as a clenched fist squeezed her mound and another went under her legs and ripped at her pubic fleece. But still she clung by the fingertips to the bricks, desperately trying to escape more clutching hands that now grabbed her ankles. Peals of laughter arose as her legs were spread wide, threatening to split her asunder.
It was a wonder to Olivia just how wide a woman's legs could spread or with what strength she managed to cling on, her arms thrown upwards and outwards.
'That will do! Leave her!'
At the sound of the overseer's voice, the pack drew off leaving the girl suspended, star shaped, flattened against the wall. 'Bring a rope,' he ordered.
For one terrible moment, Olivia assumed she was going to be hanged. But the overseer, instead of forming a noose, fashioned the end into a huge, hard knot, into which he inserted a pebble for good measure. The pack retreated into a semicircle as the overseer stepped closer. It didn't take much imagination to see what he had in mind. The heavily weighted end swung upwards straight into the join of the girl's legs. The knot not help but bury itself in her parted slit. She let out a piercing howl and clung evermore desperately onto the bricks.
Another slash of the rope had the girl writhing in agony, and Olivia now understood why she had been left there. Her breasts pressed flat against the coarse surface suffered torments as the rope lashed her again and again. Her delicate pert nipples rubbed raw, as did her belly and fronts of her thighs. But still she clung, sobbing and wailing.
One of the inmates, clearly a self-styled leader of the rest, encouraged the overseer with harsh shouts of, 'Beat her harder!' and, 'Make the blood flow! Whip her to death!' She probably did not mean it literally but the effect on the others was galvanic. They all began adding advice of their own and the louder it went the more savage and cruel the taunts. Things really came to a head when the overseer, tired of beating the clinging girl, threw the rope haphazardly into the crowd. The woman who caught it was as quickly floored with a fist in the jaw. She was probably unconscious before her bottom struck the earth, which was hardly surprising, being as the woman who hit her was built like a navvy. Tall and powerful, she struck terror into the hearts of the assembly who had now gone deathly quiet. Above that eerie silence came the dull thud of the rope landing on the small of the girl's back. It was well aimed and deliberately so, for the immediate reaction of the girl was to thrust her hips violently forward, and in so doing her pubic ridge scraped the bricks. Olivia winced in sympathy, but not it seemed, did anyone else. Her astonished face stared in amazement at the sights she saw going on right in front of her very eyes. Blatantly, in full view of God and Man, arms began to encircle waists, hands slipped between thighs, fingers searched into clefts, and lips touched lips.
'It's horrible,' exclaimed Olivia without thinking. 'How could women do that to each other? It's so immoral, and in a place set up for our correction.'
She forced her eyes back to the girl at the wall who had nearly fainted and was now held in situ by a couple of willing helpers whose hands pressed against the backs of her upper thighs. The stout woman was lashing the girl on her back, sending the rope whistling over the heads of her participants and bringing forth fresh screams of pain. Where the knot had landed were huge black bruises, and between her legs a once pretty and pouting mound had become a swollen and open wound wherefrom a river of milky juice oozed and dripped.
Olivia, so appalled at the spectacle of what the other inmates were doing amongst themselves, failed to notice the long, sinuous arm creeping around her shoulders. Neither did she pay heed to the lengthy thigh rubbing assiduously against her own. Not a few feet away, two of the inmates had secreted themselves into an alcove and were locked in fond embrace. A knee had positioned itself into an open crotch and was moving rapidly to and fro. The girl, whose head Olivia could see resting on the shoulder of the other, flicked her tongue into her companion's ear and raked her fingernails up and down her back. Beyond that despicable display she saw another pair with hands on each others bottoms, seemingly trying to insert their fingers into their respective clefts. Everywhere she looked it was the same; except for the girl undergoing a whipping. The insides of her thighs were coated with a greasy liquid which now poured from her labia.
Olivia was suddenly spun round and into her open, astonished mouth a wet and wriggling tongue thrust itself. The shock was so paramount that for several seconds she went limp in the arms that held her. A knee pressed into her groin and began its u
rgent movement, going up and down and rubbing deep between her legs. Olivia's only means of egress was to bite the tongue searching inside her mouth. It flew back accompanied with a muffled cry of pain.
Olivia found her eyes level with the head of a remarkably pretty woman who blinked at her in astonishment.
'Do you always do that when you're being kissed?' she asked.
'I have no desire to be kissed,' Olivia replied, trying to push the woman away.
But the woman held on, pinning Olivia into a doorway. One hand planted itself on her breast, and the knee rubbed harder than ever.
'Let me go this minute,' Olivia protested, wriggling her bottom against the door frame.
'I like my lovers to put up a struggle,' the woman said, introducing herself as Flora the turnkey.
Olivia had already discovered that a turnkey was a trusted inmate who locked the dormitories at night and was allowed certain privileges. But this, she decided, was definitely not one of them.
'Put your hand between my legs,' she said softly, 'or I shall be forced to report you.'
'For what, in heaven's name?'
'Anything you like; stealing, shirking, plotting to escape. Anything that will have you flogged senseless.'
'Are you trying to frighten me?'
'Not necessarily. Just do as you're told.'
Olivia glanced quickly over Flora's shoulder. The girl on the wall had collapsed and was lying in the dirt and being revived with hard slaps across her breasts and face. Slowly the women were trooping away back to their various duties. If only she could stall a few minutes longer. She put her hand into Flora's groin and held it there, keeping still, wondering what would happen next.
'Now open your mouth,' Flora murmured.
'I told you, I don't want to be kissed, and least of all by another woman. Why, it's outrageous.'
'Then in that case I'll report you for soiling your bed instead of using the pot.'
She made to move but Olivia pulled her back.
'If you do I'll be put back on the trestle and whipped.'
'Certainly.'
'This is blackmail.'
'Yes it is.'
'And you think that just because you're a turnkey, you can get away with it.'
'I don't think, I know. Ask anyone, they'll tell you.'
Olivia knew that putting that to the test would be wasted effort. She swallowed hard and opened her mouth slightly, barely parting her lips.
'Wider,' said Flora, placing the tip of her forefinger on Olivia's chin and drawing it downwards.
Olivia's jaw gaped, and in a trice Flora's tongue shot into her mouth, circling around the cheeks, coiling over her own tongue, and then darting quickly from side to side. She pushed Olivia's head into a corner of the door frame, keeping it there until she considered herself satisfied.
'Now, what was so awful about that?' she asked, giving Olivia a final kiss.
'Everything,' Olivia hissed. 'You're vulgar and foul and nasty, and I'd rather be whipped than have your odious tongue back in my mouth.'
This sudden outburst left Flora temporarily speechless. By now the quadrangle was cleared of its occupants, save for the whipped girl who still lay writhing in the dust where no one had bothered to care for her. Flora let Olivia slip from her grasp and watched her with squinted, glowing eyes as she raced back to the laundry.
Smithers laughed quietly to herself from the window high above.
She had witnessed everything that had taken place down below in the quadrangle, and had been so engrossed in the proceedings that she didn't hear the governor coming up behind her.
'Why aren't you ready,' he snapped, slashing her viciously across her behind with his cane.
Smithers jumped away from the window. 'I beg your forgiveness, sir,' she said, tearing off her tattered uniform and rushing to a beautifully inlaid cabinet. She opened the doors and stood dutifully aside. 'What is your preference today, sir?'
'Your bottom,' he replied thoughtfully, rummaging in the cabinet.
A profusion of chains, shackles and padlocks clattered to the floor. Smithers did not need to be told what to do next. She gathered them up and placed them in a tidy pile on a bedside table along with a selection of whips and belts.
'The bed, sir?' she inquired meekly. 'Or would you prefer me the usual way?'
'Neither,' he replied. 'Fetch the stool.'
Smithers knew what he had in mind and did not require any further instruction. In the centre of the room she placed a low, quite innocent looking three legged stool that might be found in any lounge or boudoir. But closer inspection would reveal a more than generously padded seat and legs that splayed outwards at an angle wider than what would be considered usual on such furniture.
After she had taken off her uniform she stood naked before him as she always did; arms by her sides, her left leg bent slightly at the knee, her pretty oval face a picture of humility.
'You know perfectly well,' the governor began, 'that nobody is allowed in this room without my express authority. I turn my back for five minutes and find that you have wilfully disobeyed my orders.'
He walked behind her and patted her bottom. There was no doubt that Smithers had, in his considered opinion, the finest arse in the whole building. It was firm and well rounded, broad, yet well shaped, and the crease deeper and tighter than most. But what he had discovered about Smithers, after much experimenting with many of the other inmates, was that she more than any other, had no illusions as to what comfort her bottom could offer. Some had squealed and shrieked, others had grunted and winced, not a few sought to prevent his advances by compressing their muscles, but that was dealt with by a hard thump on the base of the spine. But Smithers had welcomed him with open and eager cheeks. How she had writhed and purred, wiggling her hips and reaching behind to actually stretch apart her crease instead of tearing her hair and sobbing. He had also discovered that she was even more receptive after a good flogging.
'You know the punishment for disobedience,' he said, steering her towards the stool.
'I deserve it,' she replied. 'I would like to be whipped hard and taught my place.'
'Your place is over that stool.'
Smithers knelt before it like a nun at prayer, hands in front of her, head bowed. A hard shove on the shoulder sent her over the seat. Putting her hands behind her over the crown of her rump, she leaned far forward, letting her breasts swing free, checking her balance by allowing her weight to rest squarely on her stomach. She caught her breath in a sharp, expectant gasp as a pair of iron cuffs locked securely around her wrists. Extending from either side of the seat were two broad leather straps rather like a belt that labourers wore equipped with a sturdy brass buckle through which one end of the strap quickly passed. The governor put his knee into the small of her back and pulled tight on the straps, using all his strength. The belt sank into her midriff, and went on tightening until at last the buckle was fixed.
Smithers in the throes of passion had the most unfortunate habit of thrashing her legs in all directions, which at her first attempt over the stool had unbalanced her, causing serious distraction to the governor who now allayed that eventuality with another set of straps. He passed the first two around her upper thighs binding them to the legs of the stool, which because of their wide angle allowed them to spread sufficiently for his purpose of entering her. The next set went around mid-thigh, and the last just above her knees. Her thighs thus secured thrice on each, he turned his attention to her bowed head.
'You know the reason I have to fit you with this collar,' he said, taking hold of her hair and arching her neck upwards.
'I can't help it, sir,' Smithers choked. 'It always affects me like that when your thing goes in me.'
'All the more reason why you need it. If I remember correctly on the last occasion when your head jerked about like a drunken puppet I thought you were in serious danger of doing yourself an injury, which is why I have also to fit you with a gag.'
Smithers couldn't d
eny the truth of that; her head did roll about all over the place and she did often give vent to wild shrieks, especially when his member was more than ordinarily excited (and after caressing it against the flanks of Olivia it was almost bursting with renewed desire).
The collar closed around her neck and was fastened at the front with small metal studs. At the sides were rings through which the governor slid lengths of chain. These he drew downwards to the front leg of the stool, stretched them taut and fastened with a padlock.
'I'm sorry that I don't have a silk handkerchief to hand,' he apologised, 'which would have been more suitable for a gag, so I'm afraid one of these belts will have to suffice.'
He returned to the table and selected a long, narrow length of leather, which, for no reason other than her bottom looked so beautiful, he sent sizzling into her cheeks. Smithers, taken completely unawares, let out a scream, but her head, much to his satisfaction, remained rigid.
'Open your mouth, April,' he said, taking her even more by surprise.
'You've never addressed me so familiarly, sir,' said Smithers, flushing with relish that she should be so honoured.
'A slip of the tongue,' he snapped, angry at the mistake, and forced the strap between her teeth.
When he came to fasten the buckle the strap proved to be too long, so he wrapped it twice more around her head and then with considerable difficulty adjusted the buckle into her open mouth.
'What shall I use to soften your bottom?' he mused, rummaging through the collection of whips and thongs. He held up a whip, thought for a moment, and put it back again.
'No, I don't think so. You're far too used to that. I need something to really open you up, and at the same time give you such a thrashing that when I've finished you'll have forgotten what day it is.'
At that Smithers visibly quaked. She wondered why he seemed as intent on punishing her as he did riding her bottom. Normally, unless she had been less forthcoming than usual, the whipping did not last long and he was soon inside her pumping like a savage. It might be something to do with that girl she had foolishly invited into his bedroom. If that were the case, she in turn deserved a flogging for putting him to so much trouble and keeping her waiting. Smithers made a mental note of that.
The Instruction of Olivia Page 4
