“Your Aunt’s selection of a birthday gift seems to me an excellent choice, and I shall take care to award you the same when your anniversary recurs, and it will give me great pleasure to do so,” he declared. “In the mean time, your Aunt’s attentions to you are none of my business. You have still to settle your account with me for AdŠle’s annoyance. Get your haunches over the desk, and prepare to suffer the rod.”
Reader, am I foolish, that, what had seemed cruel and harsh from my uncaring Aunt, I should now take joy in, that he should care enough to want to mark my birthday, even though it be in my buttocks, and at a terrible cost, increasing as the years passed? Whether foolish or not, I thanked him for the promise, then obeyed his further instruction, and he gave me six fearsome cuts. He did not abate their force one wit, but I was conscious that he spared my worst bruises and six was a somewhat meagre total. I can only suppose that he considered AdŠle’s behaviour a minor nuisance, rather than a serious offence, for I cannot conceive that it was in his nature to show clemency merely because I came already bruised to correction.
His attitude towards me became uncertain. He would seek me out, as if he had missed my company while I had been away, then avoid me for days at a time, as if my presence was irksome to him. He could be tender, but he showed me no mercy at our next monthly accounting.
For several days I had gone round in considerable apprehension, knowing that I was due, and that in his present unpredictable mood, I might well find myself with such a score to settle as would make me sore and sorry for many days. When the dreaded summons eventually came, I gathered up my courage, and my little red book in which I kept my tally, and went to attend him, not in his study as was usual on these occasions, but, by his special instruction, in the attic room above my own bedchamber. My heart fell at the news, for this was the room where was kept the wooden triangle on which Grace Poole was flogged for dereliction of duty, and I feared that I too might suffer on the doleful frame.
And so it proved, though I was not flogged on my back, as the delinquent Grace, but the familiar, though never easier for that familiarity, cane, lashed into my cringing buttocks, as I stood, triced up taut at the triangle. First we had to agree the tariff or, rather, I had to agree to submit to what he prescribed, a mere formality, since it is not a woman’s place to question the rightness of the punishments her Master sets for her, but to accept them with all humility, and seek to gain improvement therefrom.
He made the score twenty-two, thrice four, that AdŠle had received on her small palm for faults in the classroom, and ten which he saw fit to award me in respect of her general disposition and, I think, his too, for he was in another of his black moods.
It was a total that I could not fail to feel acutely, but I had not been beaten since my return from Gateshead, some three weeks before, and the stripes I had received there, and even his homecoming ‘welcome’, had faded to no more than faint discolorations, and no longer pained me. I was in good shape to take a proper whipping and would come to no harm, though plenty of grief, from twenty-two cuts, even delivered by my merciless employer.
“I’ll have you stripped, and mounted on the triangle,” he said, “‘twill do you good to be exposed and restrained.”
I was not sure of any authority he could claim for this assertion, save his own, but that I was incapable of questioning. Obediently I stripped off gown and petticoats, my stockings and shoes, my drawers. Unexpectedly he had me remove my stays as well. Usually the mere lifting of my gown, the removal of my drawers to bare my bottom for the rod, sufficed and, even on those occasions when he wished me further bared, he had always stopped at my stays, but this evening it seemed, he wished me nude as a slug, and so I felt, as I stood to the rough timber frame, on which, he indicated, I was to be corrected.
I was stretched hawser tight, like an element in the rigging of a tight ship, though my frame was mere woman flesh, not English oak. He had tied my wrists first, behind my back, and secured them to the peak of the triangle. Since my arms could rise only a limited degree, short of dislocating my shoulders, I was forced to bend forward, my weight divided between my arms and the balls of my feet, for my heels had left the ground already. When he secured my ankles also, taking each to the side so widely that I felt my fork stretch, that slot usually closed discreetly between my legs, now exposed and parted, the air cold on its moist inner membranes, I had to rise further still, until I awaited my correction, my toes barely touching the floor, trying to take some weight and ease the strain on my shoulders.
It was a punishment to stand so, without a stroke being given. I think now that, in view of what he planned, he wished to achieve a state of absolute surrender to the hardship of my situation, that would leave me pliable in his hands, though, the heavens know, he could always do with me what he willed at any time. When the first stroke arrived, I knew at once it would be bad. The cane cut into me low down, my Master bringing it in, lifting like a rising bird, to drive into my poor soft flesh, the impact driving me even higher on my toes, the pain excruciating.
He had hit me as hard as ever he had and, if he were to keep up this quality of stroke throughout the twenty-two I had been allotted, I would suffer indeed. He did not fail me, nor diminish me by lowering the standard he had set. All were as hard, as difficult to bear. I moaned, I pleaded with him for mercy, to show me leniency, to but cut me in my fullness, and not below in that tender underbum, on my vulnerable thighs, but he gave me no quarter.
“Jane, would you have me treat you like a child,” he said, “or be less than a man, and soften to a woman’s tears, depriving her of chastisement justly merited, and prescribed for her own good? Would you think well of me for it? Or of yourself?” he added.
“No Sir,” I answered through my tears. “You must not spare me. I am sorry for my weakness. I beg you, let me atone for failing to show that proper fortitude and submission that is a woman’s duty by accepting extra strokes.”
And so he did, making my score a full two dozen. I sobbed, I cried, I thought I would have died, I wished I might have, but I did not disgrace myself again by asking him to give me less than my due. At the end I hung in my bonds, my shoulders heaving, my face running with tears and worse from my nose. My Master came and loosened the rope holding my hands to the apex of the frame. I expected him to free me, but he merely eased them slightly, leaving me still bent forward, legs still straddled wide.
He came behind me and, suddenly, I felt his hands grip my flanks, something hard and warm pressing into me from behind. He pushed me even further over, until my scalded buttocks were bent tight, then the rod between my legs found the entrance to my vagina, and the tip passed within.
I gasped, but stayed as I was, all power to resist leaking out of me as uncontrollably as the juices that, unaccountably, were running down the inside of one thigh. He thrust further into the source of that sticky spring and, in an instant, was deep inside, his belly pressed against the throbbing welts he had just placed on my spreading buttocks. Involuntarily I sighed, the presence of his member in my belly seeming to suck away the pain from my wounds and leave only warm excitement.
A stronger woman than I would have cried out against this ravishment, flung her body about, tried to draw herself off her impalement, screamed ‘rape’. Reader, all my weak flesh could manage was to press back against the solid shaft that filled me and moan with want. When he began to withdraw, I cried out in longing, but I need not have feared. It was only so that he might plunge home again, and fill my belly anew. As he set up a steady rhythm, I moved to his measure, thrusting back hungrily against his penetration, holding firm as he withdrew, to plunge again. When I felt his fleshy rod swell even harder, even larger, my belly blossomed and, as he spurted hot goblets against my womb, its spasms wracked me with pleasure, until I half swooned.
He lay on my willing back, resting, for one minute, two, our harsh breathing the only sound, then withdrew his now flaccid member, which slipped wetly from me, a slight sucking sound mar
king its passing, my belly again shaken, this time by the discharge of the air that filled it, in an abrupt embarrassing trumpet blast. He loosed my bonds without a word, and left me to stagger to where my discarded clothing lay, the while he quitted the chamber.
A Proposal
When I came to breakfast in the morning, Mr Fairfax informed me that the Master had left early to visit a part of his estates that lay some way off, and was not expected back before evening, and might well stay over if the business proved protracted. In the event, I did not see him again until the afternoon of the following day, when I came across him sitting in the garden, reading. He asked me how I was and I replied that I was well. He persuaded me to sit by him and talked for a minute of trivialities, the flowers, the weather, how it threatened rain perhaps, anything but that which was uppermost in my mind, and I thought, from his preoccupied look, in his too, our congress of that evening, and how we were to relate to one another now. Suddenly he changed, as if having taken a decision.
“Jane,” he said, “come to my side. Be my companion and best self.”
I was torn between obedience and the belief that he intended to wed Miss Ingram, and I could be no more than a kept woman. But would that not be enough? Was it not the height of submission to be an unwed slave? But I could not overcome my training and shrank from him, while he held my wrists fast, and drew me closer.
“I cannot Sir,” I wailed. “You will have a bride, and there would be no room for me beside Miss Ingram.”
“Miss Ingram shall never be my bride,” he declared. “I do not love her, and she has no affection for me now.”
It was as music to my ears, if I could only believe it, but I was still incredulous and would not answer him, writhing still in his grip.
“Do you doubt me Jane?”
“Entirely.”
“You have no faith in me?”
“Not a whit.”
“Ah Jane, you strange thing. I could not, would not, marry Miss Ingram. You, poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are, I entreat you to take me as your husband.”
“What me?” I cried, beginning by his earnestness, and especially his incivility, to credit him.
“Yes you. I must have you for my own, entirely my own. Say yes quickly.”
So I said yes, for I could do no other, my poor sense entirely overcome by longing and a nature that longed to submit. As we sealed the bargain with a kiss, the heavens, that had, all unobserved by us, so deeply were we involved in our own affairs, built great purple columns of menacing clouds, opened with a crash of thunder. Lightning struck the great oak tree across the ride from us, and the waters poured down like a waterfall. We raced for cover in the Summer house, even the few seconds required sufficing to see my muslin gown, and all beneath it, soaked to my skin. As my Master put his arms around me I shivered, for the raindrops had felt as cold as ice.
“What, afraid of me still?” he cried.
“I shall always maintain a proper fear of you, as any good wife should, “I replied, “but it is cold not fear that makes me shake today.”
At once he was all concern.
“You must take off those wet clothes,” he declared, and would not be denied, acting as my tiring maid and unbuttoning me, pulling up my skirts to strip them off me, removing my soaked shoes and wetter stockings, that clung to my legs, until I stood in my stays only, my long wet hair come loose, and lying on my shoulders in sodden swathes.
“How to dry you?” he pondered, than removed his jacket, its thickness good protection from the rain, and stripped off his shirt, exposing his manly chest, the sight of the muscles rippling under his surprisingly delicate skin, creating a stirring in my belly, and an inner warmth that quite cancelled the icy deluge. With the fine linen of the shirt he dried my upper body, knelt on one knee to dry my legs, that stirring in my belly now nearing an earthquake as his hand stroked up my thighs to my fork, then stood again, before an eruption could ensue, to rub my hair, until it was no longer soaked, but merely damp.
Still I shivered, how much from cold, how much from heat, I could not tell. He cast further for aid. Against the gazebo in which we sheltered, grew shrubs of all kinds. He tore branches from a species of broom, or was it a birch? No matter, the branches consisted of bundles of thin parallel twigs, very thin and swishy, as I found when he began to strike me with them, stinging my tender skin all over, extraordinarily painfully at the start, for cold wet skin can be very sensitive, but soon dissolving into a fiery glow.
I danced under his whipping, my agitated movements adding to my envigourment, until I was warm and reddened all over. He dropped the twigs and seized me, bearing down onto the bench that waited there for visitors to rest their weary limbs on, or lovers their fresh lust. I lay back, glowing, on the hard wood, welcoming its harsh indentation in my back, as I awaited his equally hard indentation in my front, but I was not to enjoy the hoped for penetration. As I opened my thighs, and reached with eager arms, a voice from the doorway interrupted us.
“Are you all right Sir? The servants reported that you were seen running for the Garden house, but the rain stopped a while since, and still no sign of you. The lightning has struck just below, and we were feared you might have felt its power.”
It was Mrs Fairfax. Did she but know it, another minute and I would have indeed felt the lightning’s power, but it was not to be. Mr Rochester explained how I had been overcome by the chill, and that he had been attempting to enliven me, in which I might say he had succeeded admirably. At this the good lady was all consideration, and took me under her wing, hurrying me off to the house to be cared for.
“For men are not adept at these matters,” she said.
I forbore to remark that, not only was Mr Rochester very able indeed but, if left uninterrupted to his own devices, would have had me roaring hot in but a moment, though it is true I would not have been entirely dry!
Once Mr Rochester had announced his intention to marry, all was bustle and todo within the house, and without, to prepare for the day, for he would have it soon. While all seemed happy for me, there was that in Mrs Fairfax’s attitude that disturbed me. It was not that she was unfriendly, or even distant, but she seemed uncertain and unhappy in some way I could not understand. True, up until now, she had had the care of Thornfield, which would now fall to my charge, but I did not think she thought so much of the position as to be jealous of my taking it, especially as she was assured of a life of comfort and ease for the rest of her days.
The Wedding
In the days that remained to our union, we did not see as much of each other as either would have liked, for Mrs Fairfax kept us apart, ‘for decency’s sake’, and because she found so many things that required my attention in preparation for the wedding.
What time we did spend together he mainly occupied in pressing gifts upon me which I struggled to decline. I did perforce agree to accept the costly wedding gown he insisted I wear, though I was able to prevail on him to have it fashioned from silk that, although costly, was not ostentatious and in a simple style that suited my character and inclination, though I had to accept that my arms and neck should be bare, as he preferred. At the last moment he virtually forced on me, for by then I was weakening under his importunities, a set of bracelets, arm bands and collar, all in heavy gold and, but for the precious metal, its exquisite working, and the glistening gemstones set in it, might be as well taken for a slave’s fetters as a bride’s decorations.
Perhaps the distance between is not as great as one might first suppose. When I had at last surrendered to his will and wore them, feeling the metal bands against my bare skin, caressing and confining both, he made me stand before him, while he sat regarding me for several minutes, unspeaking, his smile such as a Sultan might bestow on a slave his gold and gems had enriched.
And it was in that state that I went to the church to be wed to my lord and Master, he grasping my arm in a grip of iron, as if to never let me go. I was aware as I entered the church of two
figures I did not know, sitting quietly in a corner near the door, but they escaped Mr Rochester’s notice, as he hurried me to the altar.
All proceeded without incident until the parson, a man brought in from another parish a distance off for the occasion, came to invite those who knew of just cause or impediment to speak now, or forever hold their peace. At this point, one of the shadowy figures near the door, stood up and spoke in a firm clear voice.
“This marriage cannot go on. I declare an impediment.”
What happened next is too painful to recall, and I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say that the stranger identified himself as a Mr Briggs, solicitor, of London, and his companion as one Mr Mason of Jamaica, whose sister, he claimed, was already married to Mr Rochester.
The latter, after briefly attempting to get the parson to ignore the interruption and proceed with the ceremony, admitted the truth of what was claimed, bitterly upbraiding his brother-in-law, Mr Mason, for depriving him of his chance of happiness.
Throughout, I had stood in a state of shock, Mr Rochester’s hand still gripping my arm. Now he invited all to accompany him, and returned to the house, I perforce with them, for he had not released his grasp for a moment. We stormed past the amazed Mrs Fairfax, who followed as we all ascended the stairs to the abode of the mysterious Grace Poole. We found her in her room, but my Master ignored her, dragging me on across the chamber to another door set in an internal wall. We all passed through into an inner room.
There a hideous and pitiful sight met our eyes. In the almost bare chamber, with stout door, small barred window, and heavy bed bolted to the floor, was a gross half naked female, with long unkempt hair, great pendulous breasts that hung part outside her crude shift, great steatophagous buttocks pushing out the material, her massive thighs bare below. She crouched like an animal, her eyes shining with the gleam of madness, and snarled at Mr Rochester, seeming about to spring upon him, to maul him. He ignored her and turned his gaze on Mr Briggs and myself, pointing one accusing finger at the horrible apparition.
Jane and Her Master Page 12
