start doing sessions in London next week, bit scarey as i have never been into central London before!!! hark at me the naive waif from the country, lol.
seems like London is the place to be in the spanking/pro spankee scene, so i will let you all know how it goes.
maybe i will get to play out a few more fantasies in the big smoke.
Knowing curfew was moments away, Emily rushed through her nightly absolutions so as to avoid incurring the housemother’s wrath. The brunette had yet to experience chastisement at the older woman’s capable hands and, despite the small personality facet that longed for such attention, it was an encounter she’d just as soon put off.
Swizzling a mouth full of cold water, the co-ed rinsed away the remnants of her toothpaste before drying her mouth. Gathering her nightly accoutrements, the eighteen year old stepped out of the bathroom and hurried to her room, which was adjacent the main stairwell. Seeing the housemother down the hall, conducting the nightly room check for the floor R.A who had gone home for the weekend, Emily felt a brief flicker of relief.
It was foolishness really. She was the one who’d decided on joining a sorority house infamous for it’s strictness and it’s adherence to old-fashioned consequences. But there it was. She’d succumbed to that tiny character flaw during her first week of college and it was a choice she’d have to live with for the next four years. So why should she be so sensitive over the status of her posterior?
“Because it hurts to get spanked,” Emily reminded herself silently. “Not to mention humiliating. I don’t know how I survived rush week.” Her bottom clenched unconsciously at the memory, which was little more than two weeks old. It was also the week she’d been assigned a Big Sister who’d thoroughly demonstrated her disciplinary prowess as a foretaste of what could happen this year should Emily violate any rules. Thankfully, the private lesson had been given by hand over her undergarment but even that was mortifying. Worse, was the knowledge that such sessions would be in addition to the official sanctions of either the housemother or the sorority Disciplinary Sergeant.
Opening the door to her room, the brunette froze as she saw Sabrina; dressed in her fabulous formal party dress, peek through the railing. “Mrs. McPherson,” Emily called out as her frontal lobe frantically began inquiring as to what the hell she was doing.
“Yes dear,” the silver haired woman asked pleasantly coming to stand in front of the teenager.
“I was wondering what you could tell me about the debate club. I’m thinking of joining and I’ve heard that you used to be a member when you attended college,” improvised the co-ed as she took care to look directly at the woman instead of over the housemother’s shoulder to where the older girl was silently climbing the stairs with white dress shoes in hand.
“I hadn’t realized you were interested in public speaking my dear,” Mrs. McPherson said with a small smile. “I had the impression that you were to shy for such pursuits. I’m pleased I was wrong or are you taking advantage…” Emily swallowed at this phrasing, “of campus opportunities?”
“I’ve been considering it for awhile ma’am,” the teenager replied in a non-characteristic decibel range. “The range of issues is somewhat overwhelming but the geopolitical aspect is my main interest since events are happening so fast.”
“Well then, if it’s political debate you’re interested in, there’s few better than Miss O’Neal. She’s a born political animal and manipulator. Are you not, Sabrina,” Mrs. McPherson asked turning her head to the right where the senior was scurrying down the hall.
Emily’s heart switched places with her stomach as the senior turned around nonchalantly, “Mrs. McPherson?”
“You’re skilled, but not perfect, at manipulation.”
“Yes ma’am,” the twenty-one year old replied resignedly.
“Very good. Tomorrow morning I’ll see you both in my apartment at 8:30. You needn’t get out of your pajamas.”
“Yes ma’am,” was the respectful response from both co-eds.
The fifty-seven year old turned back toward the freshman, “And Emily.”
“Yes ma’am,” the teenager answered in total horror.
“You’re terrible at distraction so I do think it advisable you join the debate team. Even if you do not decide upon a political career, you’d, at the very least, obtain skills you’re so sorely lacking right now. Good night.”
“Good night ma’am,” dutifully returned the co-ed. She watched briefly as the housemother continued down the hall intent on finishing the nightly bed check.
“Hey Emily,” Sabrina said softly.
“Yes,” was the soft reply.
“Thanks for trying.”
Emily didn’t respond to this appreciation. Instead, she turned the knob and entered her room. Putting away her dental hygiene products, the eighteen year old set the alarm and turned off the light. Climbing into bed, the brunette consolidated herself with the fact that her roommate was not present for her humiliation. This solace evaporated on recalling the housemother’s preference for public corner time. With a small moan, the brunette turned onto her stomach and slid a hand beneath her cotton pajama bottoms and panties to caress her unblemished hindquarters.
The alarm at 8:00 A.M. was jarring but not unexpected for the apprehensive girl. Impending corporeal pain had interfered with Emily’s normal sleep patterns. Typically she’d be asleep by 11:30 and awake by eight but this night had not been typical. Instead, her last memory of the florescent alarm clock had been around 3 A.M. and she’d awoken before dawn.
Turning off the irritating alarm took but a moment, but it took longer to actually rise from her bed. The only thing that enabled her to do so was when she’d realized twenty minutes had past. Not wanting to make her impending disciplinary session any worse, the teenager sprang from bed. Taking a brief glance at the mirror, Emily ran her fingers through her mussed shoulder length hair before twisting it into an untidy ponytail fastened with a rubber band she grabbed from the dresser top.
Exiting her dorm room, the teenager debated on the necessity of making a quick pit stop as it was highly improbable that Mrs. McPherson would grant a pause to allow her the use of the nearest toilet. It was recalling the bladder horror stories the older sisters had related that decided the issue.
The delay necessitated by this decision took longer than the allotted time. As a result, when Emily arrived at the first floor she saw the door to the housemother’s apartment being closed. Sphincter and stomach contracting, the co-ed timidly knocked on the door.
“Was there a problem with your alarm clock Miss Stepanek,” asked the older woman as she opened her door. “Or am I unaware of an electrical failure during the night?”
“No ma’am,” Emily responded, her voice squeaking slightly.
“Than what precisely is the explanation for your tardy arrival?” Mrs. McPherson asked with a raised eyebrow.
Red faced, and intimidated by the older woman who was dressed in a housecoat and slippers, the co-ed mumbled, “I stopped to use the facilities.”
“Would you please repeat that; your enunciation was not clear.”
Taking a deep breath, Emily stated, “I stopped to use the facilities and it took longer than I thought.”
“Indeed, perhaps you should have set your alarm for an earlier arousal. Such a lack of foresight must be attended to before it entrenches any deeper into your character. And dear, it is a decided lack of courtesy to keep ones eyes closed during a conversation. Please open them,” gently ordered the housemother with just enough edge in her voice as to provide a not so subtle warning.
Startled, as she’d not been aware that her eyes had closed, the co-ed raised her eyelids to behold the scene not blocked by the older woman’s slightly plump figure. Sabrina with rabbit slippers and pink cotton pajamas trimmed with lace was standing next to a kitchen chair with her hands upon her head. Even worse was a glimpse of the feared antique sorority hairbrush lying atop said chair seat.
“You’ve delayed this affair long enough,” Mrs. McPherson’s voice broke through Emily’s paralysis. “I thought to grant you some mercy, Miss Stepanek. But now, instead of allowing you to be first, you shall await your turn and witness Miss O’Neal’s suffering. And while you hear this naughty curfew breaker sob and bawl like a five year old, you can contemplate how the brush will impart wisdom and punctuality to your seat of knowledge. Now, please enter my living room so we can commence this unpleasant task.”
Dry mouthed, the freshman reluctantly complied. This was going to be even worse than she feared. Without being told, Emily stood next to Sabrina and positioned her hands in the penitent posture.
“I’m pleased you can take some positive initiative,” commented the housemother as she closed and locked the door. “Now, my naughty scamps, do either of you have anything to say,” Mrs. McPherson asked as she picked up the hairbrush and handing it to Sabrina before sitting on the chair. “Well, Miss O’Neil. Is there a reason you were getting in after curfew?”
“No ma’am. I simply was having too good a time and failed to note the hour.”
“My goodness, that lengthy ‘discussion’ we had concerning honesty must certainly have taken root.”
“Yes ma’am,” the older girl replied respectfully as her frame involuntarily shivered. A response which further terrified Emily.
“Then answer me this: Did you either ask or manipulate this child into covering for your absence?”
“No ma’am. With due respect, had I done so; I would have made certain that Miss O’Neil’s skills at prevarication and distraction were…of a higher quality.”
“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Mrs. McPherson responded with a touch of mirth.
Three seconds latter, Emily dry swallowed yet again as she realized the housemother had recovered her stern demeanor and was contemplating her. “Can you verify the veracity of Miss O’Neil’s claim, Miss Stepanek?”
“Miss O’Neil never approached me nor did we have any understanding. In fact, other than greeting each other in the hallway, we have no relationship whatsoever,” the co-ed replied nervously.
“Extraordinary! If, as you say, there is no ‘relationship’ between you, then why, pray, did you endanger that cute posterior of yours?”
Emily visibly blanched and looked down at her toes. As a private individual, she’d never flaunted her figure before being forced to during rush week. Moreover, her own experience with the ‘older’ generations had led her to expect more decorum and discretion when discussing one’s private aspects. Hence, despite Mrs. McPherson’s formidable reputation, or perhaps because of it, she hadn’t expected the housemother to be so blatant concerning said private physical features.
“Yes, young lady, you still have your toes. Now look at me and answer my question,” the older woman inquired, her tone illustrating once more the underlying steel.
Raising her head, Emily gazed into questioning sky blue eyes and replied, “I don’t know.”
The co-ed’s toes squirmed in carpet fibers for a lengthy period as Mrs. McPherson contemplated her silently while gently tapping her right forefinger against her wrinkled facial cheek. Just when the teenager thought she’d have to break position to reach the decorative trash basket tastefully placed in the corner between desk and wall, the older woman nodded her head gently. “Of all the excuses and explanations I’ve heard over the years from miscreants such as yourselves, ‘I don’t know’ has always been the most distasteful. It has gotten to the point that I’ll spank, no make that blister, a girl’s bottom an extra five minutes for each word in that phrase.”
Feeling like her leg muscles had been dissolved, Emily almost collapsed at this announcement.
“But for some reason child, I actually believe you,” the housemother admitted in evident self-amazement. “And it is for that reason, and that reason alone, that I’m not going to ground you for a month. Instead, in addition to the little ‘discussion’ I’m about to have with each of your backsides, I’m going to ground you each for just a week. Now I know Miss O’Neal, having been grounded numerous occasions during her tenure here, is well versed in what groundings consist of. So, I put it to you, Miss Stepanek, how does this house ground disobedient members?”
Having been required to memorize such information during pledge week, Emily responded promptly “A Sigma Omega Beta girl can be grounded by four individuals: her Big Sister, her R.A., the Sorority Disciplinary Sergeant on her own initiative and by yourself, Housemother. When grounded, the girl is required to live in a very plain room adjacent and connected to her R.A. She is afforded no luxuries which includes warm water during showers. The SOB definition of luxuries encompasses food, clothing and discussion not connected with employment or academic matters. Therefore, at mealtimes, which are specified by the overseeing R.A., the disgraced is escorted to the campus dinning hall where the R.A. selects the food the disgraced is to consume. Failure to comply is grounds for further punishment. The disgraced is required to wear clothing that covey’s her status to both sorority sisters and the academic and town populaces. This clothing consists of the stereotypic schoolgirl uniform. Specifically: gray pleated skirt with the black silhouette of a girl standing in a corner on either side, a white blouse, sorority tie, cotton panties one size to small, camisoles and Mary Jane style shoes. No other clothing, when clothing is permitted, is allowed during the specified period except respectable sleepwear for nighttime use. Perfume and makeup is prohibited. The skirt silhouette is intended to separate the disgraced from the personal style of any sister who prefers schoolgirl type attire. Should the disgraced violate speaking parameters, the supervising R.A. can gag the miscreant without consulting either the housemother or the Sorority Disciplinary Sergeant ”
Pausing for a breath, Emily continued her recitation. As in times past, the mere act of recitation calmed her despite the presentation’s topic. When finished, the housemother softly clapped, “Well done my dear. Perhaps you do have a future in the debate club after all but that is a discussion for another time. As I stated earlier, Miss O’Neil’s offense shall be dealt with first. Miss Stepanek, please reposition yourself so you’ll not be harmed during Miss O’Neil’s frantic, but futile, gyrations.”
The freshman, her mounting panic having returned threefold, took two medium steps backward and three sideways so as to be situated before the housemother but out of harms way. Emily watched the older woman lower the senior’s pajama bottoms and underwear before physically manhandling the compliant girl into the desired position across her lap. The eighteen year old had learned during rush week that there were some things worse than public humiliation. Being treated like a naughty five year old and having your Disciplinarian remove your lower garments and physically being positioned instead of doing it yourself were but small examples of how private humiliation could be even worse than the public variety.
“Miss Stepanek, before we begin, I thought, since you seem so concerned for Miss O’Neal’s posterior, you should be cautioned from closing or averting your eyes,” Mrs. McPherson warned, taking the proffered hairbrush from the senior’s hand. “Should you fail to heed this directive, the bottom you strived to protect shall feel the consequences of your disobedience and I don’t think Miss O’Neal will be appreciative of such a lapse.”
Emily’s acknowledgement was obscured by the distinctive sound of wood striking flesh. That the flesh in question consisted of Sabrina’s sit spot, made it even worse for the waiting co-ed. It meant there would be no gradual warm-up with palm. “The only benefit,” the brunette thought bleakly to herself, as she winced as another brutal impact was heard, “is that it’ll be over sooner this way.” This was little comfort.
With the third stroke, which impacted on the senior’s mid-thigh, distress could now be heard. Emily’s instinctive reaction was to close her eyes. The moment she did so, the steady sounds of chastisement turned into a rapid beat accompanied by frantic vocals. This tempo ceased only when the recent pledge opened her eyes to discover her older sister holding the kitchen chair legs with a death grip. “I don’t think Miss O’Neal enjoyed that,” the housemother said pleasantly as she concentrated on the penitent’s reddening, soft, posterior undercurves. “Perhaps, you’d do her the favor of keeping your eyes open.”
“Yes ma’am,” Emily whispered. Being forced to keep her eyelids raised, presented a unique dilemma for the girl. Not wanting to disgrace herself by fainting, which was averted by keeping her eyes closed, she had to decide where she could focus without being overwhelmed. The difficulty lay in the fact that she knew that soon, all too soon, she’d have more immediate concerns than fainting. The problem resolved itself as the co-ed found her attention being drawn to Sabrina’s legs and feet. One moment, ankles were crossed but three seconds later, a rabbit slipper was flying across the room as feet fluttered frantically in the air. As thighs were targeted once more, one set of bare toes sought purchase on the wooden floor while the covered set slipped along the polished grain before ankles crossed yet again. Off the floor, crisscrossed ankles jerkily swam through the air before parting in a feeble attempt to gain relief through solitary kicking. The leg with the bare toes, drew up so toes were pressed firmly on the floor almost in front of the chair but withdrew as it’s upper thigh was besieged once more. The second rabbit went flying as legs began to swim again. Despite herself, the waiting co-ed marveled over the fact that not once did the wailing senior stub her toes on the floor.
Occasionally, a peak was made toward the tormented bottom before eyes hurriedly resumed their scrutiny of Sabrina’s legs. What was seen during those furtive glimpses caused Emily to blush. The flush deepened in color on the realization that her own contracting and opening cheeks would intimately reveal anus and labia. Being second for punishment was indeed, worse than being the first. The increasingly frenzied cries for mercy hammered that realization home. These were gradually replaced by wordless wails of pain and torment. The co-ed longed to muffle her ears with her forearms but did not dare. It came with some relief, at first, when the senior’s legs ceased their tortured movement and soft weeping was perceived amid the sharp thwack of wood and flesh.
“Miss Stepanek, you may take the hairbrush now,” instructed the housemother as she held out the brush. Reluctantly, the eighteen year old released her right hand from the left and took the implement. In the process, she saw Sabrina’s swollen, blotched hindquarters and despite herself, her left hand began slowly caressing the wood that would soon alter her own pristine backside. Emily wasn’t certain but the grain felt warm. The teenager prayed that it was her imagination.
So intent on her own impending fate, the girl was oblivious to Miss O’Neal’s faltering attempts to stand or the fact that Mrs. McPherson was addressing her. It was only when a hand grasped her wrist that she realized, belatedly, that her situation had just become more perilous. “Honestly child,” the housemother said in exasperation “I think in some ways you’re worse than Miss O’Neal. Now for the last time, stand next to me.”
“Yes Mrs. McPherson. I’m sorry Mrs. McPherson,” Emily stammered, her heart racing as she stood next to the seated chastiser. She felt the soft cotton of her pajama bottoms scraping her legs as they were lowered down her limbs. The equally soft fabric of her panties followed. Air tickled her pubic curls but the sensation did not last long as the co-ed’s petite frame was positioned across the older woman’s lap. Using her left hand, Emily was able to steady herself during the procedure but it wasn’t until her torso was adjusted so her nose was situated an inch from the floor, and her legs suspended in the air, that that little facet of her personality roared to the foreground.
Feeling herself grow moist, the co-ed squeezed her nether end as tightly as possible while praying her spanking would start. Emily was convinced that once she actually felt the pain, her…private parts would…behave.
The alternative, to even greater shame, was to utilize her bladder, which despite being voided earlier was already making its protestations felt, to disguise other secretions. “Hand me the hairbrush please, Miss Stepanek,” requested the housemother.
Feeling nauseous despite her pubic exhilaration, the co-ed raised her right hand to relinquish the brush but when it was taken her wrist was seized. “I’ll be holding on to you firmly for the foreseeable future. I have the impression, child, that if I didn’t; you’d put yourself in an even worse position by trying to escape. You’ll learn in the next four years, the folly of this, but on this occasion, and this occasion alone, I’ll provide a little extra assistance,” assured Mrs. McPherson as the eighteen year olds hips nervously twitched at the hairbrush’s caress.
A yelp escaped Emily’s lips at a sudden impact on the crease between thigh and cheek. It was rapidly followed by an even harder stroke. The co-ed’s left hand grasped the chair leg in a desperate effort to distract the pain with tactile sensation but this dim hope receded rapidly as the onslaught increased in intensity. Her right hand started to struggle for release in a forbidden unconscious attempt to protect the damaged flesh but the housemother’s grip could not be broken. Instead, it tightened and the struggling girl heard dimly, “Yes indeedy, you’re a girl who has to be taught how to take her chastisements like a lady. A lady, no matter how much it hurts, does not fight her Disciplinarian. Let’s see if your thigh nerve endings can transmit this lesson to your brain.”
The brunette kicked the air in desperation as Emily’s intellect sought one goal: make the pain stop. But it didn’t stop. The brush, after traversing thighs, concentrated on the co-ed’s fleshy undercurve. The pain was so devastating; the teenager barely felt the tears and snot trickling down her face before dripping onto the floor. So low was her nose, this facial feature would occasionally be pressed among her excretions as the teenager’s upper torso raised and lowered itself in distress. The freshman’s left hand released its grip and waved in the air before reassuming its chair leg hold. Hips turned this way and that while gluteus muscles stretched upward and downward. Toes, unable to reach the floor, swung upward as knees bent in a futile effort to kick the housemother. The only result this wrought was increased pain as the intended target spanked Emily’s sit spot with increased vigor.
Time stopped. Not knowing, not caring that slippers had been flung off through frantic gyrations. Conscious only of the pain, the teenager begged, pleaded, whimpered, yelled, and sobbed before finally collapsing. Her body no longer capable of resistance. Nerve endings so overwrought, their feeble transmissions were not being processed. It was then, that different never endings along Emily’s lower back reported a cool soothing rubbing sensation. The spanking was over.
Or it would have been over if the co-ed’s hands hadn’t so foolishly sought her backside. But instead of thighs or bottom being compensated for this unconscious treachery, it was the back of Emily’s calves that paid the price. Each received twelve stinging strokes with Mrs. McPherson’s wooden ruler.
Standing finally, slippers restored, the teenager’s fingers interwove themselves with hair strands so as to avoid temptation. After an indeterminate period, a sign was taped to her back and Emily’s right ear was seized. The co-ed discovered how difficult it was to walk, or even shuffle, when one’s pajama bottoms and underwear are bunched around one’s ankles. It was only after they’d left the housemother’s apartment did the teenager realize their destination. Mortified, the girl did not protest. She had, after all, expected public corner time. Although, it wasn’t exactly a corner.
Emily’s nose was pressed into a wooden knot in the staircase with her hands pressed firmly to her sides. Her position was such that anyone coming down the stairs merely had to look down the side to see an upper view of her burgundy backside. Worse, even, was that anyone entering from outside had a bird’s eye view. The teenager listened; she wasn’t about to risk a peek, as Sabrina was placed in the landing corner. This afforded a view to anyone entering through the front door and anyone coming down the stairs and since this was the house’s main thoroughfare, it meant everyone would see them. The co-ed felt her face flushing again.
“You two shall stay there until your R.A. returns from her trip home,” instructed Mrs. McPherson. “I’m not sure when that’ll be but I’m certain she’ll come looking for me when she sees you two standing there. Depending on your behavior, I may or may not permit bathroom or meal breaks. Needless to say, any attempt to remove your signs, pull up your bottoms, soothe your posteriors, or move out of position for anything less than a fire drill, will result in severe consequences. Is that understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” Emily annunciated clearly despite her sniffling. She wasn’t about to invite further punishment. “Especially,” she thought to herself with a groan, “when Rachel finds me. My big sister is not going to be pleased.”
Hearing the housemother depart, but not detecting her door closing, Emily waited for the inevitable with her eyes shut tightly but tears still leaked out and meandered down her damp face. Being a Sunday, sisters were slow to trickle downstairs but when they did, each caught sight of her and Sabrina. Some laughed, a few commiserated, more scolded, several, who expected misbehavior from Sabrina, exclaimed in surprise that Emily was in such a plight and others teased. These mockers quickly were reminded by R.A’s, big sisters and the Discipline Sergeant that teasing was not the SOB way in the most direct means possible. Thus, for a time, four other girls with freshly spanked bottoms and, for one particular nasty specimen, a ginger suppository joined Emily and Sabrina.
Time passed slowly as the day turned, and Emily found herself curiously relieved when her four companions were released. She wanted time to think about what occurred and with the misery of the additional sisters, not to mention the abject whining from the girl struggling with the suppository, this was difficult to accomplish. The entire experience had been a nightmare, and there was still Rachel and a week’s restrictions to be faced, but somehow, even though it had led to this, she felt better for having joined the Sigma Omega Beta sorority.
As the sun’s rays slowly trickled down her back, indicating evening was fast approaching, Emily knew her luck hadn’t changed when both her roommate and her R.A. showed up at the same time.
“It looks like, Sarah, you’ll be having your room to yourself for awhile,” Rachel commented dryly. “I expected Sabrina to take advantage of my absence, she always does, but not my little sister.”
“Especially since she’s so shy and timid,” Sarah agreed.
“Thanks for the lift back to college. I’ll bring Emily by later to pick up her toiletries but I need to find out exactly what she lied about,” the R.A. touched the sign on Emily’s back. Leaving her suitcase next to her little sister’s leg, Rachel walked over to the housemother’s apartment. Straining her ears, the brunette could just catch snatches of the conversation. What she heard was not reassuring.
After the day’s interminable wait, the teenager wished it was morning again as she heard Mrs. McPherson and Rachel approach. The only bright spot, and it was positive only for that tiny flawed character aspect, was that shortly she’d be able to view the damage to her posterior. She’d rather have viewed it after being punished but Emily suspected any fading would soon be renewed. “
“I’m releasing you both into your R.A.’s care,” the housemother stated. “She has been informed, in detail, about your misbehavior and has been made aware of the fact that you’re both grounded for a week. If she decides, based on your behavior and attitude during the week, that a longer restriction is required, she may impose a four day extension. Further extension can be requested from the Discipline Sergeant or myself. Hopefully, neither extension will be required.”
“Thank you Mrs. McPherson,” Rachel replied. “What do you say girls?”
“Thank you Mrs. McPherson,” Emily chorused with Sabrina.
“You’re welcome girls,” the housemother replied courteously before returning to her apartment.
“You may both take off your bottoms and underwear,” the R.A. instructed. “You won’t be needing them for right now. After I get you two upstairs, I’m going to give you your weekly cleansing enemas, put you in the showers, and send you to bed.”
“But Miss,” Sabrina protested “we haven’t had any food all day.”
“One day without food won’t kill either of you and that just cost you a hand spanking before bed,” retorted the R.A. “Emily, as my little sister, you can expect a very serious reckoning with me once your grounding has ended. But for now, you may carry my suitcase. Now march!”
Relieved to finally be leaving the public forum, even if the destination entailed more misery, Emily picked up the suitcase and ascended the stairs. Not three steps had passed before her R.A. began to scold both her and Sabrina for their behavior. This was punctuated by a sound slap to their thighs when rounded from bending knee. The disgraced, having had a chance to heal, found that their nerve endings could now transmit again. Naturally, this attracted attention from the sisterhood but seeing the expression on Rachel’s face, not one spoke. Wincing from the renewed pain, Emily started to wonder again if she’d made the proper decision to interfere with Mrs. McPherson and Sabrina O’Neal. What she did not consider was if she made the right decision in joining SOB.
It had been the proper choice.
She’d come home.
Kneeling before the Observation Chamber door, Drew knocked once and waited. She’d been trained to knock just the once. When Lady Deth deigned to answer, the door would either open or she’d be given leave to enter but until then, she’d wait.
It wasn’t long before a tired voice summoned her.
Entering upon her knees, the bondmaid slid the sliding door shut behind her. Engulfed by darkness, Pelow crept forward cautiously. Abruptly, the curtains concealing the observation port were swept aside and the light from the adjacent chamber revealed her reclining elderly Mistress. Prostrating herself, the slave ignored the individuals being monitored but her curiosity was piqued when she was granted auditory privileges.
“Bitch, you’re not so tough.”
“Silence! I will not tolerate such language.”
“Yeah, what’re you gonna do about it you pussy faced cunt?”
Before Drew could hear the keeper’s response, Lady Deth switched the mic off. “Rise,” she commanded quietly.
Obediently, the vassal gracefully repositioned herself so her kneeling form was still below her diminutive owner’s head.
“Considering my efforts in concealing client identities, it is likely you are ignorant of your reputation.”
“Lady,” Pelow acknowledged softly as she lowered her head a few more inches.
“You’re feared, Drew. Several powerful women have wetted themselves when being informed you would be their attending keeper.”
Gratified by this disclosure, the slave waited for the prickling goad that always diminished these affirming compliments. It didn’t come; instead, “You’ll need that knowledge for you’re about to endure your greatest test. Failure means the remainder of your servitude contract with me will be spent within the whore pits. Success, well…we shall discuss that if you prove yourself capable of curbing, even temporarily, that young woman’s inner demons. You may leave and inform Ruth that Mistress Beryl is awaiting her.”
Abasing herself once more, Drew slowly backed away without rising or turning her back. Only after she had slid the door shut, did the twenty-five year old allow herself a brief meltdown. Obviously, Ruth, her longtime rival, had failed and unless Pelow wanted to join her in the pits; she’d damn well better succeed.
Standing up, the platinum blonde took eight steps and knocked before entering. The brunette, winded from a sucker punch from the taller brunette, straightened up as her opponent rushed the door. Calmly, having sent the ill mannered lout sprawling with a well timed trip, the keeper inclined her head respectfully. “Ruth, Mistress Beryl commands your presence. I am to finish here.” If not for Drew’s long familiarity with her rival’s features, she would have missed the slight nostril flair expressing dismay at the significance of those two sentences.
Moving quickly, the failed keeper departed before the furious teenager regained her feet but before she could say anything, Pelow had her in a headlock.
“Get off bitch!”
Telegraphing her intent with splayed fingers, the filthy girl attempted to scratch Drew’s face as she used her spiked heels but the experienced keeper tripped the combatant yet again and pressed her right knee down upon the exposed lower back. Hastily seizing a pair of handcuffs Ruth had dropped, the blonde secured the foulmouthed brat’s right hand to a steel eyebolt. Abruptly standing, the thrall unconcernedly walked over to the wall where the correction implements hung. Selecting a four foot long black whip, she turned around and snapped it.
“Don’t even think about it ho,” spat the younger female as she frantically tugged her wrist in a futile effort to free herself.
“Unfortunately, if my assigned charge acts like an animal, my options are rather limited,” Drew explained calmly. “When you’re ready to cooperate, let me know.” Without warning, the keeper lashed forward so the whip lash caught the sprawling wild child’s denim skirted hip.
“Cunt! That hurt!”
“It was supposed to,” the keeper replied as she lashed out again. This time the whip struck the girl’s back.
“Knock it off!”
“No,” the slave responded as she started to flog the upstart in earnest.
Rolling this way and that, the cussing punkette tried to protect herself. A few times, she even tried to catch the whipcord and yank it away but the bondmaid made her regret each failed attempt. It didn’t matter how the teenager positioned herself: back, legs, breasts, stomach and buttocks were all valid target areas as far as Drew was concerned. It would have been slightly different if her charge was nude but Ruth hadn’t even gotten that far.
Finally, “Bitch, you win! Just stop hitting me with that thing.”
“Very well. Let’s see if you’ve really learned how to follow orders. Remove your lower…garments,” Drew curled her lower lip disdainfully.
“What! No way you cunt!”
“Fine,” the keeper sighed as she resumed where she left off. It wasn’t long before her charge was scrambling to divest herself of her skirt, hose and shoes. “Underwear as well,” Pelow instructed as the teenager hesitated.
“You can’t do this to me,” the adolescent hissed almost tearfully.
“Wrong. I can. It’s obvious from your rags that you’re a homeless, street brat whose run away from placement. As such, you’re lawful pickings for any registered claimant. Consider yourself fortunate that Lady Deth got you before the pit wardens did. Now, remove your underwear or you can discover just how painful this whip feels against flesh,” Drew threatened coldly.
Hastily, the street waif complied. “Now what,” she asked sullenly. Her keeper tossed over another set of handcuffs. “You’ve got to be fucking me! Why in the hell would I do my other hand,” she asked with just a touch of her former arrogance.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll whip you until you do,” the slave explained patiently as she raised the whip. “It’ll be a lot less painful if you simply heed me.”
“Without that thing, you’re not so tough,” the teenager snarled as she slipped one cuff on her wrist and snapped the other into the adjacent unoccupied eyebolt. “Satisfied, cunt,” she taunted, looking over her shoulder.
“You know, you’re not very bright,” Drew remarked dryly as she brought the whip down upon her charge’s exposed hindquarters.
“Bitch! What was that for?”
“First, I defeated you easily before I even considered an implement. Second, language. I don’t appreciate being called such things but you’re right. You did what I ordered, finally, so I’ll put this away.” Feeling relatively safe, it was possible her little savage had faked locking the second restraint, Drew turned her back with the certainty that the original cuff would hold. Returning the whip, the slave claimed a knife from the cabinet.
“Get away from me with that thing! I swear, if you cut me I’ll mess you up but good!”
“Relax child,” the keeper soothed as she recognized genuine fear. “I’m not going to ‘cut you.’ You need never fear such injuries with me.”
“Then what the hell is that blade for?”
“I’m simply going to remove that filthy shirt and that obscene bra you’re wearing. If you’d cooperated earlier, this wouldn’t be necessary; now would it?” The streetwise ruffian didn’t answer but watched warily as Drew approached. Straddling her squalid charge wasn’t exactly appealing but the keeper did so nonetheless. Squeamishness on her part would destroy any chance of establishing a bond with this girl. Without such a connection, the pits were not only assured but her charge would likely experience a short, miserable life.
Lifting the T-shirt collar with her left thumb and forefinger, the bondmaid carefully slit the thin fabric. Satisfied the cut was long enough, Pelow carefully set the knife down well out of the teenager’s reach before ripping the shirt with her bare hands.
“Is that supposed to impress me,” the practically nude girl sneered mockingly.
Suppressing her amusement, the slave curtly replied, “No” as she reclaimed the knife. Carefully, the bra strap was cut and the sleeves nicked so they could be torn off. Standing up, Drew tossed the rags into a corner for disposal. Putting away the knife, she sensed her charge’s eyes upon her.
“You’re one strange kinky chick. What’re you gonna do to me?”
“First,” Drew announced as she turned around to reveal the hose within her right hand “I’m going to clean you.” Before her startled ward could respond, the keeper turned the faucet handle. Seconds after gurgling, a tepid condensed spray shot out and hit the restrained woman’s face. Sputtering irritably, the nude turned away. During the next thirty minutes, she cooperated, to a certain extent, but there were moments when threats with the bathbrush and a lathered soap bar proved essential.
“Enjoying yourself,” the nearly clean youth asked indignantly as Drew scrubbed between her nether cheeks.
“Absolutely, washing dirty little animals is such a turn-on.”
“I am not an animal!”
“Really, you could have fooled me with your language and behavior.”
The adolescent mumbled beneath her breath.
“What was that,” Drew asked as she administered a semi-hard swat to her charge’s upturned rump.
“I said, Emily Post doesn’t cover situations when one is suddenly snatched off the streets,” growled the other.
“Perhaps not,” the keeper replied thoughtfully “but politeness is preferable than pain.”
“Whatdaya know about it,” the shivering nude jeered.
“Enough. My mother has a gambling problem and when she ran out of money she first put up my eldest sister for collateral, then my second sister and, finally, I was used as her guarantee before she wagered herself.” Drew wasn’t sure why she’d been so forthcoming but apparently her instinctive revelation established a tentative truce.
“Parents suck. They up and give you life, without your consent, then they go and die. I’m never gonna have kids.” Not wanting to sever their tenuous bond, Pelow didn’t challenge this assertion. Instead, she gave a few more tidbits from her life.
“We were rather lucky. Our next door neighbor was raised in a flagellation brothel. Even after being purchased and eventually freed, Aunt Tina still had a taste for it but not as a recipient.”
“Big surprise,” the younger woman snorted.
“Well, it could have been a lot worse. Our Aunt, as she insisted we call her, didn’t feel comfortable in spanking us without a justifiable reason. So, while we got a birthday spanking each year, it was the only one if we behaved ourselves. Unfortunately, that was rather rare. My eldest sister, Janet, had difficulty in adjusting to being our sister and not a second mother. Quite often, a reminder was needed with Aunt Tina’s slipper. However, Janet’s opinion regarding this treatment underwent a hundred and eighty degree shift when we discovered Theresa, my other sister, was developing a problem like our mother. Fortunately, our Aunt devised a system where Theresa could gamble as much as she liked.”
“Let me guess; if your sister lost, she was beaten.”
“Not quite. Aunt Tina never ‘beat’ us, just as I will never ‘beat’ you, but it was a rare week when Theresa didn’t owe a considerable number of swats.”
“Sounds like you had it worse than me.”
“Actually, no. The main reason Aunt Tina bought us was to make sure we had a better life than she did. It sounds crazy but she actually did love us.”
“She’s dead then.”
“Just over two years ago,” Drew confirmed as she felt her heart constrict as it did whenever she recalled her foster mother.
“Doesn’t sound like love, not if you’re still a slave,” her charge replied skeptically.
“Slave by choice,” the keeper corrected. “Janet was freed after she graduated college. Theresa, realizing she’d always have a problem, didn’t exactly trust herself with unrestricted freedom. Arrangements were made, first with a sorority and then with a private gambling house where Aunt Tina’s system was adopted.”
“So your sister spends her days gambling her own backside?”
“Not exactly. If she looses, it’s true she winds up across someone’s lap but Theresa also spends quite a few hours each day sculpting and painting. She’s considered quite good. More importantly, she’s happy.”
“As for me,” Drew continued with a shrug. “I realized in college that I’d rather serve someone than be free. Frankly, the very idea terrifies me. What is freedom? I’ll tell you. It’s the ability to screw up your life so badly that not only do you cause pain for yourself but you hurt those who care for you. No thanks. I can do without.”
“So how’d you end up here?”
“Lady Deth was Aunt Tina’s owner. They made an agreement. My collar would belong with my Aunt, right now title is with her estate, but training would be at Lady Deth’s hand through a five year lease. Once that’s complete, I can determine my fate with Aunt Tina’s executor, Janet. However, that’s not for some time yet which is a good thing since I’m not sure where I want to go from here.”
“You have a choice?”
“My sister insists that I do,” Drew replied dryly.
“Why’re you telling me this?”
“So we’ll understand each other.”
“You expect us to be friends,” the other asked with sarcastic disbelief.
“Not really. That would probably be too much to expect.”
Pelow sighed, “I’m going to have to do something about that mouth of yours.”
“Like what,” her charge asked suspiciously.
“You’ll find out but first, we’re going to have a serious discussion about your recent behavior.”
“’Discussion,’ right, that’s a good one. Don’t expect cooperation while you beat my ass,” the urchin snapped; her attitude making it plain that their temporary truce had ended.
“As I’ve said, I won’t ‘beat’ you but I will punish you severely when it’s required,” Drew replied, not dismayed in the least that their ‘understanding’ had evaporated. Standing up, she asked, “Since I’ve shared so much with you, mind telling me your name?”
“Go to hell!”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m fairly certain though, that in a few minutes you’ll think hell’s taken residence within your backside.”
Yanking on her handcuffs, the younger woman didn’t respond. “I guess I got through, just a bit,” the keeper thought as she selected a long handled clothes brush. It was a bit risky to straddle her ward’s lower back with her feet positioned near the adolescent’s mouth but Pelow was certain her thin carpet slippers would protect her vulnerable toes long enough for her to administer the appropriate action.
“Just so you know,” she warned, gently rubbing the bristle end against her ward’s scrubbed posterior, “your actual punishment won’t actually begin until you tell me your name." Knowing full well just how painful boar thistles could be against recently scrubbed flesh, Drew wagered with herself that it wouldn’t take five minutes before she knew her charge’s identity.
She was wrong. It took seven.
Seven minutes in which she heard practically every cussword there was as a frenzied body desperately sought freedom from her confining weight. Every square nether inch, from fleshy crown to chubby undercurves, felt the sharp little pricks of one thousand adolescent boar bristles imparted by an arm whose muscular tendons had been enhanced through extensive weight training. By the time her charge spat out, “Lillian,” Drew was looking at a posterior that resembled the breakfast remains of a tick army.
“Finally, we’re getting somewhere. What is your last name, Lillian?”
“I’m not going back,” the adolescent proclaimed surly.
“No,” Drew agreed mildly. “You’re not. This is your home now, Lillian.”
“You’ll be fed, given shelter, clothed, educated, protected and disciplined when you misbehave. What’s so wrong about that?”
“You are so fucking naïve!”
“There’s that mouth again,” the blonde sighed. “Look, I can start up again with the bristle end or you can give me your last name so this can be finished with. Your choice.”
Hearing no response, Drew was lifting the brush when her charge whispered, “Young.”
“What was that?”
“You deaf or something,” Lillian snapped. “I said Young.”
Suppressing another grin, the older woman gently patted her ward’s haunch with her palm. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Lillian Young. Let’s get this over with and please; try and keep the swearing to a minimum.”
Ignoring the verbal spew her words generated, Drew flipped the brush over and brought the backend down, hard. “I did say,” speaking to be heard over the profane response “your punishment would only begin after you gave me your name. Consider this your first lesson: cooperation benefits while obstinacy hurts.”
Judging from her screeches, the young bondmaid was certain the sturdy elmwood was making quite an impression. It certainly added interesting new colors and shades to an already enflamed backside. Feeling no remorse, the keeper retraced her earlier work but maintained a different rhythm. Whenever Lillian’s verbal protests included threats, the chastiser refrained from scolding. Instead, she targeted her overwrought charge’s sit-spots until abject apologies were howled.
Finally, judging this initial lesson had been imparted, Drew decided it was time for a test. Tapping the cringing hemispheres with the brush, the slave asked, “Are you ready to cooperate now? If so, I’ll release you and I can get you some food but if you resist; I’ll have you strapped across a whipping bench and introduce you to a four fingered tawse. Your choice.”
Hiccuping, Lillian promised she’d cooperate.
Cautiously, the blonde released her charge but kept a tight hold upon the girl’s upper forearm as she directed her toward a hard wooden seat equipped with tiny slats. These slats were designed for pinching the occupant’s fanny and Pelow knew from personal experience that it was twice as uncomfortable if one had already been blistered. “Sit,” she ordered. This cooperation, grudgingly as it was, evaporated when new restraints were produced.
“Twat! I wasn’t fighting you!”
“No,” Drew replied calmly “you weren’t. That’s why I’m not about to strap you but I can, easily, if you start fighting me.” Quickly, before the seething youth did something rash, the keeper bound Lillian’s wrists within soft leather cuffs. These restraints were connected upon either side of the chair and the small sturdy chains connecting them were provided with just enough slack so the occupant could physically express frustration or distress without incurring displeasure.
Retrieving a can of slave slop, Pelow snagged a spoon before kicking a small stool into place. Popping the tab, she pealed back the lid and stirred the contents.
“I’m not eating that,” Lillian said flatly.
Suppressing her impatience, Drew set the can down and acquired the necessary items. “You’ve got two choices: you either cooperate so I can use this little device to keep your jaws open or I can apply this quirt until you let me.”
Glaring, the former street brat opened her mouth, widely.
“Good, you can learn. I was starting to wonder,” the keeper complimented as she carefully installed the mouth vice. Reclaiming her seat, she picked up the can and renewed her stirring. “While this stuff has been designed to taste terrible, it also has all the nutrients a person needs. However, considering what you ate on the streets, you might just consider it manna from heaven.” Tapping a spoonful against the can, Drew carefully inserted the utensil within her charge’s mouth and tipped up.
Hands abruptly halted by their restraints and a moist gargle repudiated this speculative claim.
“Told you it was horrible,” the blonde chuckled as she spooned up another helping. “You’re getting the whole can. Waste not, want not.”
What with the continual need to scrape up the gray-brown leavings from the teenager’s bare tummy and breasts, the meal took a good forty-three minutes.
Finished, the keeper removed the vice and set in aside to be cleaned and disinfected.
“Are you done torturing me,” the bound brunette demanded wearily.
“I haven’t been ‘torturing you’ but no, we’re not finished yet,” Drew said absently as she obtained two soap bar packages, a washcloth and a water tureen.
“Yes, I am but these soap bars won’t be dessert. That would make you sick. Instead, every centimeter of your foul mouth, from gums and teeth to the insides of your chubby cheeks, is going to be coated until both these bars are mere slivers. And yes, if I have to, I will pinch your nose shut.”
This particular lesson took almost two hours and when Lillian was escorted to the infirmary for a medical checkup, soap spittle layered her front.
Exhausted, having removed her stained black leotard to avoid offense, Drew knelt once more before Lady Deth. After several minutes, the elderly woman articulated two words: “You passed.”
Three years pass
“You got a C in geometry,” Drew observed in disbelief as she examined her ward’s recent college report. Standing before her, dressed like a primary schoolgirl, Lillian worried the carpet behind her left heel with a brightly polished Mary Jane toe. The stated intent for this ensemble was to keep the younger woman focused upon her studies. That this strategy had been successful was proven by the former street punk’s lapsed lock as valedictorian.
“It’s not like it’s a useful skill,” Lillian protested weakly.
“First, that’s not true,” Pelow scolded. “Geometry is essential within various sciences and second, you’ve had every opportunity to seek assistance if you truly didn’t understand the math but that wasn’t the problem, was it? You decided it would be fun to take advantage of my trust. It would be your revenge for all the times I’ve disciplined you. Well believe me, my girl, I’ll likely be writhing with agony before long but I’ll see to it, personally, you have just as much fun as I will.”
Lillian’s face paled. “Please Miss, it had nothing to do with you. I just didn’t like geometry so I spent more time on my other courses.”
“Claiming you’re lazy, is not a wise defense,” Drew snapped.
“Dam…er, dang it…”
“And here I thought I broken you of swearing,” the keeper snorted with disgust. “Looks like tonight’s session will include soap.”
“Miss please,” the twenty-one year-old pleaded. “I deserve to be punished, I know that, but you gotta believe me. I didn’t deliberately plan on you getting punished for my hang-ups…”
“’Hang-ups,’” the keeper parroted. “Are you trying to tell me there is an actual reason you threw away a valedictorian?”
Not looking Drew in the eye, Lillian nodded shamefully. “I’m just a weak screw-up who can’t make it on her own…”
Irritated, the slave interrupted her. “Let me get this straight. You deliberately sabotaged yourself because you consider yourself ‘weak’ for getting help and discipline from others?”
Red faced, the senior nodded.
Instead of demanding an actual response, the bondmaid set her anger aside and pulled her ward onto her lap where she administered a huge hug.
“I’m so sorry Miss,” the young woman sobbed. “I’m truly, truly sorry. I’d didn’t think you’d get in trouble.”
Even though she was trying to console instead of lashing out, the slave couldn’t let that pass. “You’ve been living at Lady Deth’s house, immersed within her accountability beliefs, and you didn’t think I’d be affected,” Drew rejoined wryly.
The inherent humor of this escaped her grieving ward. “I’m stupid, I know…”
“If you continue to persist in demeaning yourself, I shall be quite annoyed,” her keeper warned gently. “I’ll not tolerate such lies. You are a capable, strong and intelligent woman. You’d never have survived if you weren’t. Yes, you needed some help but guess what; needing help occasionally is normal and expected. So I don’t want to hear anymore of this ‘weak screw-up’ garbage. Is that clear?”
“Yes Miss. Miss, am I still going to be punished,” the graduating senior asked anxiously.
“You really need to ask,” Drew responded dryly as she gave her charge’s bare thigh a hard slap. “You’re to go to your room, prepare for bed, lay out your correctional implements and wait for me in the corner. Unless you’ve been assigned another keeper, I’ll be along presently. Now scoot,” the command was given with another hard slap. Watching her ward scurry from the room, the keeper berated herself for not having noticed Lillian’s self-esteem issues.
Wearing only her white keeper collar and numerous welts, Drew entered her ward’s bedroom and was pleased to find Lillian had heeded her instructions. “Turn around,” she ordered quietly “and take a good look. Are you pleased?” Slowly, she pirouetted so Lillian could appreciate the past four hours. “Satisfied,” she inquired coldly. “Or should I go back for more?”
Hearing no verbal response, the keeper gingerly sat down upon the hard vanity bench and silently beckoned her weeping charge forward. Cocking her head slightly, she looked up at Lillian’s damp face. “Save your tears, you’ll be needing them,” the punished slave advised.
“Yes Miss,” the younger woman replied raggedly as she used the back of her right hand to brush away the offending droplets. “If I may, Miss,” she asked with a quick curtsey.
“I’m glad you’re still my keeper. Back…then, I wouldn’t but now…now you mean a great deal to me.”
“Thank you,” the bondmaid replied with quiet dignity. “I truly appreciate the sentiment and your bravery in admitting your feelings but it doesn’t change anything. Please hand me the double strapper and bend across my right leg.”
“Yes Miss,” Lillian sniffed miserably as she claimed the requested implement from her bed and handed it over before assuming the desired position. Secretly, despite her current irritation with the girl, Drew was pleased her charge no longer required guidance regarding proper pre-discipline posture. Even beneath the cotton fabric, the twenty-one year-old’s arched rump presented an inviting target.
Placing her left leg over the younger woman’s lower limbs, the keeper rolled up her ward’s nightie and exposed the clenched hemispheres. “Lillian,” she warned threateningly. It took an effort but this last remnant of resistance evaporated. Within Lady Deth’s house, discipline sessions didn’t merit the courtesy of a warm-up so, upon seeing a relaxed quivering derrière, Drew applied the doubled strap.
Upon impact, leather slapped leather increased the force behind the piece striking bare flesh while heightening the noise factor. Psychologically, this sound intensified the recipient’s anguish as much as the actual tactile sensation. Such considerations enhanced Drew’s formidable reputation. Strength and stamina had merely solidified it. It wasn’t long before Lillian’s feet were drumming the floor as her bottom frantically twisted about.
Easily thwarting escape with her left arm, the irate keeper thrashed repeatedly. There were no words as action conveyed her displeasure at being punished for her charge’s failure. The slave’s complicit guilt for that failure had already been washed away with copious tears and now it was Lillian’s turn. Each time the strap was lifted from the squirming posterior, the afflicted white area rapidly turned pink and then red under continuous overlapping diligence. It wasn’t until her charge had stopped moving, did this portion end.
“Up and get me your hairbrush,” Drew commanded as she handed over the strap.
Awkwardly, having learned the consequences for rubbing a backend still being chastised, the brunette obeyed before reassuming her former position. It was only after subsuming one’s will, did the actual punishment begin but this did not mean the recipient couldn’t grasp inanimate objects. Seeing her charge had taken hold of the bench legs, the keeper applied the hairbrush. It didn’t matter to her that Lillian’s flesh resembled an overripe tomato or that the strap had imparted an ache deep within gluteus muscles. This session would end with true repentance since it had been made clear to the keeper that she’d been just a little too trusting concerning lessons learned from previous sessions.
The hairbrush, different from the one used so long ago, was followed by a lengthy sojourn within the bathroom. There was no need for restraints now. Drew had trained her charge, through the application of increasingly vile soap, the wisdom of compliance but this time the woman’s potty mouth was attended simultaneously as her dirty innards were cleansed with a soapy quart. Cylindrical pepper soap plugs pushed deep within Lillian’s anus ensured the stinging mixture was retained. Satisfied that enough time had past to ensure recovery for posterior nerve endings, the keeper propped her left foot with the bathtub and upended her ward once more. This time, an oval lexan paddle was applied with great gusto.
Between the pain and the pressure of her weight resting upon a full tummy, it wasn’t long before the inevitable happened just as the slave planned: humiliation for humiliation.
Having made Lillian clean the bathroom and endure a lengthy icy shower that did nothing to relieve the internal discomfort imparted by the soap, Drew led her ward back out into the bedroom proper by the ear. There, the younger woman lay face up on her bed and lifted her legs at her keeper’s command. Using her left arm to keep these lower limbs upright and parted, the bondmaid applied a willow switch against sensitive inner thighs. It wasn’t long before tears were flowing once more.
“Miss, am I forgiven,” the former urchin whimpered as her keeper paused to turn off the light.
Thirty-nine days later
“Lady Deth was my grandmother,” Lillian repeated in disbelief.
“She thought you’d died in the car crash that killed your parents,” Drew explained again. “By the time she discovered you survived, you’d already disappeared into the system and it took her years to locate you but by then, you’d run away.”
“So what happens now?”
“Since you’re not a Lady, you’ll have to sell your grandmother’s business holdings.”
“What about you? I still need a keeper.”
“That can be arranged.”
Two years & seven months later
“Let me get this straight,” Drew asked angrily. “You’ve been going to single bars and have been sleeping with any guy who’d have you without protection.”
“And now you’re pregnant!”
‘Yes. Please Drew, I need help,” Lillian begged. “Don’t leave me.”
“Don’t be an even bigger fool,” the keeper snapped. “You’re my charge and I’ll take care of you but right now you’re going to march into that bedroom and wait for me in the corner.”
The chattering girls fell silent as Lady Colleen Heaton clapped her hands. “It’s time for the birthday girl’s spanking. Elizabeth, if you’d be so kind.”
Blushing profusely, the second oldest sextuplet teenager approached her Aunt slowly. While she secretly enjoyed this singular custom, it was still somewhat embarrassing as all spankings administered in the Heaton manor were given bare. A rule that would not be exempted just because her maternal Aunt and cousins were attending the familial celebration.
Still, like every year, Elizabeth found a curious relief from her hesitancy when actually across her Aunt’s formidable lap. Birthdays were the sole occasion her Aunt, who in reality wasn’t a blood relative at all, spanked the Nason girls. Neither Elizabeth nor her older sister, Kristine, knew the reason for this since Aunt Colleen didn’t subject her own daughters, Patricia and Eileen, to this arcane ritual. Not that it really mattered since all four girls were used to witnessing each other’s chastisements in the nursery and classroom but still…it was peculiar.
Resting across her Aunt’s lap, the birthday girl rested her hands upon the oriental carpet as she waited for her birthday frock to be lifted and bloomers undone. Peeking sideways, the shy teenager could see her cousins, Melissa and Melvina, witnessing the proceeding with the studied casual indifference that failed to conceal their rising interest as their mother, Aunt Amelia, clasped her mother’s hand. Elizabeth frowned on catching sight of her mother who seemed…anxious. The apprehensive teenager’s maternal concerns vanished as her mother, catching sight of the birthday girl’s eye, gave her a small smile just as cool air caressed her neither cheeks. Quickly, the seventeen year-old refocused her attention on the carpet. “I really wish Ms Buel had let me forgo the pony tail this year,” she whimpered to herself. “It’s a lot easier to hide my face when my hair is free. At least the storm kept the party indoors so I won’t be overheard by the neighbors like last...”
“One;” Aunt Colleen solemnly counted as she brought her hard hand down upon Elizabeth’s left hemisphere.
The birthday girl gasped. One tended to forget that these annual sessions were the equivalent of her Governess’s punishment spankings.
“Two;” the hand landed upon the soft corresponding cheek.
“Three;” the Lady’s elegant hand crossed the hemispheres divide.
“Four;” the more sensitive sit-spot area was now targeted.
“Five;” Elizabeth’s ankles uncrossed and re-crossed in a desperate attempt to maintain her composure.
“Six;” it wasn’t working.
“Seven;” the teenager’s torso bobbed upward as her tender upper thigh’s flesh compressed under her Aunt’s heavy palm.
“Eight;” the birthday girl’s ponytail futilely whipped around.
“Nine;” no longer concerned about the spectacle she was presenting, Elizabeth widened her eyelids as her eyes strained forward.
“Ten;” a whimper escaped.
“Eleven;” the teenager’s body twisted and convulsed.
“Twelve;” a tear trickled down a freckled cheek.
“Thirteen;” legs moved of their own accord.
“Fourteen;” desperate fingers opened and closed unable to achieve the cold comfort a grip would provide.
“Fifteen;” Elizabeth’s shame intensified as her natural crevice yawned wide to reveal her girlish secrets.
“Sixteen;” the very base of her being felt as if she’d sat on a heater.
“Seventeen;” it was almost over but the worst was still to come.
“And a pinch to grow an inch;” the guest of honor howled as her tenderized neither flesh was seized and tightly squeezed by her Aunt’s forefinger and thumb.
“And one to help you remember your manners;” this final swat was always given full force and aimed right where the annual pinch was given.
Sobbing, Elizabeth was helped to her feet and she shuddered as her abused flesh scrapped the fabric of her Aunt’s dress as she was gently set down on the older woman’s lap. Laying her head against Lady Heaton’s bosom she cried, relieved her annual ordeal was over and yet, slightly disappointed as well. Totally unaware of the spectacle she presented with her punished posterior, Elizabeth missed the silent communication between the three adults.
Saturday was a day of girlish play as the six teenagers romped in the garden and traversed the hedgemaze as they nattered over their futures. It was a holiday, be it a private one, and lessons were suspended for the weekend much to the delight of all. Even the bookish Elizabeth who, for once, forsaked her precious library for more lively pursuits that required movement instead of quiet contemplation nestled into her favorite window seat.
The day passed quickly and all to soon summer’s gentle twilight deepened the shadows. Ms Buel corralled her charges and their guests. Despite the magic of the evening and high spirits, the girls allowed themselves to be brought inside. Not that they would have deliberately sought to avoid the governess, for that would end only in tears and an aching fanny, but youth occasionally overrides good sense.
Upstairs, in the nursery common room that doubled as the schoolroom, servants had prepared three old-fashioned baths within large metal tubs. Nightgowns, with four matching dressings gowns, lay draped over the desks with the companion velvet slippers resting upon the hard wooden seats. “Ms Buel,” Eileen asked as she unfastened the buttons on the back of her younger sister’s frock “why are we bathing here, like this, instead of in the bath?”
“Because the bath is to small for all six of you at once. You’ve, all of you, have an appointment with Lady Heaton at eight and this is the most practical method of ensuring prompt attendance.”
“We’re not in trouble are we Ms Buel,” Patricia asked with a small frown as she slipped her slip off before assisting her sister.
“Heavens no, child,” reassured the Governess. “Your mother wishes to discuss the changes you girls will be facing. After all, preparations for Mitchen Finishing School attendance next month must be made and this evening seemed the perfect opportunity to address the both opportunities given and the resulting household changes for you younger set. However, I am curious as to the question. Is there some reason, some mischief, you fear consequences thereof?”
“No ma’am,” Kristine replied reassuringly, she hoped, as she stepped into the metal bath. “It’s just we’ve never had met with Aunt Colleen so late in the evening before; let alone after being prepared for bed, so we’re curious.”
“No Elizabeth,” the Governess abruptly snapped as the teenager made to step into Patricia’s bath “tonight there’s to be no mixing. You have guests.”
“But Ms Buel,” Melvina uncharacteristically protested. “We’ve bathed together before. We are cousins after all.”
“Despite having practically grown up together, you two girls are not actually blood kin to Eileen and Patricia like you are your cousins, the Nasons. The time is rapidly approaching where, ready or not, you’ll be adults and proper etiquette and decorum will be required. Or does such a lesson require a teaching aid. My slipper perhaps?”
Quickly the girls chorused, “No Ms Buel” as Elizabeth raised a questioning eyebrow at her sister, who replied with the barest of shrugs, before presenting her back for a scrubbing.
“Ms Buel,” Melvina inquired timidly “since time is a factor; are we to have our cleansings?”
Elizabeth wasn’t surprised her reticent cousin had asked. The girl had once secretly confessed to her that, despite the humiliation, she rather enjoyed such attention and wished her own mother employed such ministrations.
“There will be time enough for that later,” the Governess replied peevishly as she squeezed strawberry scented shampoo onto Melissa’s scalp. “Now do hurry girls. I have no desire…that is to say; I’d rather not keep Lady Heaton waiting. She’s gone…rather; She’s been planning this evening for some time. Considering what She’s done and plans to do for the Nason family, girls, I think a hasty bath is the least you could do in return.”
Within thirty minutes, six moist feminine teenagers slid into their thin summer nightwear and velvet slippers. However, much to their surprise, Ms Buel informed them that the Nasons had no need for their dressing gowns. This conflicting treatment, all the more disturbing since the sextuplets had never before been distinguished by family, disturbed Elizabeth but she kept her peace. Her recent spanking quite satisfied that…itch she occasionally had. So she’d rather not to accrue a second, disciplinary, spanking for malcontent. Besides, it was true, the Nasons had no true blood ties to the Heatons.
“Why then,” the recent seventeen year-old asked herself “have we been treated so well? It’s strange I’ve never before considered the question,” the girl mused privately as she followed her older sister down the stairway and passage that led to Lady Heaton’s private study. “What exactly is the relationship between Mommy and the Lady? Are they,” the adolescent dared to think “lovers?” She blushed at the salacious thought. “Or is it…” Elizabeth’s speculations ceased as they reached the study door.
It was a forbidding portal. Composed of stained thick wood, the threshold was decorated on either side with full-length wooden carvings. The left, a weeping cherub; the right, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the manor’s Lady during her youth. The sextuplets had never entered this private sanctuary with, or without, permission. They’d never been expressly forbidden from doing so but the adolescents had always instinctively known that pain lay within. As her older sister knocked on the door at their Governess’s bidding, the younger Nason intuitively realized pain still resided therein and their introduction was imminent.
“Come in,” a familiar voice beckoned. “We’ve been expecting you.”
The door, having been released from its clasp, swung inward to reveal a nude Emily Nason, her hands intertwined behind her head, kneeling upright on a peculiar piece of furniture. Its base, a cushion, was partially encircled by a closefitting fabric panel that reached just below the matronly breasts. It looked nothing more than an elaborate dog bed. Elizabeth, more concerned with the trickling tear running down her mother’s cheek than exotic furnishings, pushed passed her stunned sibling and started toward her mother. To do what, she did not know.
“Elizabeth,” snapped Lady Heaton from her repose on a lounge chair. “If you truly wish to witness your mother being flogged, then proceed one more step.”
The brunette abruptly stopped. It was then she noticed her Aunt sitting adjacent her mother. She was fully clothed but flushed in face and unwilling to look the entering generation in the face. Instead, she kept her gaze upon her hands as they washed themselves repeatedly.
“Please, all of you, enter so this…test can be commenced,” instructed the Lady. “Matters will be explained and questions will be invited but for now silence is appreciated. Especially, from the Nasons. Patricia, Eileen, you’ll find two chairs along the opposite wall. You may sit and bear witness as this test will impact your lives. Or, if you wish and I will not hold it against you, you may join Kristine and Elizabeth once the test has been described. As for Melissa and Melvina,” she gestured at their mother who, so intent on her hands, missed it. “Amelia,” she was ignored. “Amelia Grosen,” Colleen reiterated more loudly. With a start, Emily Nason’s twin sister jerked her head upright. “Pay more attention, love. I know this is distressing for you but if you don’t; I’ll take advantage of the liberties you’ve granted. Is that understood,” she asked in a stern but kindly tone.
“Yes Lady,” the flustered woman replied. “Melissa, Melvina you may both stand apart from your cousins. They are legally required to undergo this…test but you are not. You are advised, by me, to seriously consider it though. I…” The woman could not continue facing six pairs of accusing but mystified eyes.
“It’s all right, Amelia,” soothed Lady Heaton. “You can advise them later when you’ve regained your composure. Let me introduce you girls to Dr. Tabithia Collins and her companion, Lord Hawkins.”
So overwrought, Elizabeth had been unaware that there were other adults present. Now, catching sight of the Lady’s guests, she felt her mouth dry out. She’d never before been in the presence of a male before and she was practically naked!
“And this,” Lord Hawkins gesturing to an elderly nude, who wore a red collar about her neck, sitting by the flickering fireplace from which two handles protruded “is Jennifer Garland. She represents Kristine and Elizabeth’s interests while I represent the Slavery Guild and Dr. Collins embodies the Justice Department. Each of us, as neutral parties, will be gauging your responses during this test to determine the Nasons future status. Lady Heaton, if you would. I’m certain these young women have a plethora of questions.”
“Thank you Lord Hawking,” graciously acceded the hostess. “I can tell you are angry, if not furious, Kristine. It’s in your eyes while puzzled grief intermingles with Elizabeth’s resentment but it is not I, who you should feel so. It is your maternal grandmother. You have not heard much concerning her before from your mother as she was directed not to discuss such matters with you. The law requires testing to be performed on as pure a subject as possible and any genuine knowledge of that woman could potentially reveal matters that would undermine that test. Thus, my little love slave was required to maintain silence concerning certain matters regarding your origins. It has not been easy for her and she’s required my assistance on not a few occasions. Tonight, hopefully, will be the last such evening. Failure on her part would unfortunately require strenuous correction before her beloved daughters and, while I am rather stringent with her, I’d prefer such measures remain private. Nonetheless, you’ll find if she utters a single word, I am quite capable of publicly doing things I’d rather not to those I love. And yes, I do love your mother. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have rescued her from the pain brothel your grandmother sold her to when she was Eileen’s age.”
The eldest Nason daughter almost spoke from astonishment but, remembering the promised consequences to her beloved mother, she maintained her silence.
“Well done Eileen,” Lady Heaton praised. “This is not a lengthy tale but it does contain great sorrow. Your mother, in reaction to your grandmother’s fanatical stringent beliefs, was something of a wild child. Indeed, the old hag could not comprehend why her corporeal methods only seemed to further encourage her prodigal daughter’s hoyden ways. She finally connected the dots when she learned Amelia was pregnant with you, Eileen. Pregnancy, one of the historical methods for ending a woman’s hedonistic lifestyle, is something one generally cannot hide from a mother’s knowing eye. It took but one month for her to realize her daughter’s courses had ceased and a trip to a gynecologist confirmed her worst fears despite such a state is encouraged by the government. A horrific belittling trip home ended with a nude teenager restrained upon her bed with ankles bound to the headboard adjacent wrists. Such a position tends to present a clear view of one’s genitalia. A view usually kept concealed in the Nason household but your grandmother considered your mother to be a slut and beyond such considerations. Moreover, it was thought Emily would provide an example for the more timid Amelia. Your Aunt was forced to witness the ensuing thirty something minutes in which the family razor strop rarely ceased motion. Personally, I’m convinced that particular encounter would have been of an even longer duration if your mother’s methods of self-preservation hadn’t manifested. Unfortunately, this self-defense mechanism proved anything but before that…individual.”
“Having witnessed the ensuing orgasm, your grandmother dragged your mother by the ear, without the benefit of any clothing, to the nearest pain brothel and sold her. The law at the time, allowed such a sale, but, in large part due to your mother’s case, reforms have been enacted that prevent such abuses. I’ll clarify how those reforms affect the Nasons but first let me reveal how I entered the picture.”
“Having been betrayed by her own body, Emily took no delight in the proceedings she was forced to endure. Her only grace was little Eileen but even that was marred by the realization that, as offspring of a slave, her daughter could be seized and sold during her child’s adolescence. There was but one hope and it was a slim one at best. Emily had to entice a patron to front the purchase price for them both. This is where the Heaton and Nason families intersect.”
“Having achieved the enviable position of Headgirl at Mitchen Finishing School, I was finally able to…indulge certain personality traits. My appetites whetted by experience, I was appalled to learn graduation would greatly diminish my opportunities. As I was not about to tarnish my reputation by frequenting a pain brothel, the only other option for certain activities, was by either becoming a licensed Disciplinarian or a Lady. The former I realized was to limiting and the later posed great risk as failure meant slavery but success meant a wealth of opportunity. Moreover, as a Lady designate, I could frequent pain brothels without controversy. Not without trepidation, I laid my course, and sought means to perfect my skill. Word soon reached my ear of an extremely talented young slave with a high pain threshold. I made her acquaintance, not exactly willingly on her part, and pursued my dreams. Gradually, over the respites I granted, I learned Emily’s history. So caught up in my own desires, I had never truly considered the other participant and I was appalled by the seamier aspects. Admittedly, there was the undercurrent of fear as I knew failure would result in life changing consequences where I could face similar treatment, but there was also actual fury over how shoddily certain members of our society are treated. Having come to care for Emily, I was able, via my designation, to purchase her with my limited funds. I was not as comfortable then, as I am now, which caused a delay in which Elizabeth was conceived by another patron.”
Lady Heaton smiled at her kneeling slave; “Once I owned her collar, my little one proved quite an asset as she understood failure on my part would have unfortunate consequences for herself and her children. We developed an unspoken partnership that deepened our emotional commitment. This proved invaluable when I was faced with our population enhancement quotas. And no,” Colleen looked directly at her distraught daughters “that doesn’t mean my love for you two is any less. I have a deep rooted objection to my womb being equated to a factory production line. My eventual successes, including my Ladyship status and my parenting skills, can be derived directly from the lessons Emily taught me. She became more than property or pet; she became my love. Needless to say, it wasn’t any stretch for me to regard Kristine and Elizabeth as my own children but I knew, as much as I wished it otherwise, you weren’t.”
“Thus, I began to lobby slave reform legislation. I was successful but only to a degree. It is commonly thought, and it is backed by research, that certain desires are linked to genetic traits and passed from one generation to the next. However, I was able to convince enough Lords and Ladies that genetic traits occasionally bypass a generation. Accordingly, a compromise was reached in the form of a mandatory test of slave offspring when they became of age or, if there are certain compelling reasons, a year hence. Which is why, Kristine, you were not given this test eleven months ago. The close bond with your sister and the fact your birthdays were less than a year apart, were enough to convince the Slave Guild and Justice Department to permit an extension. A leave, you might have deduced, which expired yesterday.”
“The test, as you’ve probably deduced, involves gauging your reaction, or lack thereof, to discipline. Therefore, you’ll each be tested differently as according to your individual personalities. To aid this task, Ms Buel has kindly provided the Observers a detailed Journal. A Journal, I might add, I have not read. The observations therein concern the exploratory games you girls have played, your reaction to discipline and your weekly cleansings. You six, who’ve we’ve long affectionately dubbed the Sextuplets, each have a section but only Kristine and Elizabeth’s are unsealed.” Lady Heaton’s eyes twinkled at the relief clearly expressed by both the Grosens and her children. “However, you four may choose to undergo the test. Amelia,” this time Emily’s twin responded immediately.
“Growing up, I secretly cherished and enjoyed the chastisements and the…severity Momma imposed on Emily. I wanted it for myself but I was always the good daughter, the dutiful daughter but I was nothing of the sort. I was the cowardly daughter who always kowtowed to Momma’s demands; including her choice for a husband,” Amelia looked down again so she wouldn’t have to see her daughters shocked expressions. “I’ve come to regard your father, girls, as a…friend but he’s never been able to…Well let’s just say I’ve been consumed by guilt for several years and I never experienced the slightest relief from it’s weight until I was reunited with your Aunt and her Lady.”
Mrs. Grosen raised her head and stared at them with anguished eyes; “My life has been a waste. I don’t want that for you. I know you both have certain…aspects derived from me, I’ve seen it, so perhaps there is something to be said for this genetic personality trait business. That being said, some of those traits are not good ones. They’ve diminished my life and now you have a chance to be fulfilled. It’ll hurt and perhaps you’ll even find you’ve been skipped but it’s better than being…than having…a lifetime of regret;” Amelia’s voice trailed off as she looked down again.
“Well said,” Lady Heaton gently remarked. “And that, Eileen and Patricia, is why I’d not think any less of you if you take the test and discover you prefer the recipient side of things. My main concern, like all true mothers, is your well-being and if you’re not true to yourself than you’ll have a wretched existence. So, shall we proceed and get this business over with?”
“One question, if I may Mommy,” Patricia asked as she came to stand by Elizabeth’s side. At her mother’s encouraging nod, she continued; “What happens if it’s determined Kristine and Lizzie aren’t…well…positive?”
“By which you mean, aroused;” clarified Colleen with a twinkle.
“Yes,” the girl admitted as she blushed.
“Regardless of status, I love all four of you equally and you’ll all be attending Mitchens when it is appropriate. Meaning, I’ll determine admittance on maturity level, not physical age, but the owned girls will have special uniforms, duties and classes than the free girls. None will be sold to a Brothel. Are there any more questions?”
“Um Mommy,” Eileen replied as she came along to stand beside Kristine. “By owning, what exactly does that…well…mean?”
“In the case of you and your sister, I would, when appropriate, arrange a marriage and sale to someone whose suitable and who cares for you with your preferences taken into account. The Grosens, while neither Lord nor Lady, have equivalent custody over their children until twenty-one when, assuming the elder Grosens elect not to sell their children, the Slave Guild assumes ownership. At Mitchens, another girl would be designated by me to be your Keeper. A Keeper is a designate appointed for the express purpose of maintaining slave discipline and is historically given certain liberties. Assuming you and Patricia are not branded, as you both seem to be volunteering to undergo the test, you’ll both serve as my Keepers for the Nasons if they’re branded.”
“Branded,” Melvina sniveled as she came next to Eileen.
“Yes, branded;” Lord Hawking replied as he pointed to the fireplace. “The Nasons already legally belong to Lady Heaton so they’d be given two brands: the slave mark and the Lady’s symbol. Likewise, the Lady’s daughters would be given both with an additional third to any slave if sold…”
“However,” Dr. Collins broke in smoothly “you and your sister would initially only be given one, the slave brand, since legally your parents hold custody not ownership over you.”
“Are their anymore questions,” Lady Heaton asked.
The five girls glanced at each other and then looked at Melissa.
“Forget it,” dryly retorted the teenager to the unanswered question as she assumed the seat vacated by Eileen. “I may have played games with you lot and I admit to requiring the occasional correction but I’ve no desire to even chance getting an obligatory lifetime sentence for something I really loathe receiving.”
“But Melissa,” Patricia whined. “You…”
“That’s enough, young lady,” snapped the hereto silent elderly slave. “Miss Grosen has elected not to take the test. It is her right to refuse as it is your right to accept. It’s admirable she has the fortitude to stand up to her peers and decide her own mind.”
“Besides,” Melissa added wryly. “I might decide to take the Ladyship test one day and one is most decidedly unqualified if wearing a collar.”
Lord Hawking barked with laughter and even Lady Heaton appeared amused. “Is there anything else you four wish to ask,” she inquired. “Or may we proceed?” Silence greeted this inquiry as the enormity of what they were doing sank into the girls voluntarily undergoing the test. “Very well,” the hostess remarked as it became evident that nothing further was coming forth from the teenage quarter. “By law, the Nasons will primarily be tested by me with the occasional assistance of the Observers but my daughters and Melvina can select any Observer to be their primary tester if they so choose when their tests begin. We’ll commence with the Nasons but you will all disrobe now.”
Eileen and Patricia looked at each other. They hadn’t expected this. “Mom…”
“Quiet, Patricia. Discussion is now over. You’ve all made your choice and you’re committed. Any disobedience merits the severest of consequences and I can assure you, once the test is complete, there will be another lengthy mother-daughter conversation afterward.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She didn’t have any say in this and she already had a good idea of how the test was going to end. Not wanting to make things worse for herself, she reached down and slid her slippers off before slowly removing her nightgown. Undressing like this was humiliating enough but before a male. Exposed, but for a heightened flush, she sought to shield herself from view with her hands.
“Good girl, Elizabeth,” praised Lady Heaton. “Now, open your eyes and place your hands behind your head. If the rest of you fail to follow her example within fifteen seconds then you can expect strenuous punitive measures.”
Anxious to not contravene her former Aunt’s orders, the youngest Nason found some relief in the blurred vision wrought by tears of shame. The brunette prayed she’d be selected first so she’d not have to face her audience but it was not to be.
“Kristine, you’re first. Come here,” Lady Heaton directed from her new position upon a plain straight-back chair adjacent a draped low rectangular end-table. Considering the circumstances, it didn’t require a genius to deduce the nature of the devices concealed beneath the white tablecloth.
The eighteen year-old approached almost definitely. It was how she always behaved when faced with imminent behavioral reprises but Elizabeth knew it was not the proper, let alone wise, approach this dreadful evening.
“According to Ms Buel’s insightful journal,” Lord Hawkins observed. “This one requires conquering but once she surrenders, which can take a while, the girl is delightful company.”
Elizabeth didn’t need to see Eileen to know the younger girl was blushing profusely. Typically, mornings after her sister was disciplined were the occasions Eileen appeared fatigued. It was a revelation revealing just how inept the nursery inhabitants were at discretion. It also increased their humiliation as Elizabeth realized it wasn’t just their bodies that were bereft of protection from prying eyes but their innocent souls as well. This insight coincided with the awareness that her body had begun to betray her.
The previous minutes had made it difficult to consider the Lady as Aunt but when the cloth was removed from the end-table to reveal a multitude of corrective implements and ominous devices the likes of which Elizabeth had never seen; the adolescent realized the woman was no longer her Aunt despite her reputed love. “Such a well endowed girl,” Lady Colleen Heaton commented as she selected a seven inch miniature gold chain with pincers on either end “shouldn’t be so willful. Place your hands behind you and kneel Kristine,” instructed the Lady. “Or should I seek your compliance with the aid of maternal pain.”
Glaring, the teenager complied.
“I’ve broken harder women than you, little girl,” reminisced the older woman as she firmly grasped the adolescent’s left breast with her left hand while opening a pincer with her right. “Admittedly, I hadn’t witnessed them evolve;” having centered the elongated nipple between the pincers jaws, it was released. Wincing, Kristine sagged a little before straightening her posture. Amused by the continued insolence, Lady Heaton continued as she prepared to attach the second pincer; “but they were women who had fought daily battles for survival. Compared to them child, you’re merely playacting at being defiant.” Kristine hissed as the second pincer was applied but her glare did not diminish. “Such courage, you wish to test yourself further,” appraised the experienced Disciplinarian. “I now see what your mother meant when she said you were like her prior the brothel. A humbling experience you’ll not share but perhaps these,” she held up small weights “will serve a temporary substitute. We’ll start with ounces and progress upward. Feel free to moan and plead. It won’t be held against your mother.”
It required nine ounces before Kristine whimpered. “Stand,” Lady Heaton directed. “Spread your legs, so I can cover the back of your right thigh,” she held up a piece of red silk. It took but a moment for the material to be pinned together around the selected are.
“This, assuming it’s required, will be where you’ll be branded,” explained Dr. Collins.
Kristine glared at the Justice representative who merely smiled. “Yes, she’s a fighter. It’s been awhile since I’ve met a girl who prefers being taken and conquered rather than submitting gracefully.”
“Normally I’d find such a challenge exciting,” admitted Lady Heaton. “But this is not such an occasion.”
“Which is why,” Lord Hawking remarked tolerantly “there are impartial Observers.”
Ignoring this observation, Colleen kept her focus upon the teenager who felt betrayed. “Kristine, select an implement from the end-table. You’ll obtain a different implement for each examination if more than one is required. At any time, before or after being tested, you may request Garland to gauge your reaction. You’ll have completed your test after a majority has determined your status. You must politely ask for each examination. Be advised, I know well your tongue when riled. While, as your Aunt, I fully sympathize with your fury but, as the Observer who potentially owns you, that tongue must be curbed. It has no place in these proceedings. Should you decide otherwise, I’ve prepared the appropriate cocktail: castor oil, liquid soap and Tabasco sauce. And it won’t be just you who’ll experience it’s flavor.”
Fists clenched as the eyes of the eldest Nason daughter involuntarily glanced toward her mother. “I really don’t think you want to traverse that road,” quietly advised Lady Heaton.
Slowly the hands relaxed enough for the young woman to select a hairbrush, denser and larger than the corrective implement utilized in the nursery. Presenting it to her tormentor, the teenager coldly and clearly articulated; “If you would Lady, please take this and test me with your entire might…”
It was clear the girl had wished to say more but had resisted the temptation. Regretfully, for it was evident their relationship had diminished, the Observer accepted the implement and the challenge. Only when Kristine was draped across her lap, the weighted chain extending even further the teenager’s swollen nipples, did the woman comment; “You’re going to find my dear, that it’s not particularly wise to be so forward. Brave perhaps but painful in the end. Your end, I might add.”
Suspended in air, the weights swung back and forth as the hairbrush was applied. Elizabeth couldn’t understand how her sister could be so…headstrong. The situation was awful enough without inciting further torment. Wishing mightily for the comfort of sightlessness, the second oldest sextuplet member glanced toward Melissa. It didn’t surprise her that her cousin was enjoying the proceeding. The girl had always found pleasure in the suffering of others and now, in this moment, the teenager had apparently realized she didn’t need to conceal that pleasure. There was a part of Elizabeth that found this sickening but there was an even strong sense of understanding and forgiveness. It was who Melissa was, afterall; just like it was Kristine’s nature to be defiant and, heaven help her, Elizabeth’s nature to long for such treatment. Still, the girl would much rather her sister cry. It might induce mercy and judging from the state of the older Nason’s hindquarters, it was a quality to be desired. It was apparent such an opinion was not shared by Kristine.
While breathing heavily, not a sound was heard from the maiden. Only frantic movement, enflaming already tenderized nipples, indicated her growing distress but just as Elizabeth felt sure her older sister was going to weep; her Aunt stopped. “As I’d rather not numb your fanny, I believe this portion is complete,” she calmly proclaimed as her heavy breath belied her serenity. “You may rise as soon as you’re capable but do not soothe your bottom.”
With an air of satisfaction, Kristine arose from her tormentor’s lap to reveal a curious stain. A stain her mortified younger sister knew well as a similar substance threatened to trickle down her leg. “You hid it well,” gently praised Lady Heaton as she handed the hairbrush over “but I’ve considerable more experience than you. Do you wish to concede and get it over with or will you fight some more?”
Deliberately, the eighteen year-old turned her back to her nominal Aunt and gently laid the brush down before selecting a bamboo cane. “So,” the dismayed Lady observed “you’ll surrender, eventually, but not to me. Understandable, considering the circumstances but I hope in time you’ll forgive me.”
Ignoring this, the brunette slowly made her way to Dr, Collins after a brief stop before the collared slave who announced what everyone already knew; namely, that Kristine had carnal pleasure from the experience and that meant the branding iron.
“If you please, Ma’am, would you cane me,” she asked.
“I shall take tremendous pleasure by your request but, as you’ll soon realize, when pleasure’s spent; nothing remains but pain. Bend across the back of my chair and if you rise before I permit; expect an extra dozen.”
It took but eight strokes before Kristine broke and that was with one incident of deliberate position breakage to demonstrate who was truly in control. It amused the neutral Observers but it didn’t spare the slave offspring’s unresisting backside from the punitive twelve.
Elizabeth watched as her sister compliantly, without any sign of her former defiance, meekly assumed her position in a vacant corner after the weights were removed. Instinctively, at Lady Heaton’s summons, she scurried over but not to her presumptive Aunt’s side but to Jennifer Garland. “If you please, I submit. I’ve deliberately goaded Ms Buel to chastise me on many occasion just for the feeling I get after I’m punished;” confessed the seventeen year-old as a feminine substance dribbled down her right leg .
Mirth erupted from all quarters at this proclamation. Even the remaining sextuplets awaiting their turn snickered. The single exception was Emily Nason whose breasts were now quite damp from her tears.
It took several moments for the assembled Observers to collect themselves but their self-control proved equal to the task. The elderly slave gently confirmed Elizabeth’s earnest admission with questing fingers much to the maiden’s discomfort and embarrassed pleasure. None but her closest friends and beloved sister had ever touched her there…like that. “If I may be so bold, my Lord and Ladies,” Jennifer remarked. “I would advise a reward for such honesty at the end of these proceedings.”
“I quite agree,” Dr. Collins agreed. “Three dozen with the birch.”
Denied his expected pleasure, Lord Hawking added; “While horsed by her mother.”
“Agreed,” Lady Heaton acquiesced. “But for now, Elizabeth. You may stand next to your sister and provide whatever comfort she permits.”
Discarding any sense of dignity, the younger Nason scampered across the room where she stood behind her sibling. Wishing she hadn’t delayed the inevitable, the slave girl listened as her cousin was summoned.
“Melvina, you look like you’re about to faint so we’ll take you next,” humanely announced the maiden’s hostess as the seals protecting this potential candidate were torn asunder.
“If I may, Ladies and Lord,” spoke Ms Buel. “Miss Grosen was quite dismayed when she learned there was insufficient time for a cleansing this evening.”
“And whose fault is this,” Lady Heaton inquired calmly much to the Governess’s dismay. “Never mind, it will be a topic we shall explore later tonight.”
“If you have no objection, Lady Heaton,” interposed Dr. Collins looking up from her copy of the Governess’s journal. “I would appreciate the opportunity to correct this oversight so the poor girl isn’t denied.”
“By all means, Dr. Collins. I’m sure Melvina will appreciate such consideration. I believe you have the necessary paraphernalia, including anal plug, within the drawer next to you. Melvina, dear, please fetch the good doctor a pitcher of water. You’ll find it in my drinks cabinet.”
Listening to her cousin stammer on how the Justice Representative shouldn’t trouble herself, Elizabeth’s hands encircled her sister’s waist as her fingers sought to comfort but before they could reach the intended region; Kristine gently but firmly seized the younger Nason’s hands and squeezed them. Accepting this, the younger girl laid her head upon her sister’s shoulder and let her pelvis rub against her sibling’s chastised posterior while listening to her cousin being prepared for her cleansing.
The excited fear in Melvina’s voice was easily detectable and more than compensated for being denied visual pleasure.
“That’s right,” directed Dr. Collins. “I want you to press your shoulders against the wall and jut your cute little derrière outward. I won’t be two minutes and you’ll have the enema you were denied earlier. I know how important such things are to growing girls.”
Elizabeth felt her toes being gently stepped on by a bare instep. With a sigh, she ceased her pelvic massage. Privately, she was shocked that she even had to be asked. It was something she wouldn’t have even dared doing so openly just a few short hours ago. Being this wanton disturbed her. It was like the events and disclosures had freed her in some manner she hadn’t quite yet understood but even so, despite her raging desire, Elizabeth knew why her sister was stopping her. Mommy and Aunt Amelia were still present and even though Lady Heaton, it was so strange to think of her like that after a lifetime as Aunt Colleen, seemed to have given permission; it wasn’t the done thing to do before one’s mother. Even if she was a nude slave.
Her cousin was moaning now. Elizabeth knew it meant the water was coursing inside her. She wondered if Melvina was wet in front as she was. Was her shy relative considering her increasing need to relieve oneself in front of mixed company. The seventeen year-old felt her face grow warm at the thought as her pelvis resumed massaging Kristine’s welted posterior. She whimpered on feeling the pressure to her foot increase. She ceased only when she realized her actions could be witnessed by that…man.
“Relax girl, it’s the best way to accept the plug and then you can be leathered;” reassured Dr. Collins.
Judging from the squeals Elizabeth heard, she didn’t think the words had the calming influence the female physician had meant. At least her shy cousin wouldn’t have to mortify herself but it should diminish the force of the imminent spanking. This mistaken impression was corrected once Melvina was bent across a chair and Lady Heaton introduced the girl’s parted neither cheeks to a Lady Spanker.
Considering her hidden desires had now been exposed, it came as no great surprise when the girl begged for the brand before Lord Hawking’s turn arrived. Being disciplined, even tested, in this manner was…acceptable if an older female was performing the deed but a male…for a timid girl such as Melvina; it was bad enough that there was one present to witness these private events.
When the newest slave joined the girls in the corner, Kristine made a point of putting the petite girl before her. Her taller body shielded the humiliated girl from view as her strong arms held and comforted the sobbing girl. Elizabeth sought to lend her own reassurance with her fingertips but she refrained from any act that could be construed as pervasive. Her cousin, so mousy in manner and appearance, was close enough to the brink as it was. That she’d been able to volunteer for this test amazed the younger girl and made her realize that she didn’t know quite as much about her cousin as she’d thought. It made her wonder if she truly knew the Heaton children.
Eileen was first. “With due respect, Lady Heaton. Considering the nature of this test and our relationship, I’d rather Dr. Collins perform the necessary deed.”
Replying just as formally, the Lady responded; “I have no objection. Dr. Collins?”
Tabithia smiled and bade the applicant to select an implement as she examined the girl’s Journal entry.
Elizabeth wondered what she’d find as her ears strained for a clue. Following nursery justice, her friend was always willing to provide comfort once apparent privacy was given but, on the rare occasion she’d been the recipient, Eileen always shied away from reciprocal attempts. It was only after Garland announced the younger girl dry, did the teenager comprehend. Eileen’s body didn’t respond in the same way as hers did with regard to…Discipline. For the eldest Heaton, pain remained pain.
A fact which didn’t spare her from the three fingered tawse.
It was obvious to all, even the ones not directly witnessing the test, that Eileen wasn’t to receive a brand. Even Lord Hawking, frustrated by his continued denial to actively participate, was forced to agree.
Having learned from Melissa that the sextuplets were finally to be broken by their own individual needs and personalities, Elizabeth did not feel the type of sorrow she’d expected. Instead, she felt relief mixed with annoyance. It was obvious in hindsight that Eileen had participated merely out of a misplaced loyalty instead of self-discovery, need or legality. Her friend had suffered needlessly and that annoyed the older girl because she suspected her friend had know this when she’d joined the line. Moreover, the time taken to establish this merely prolonged Patricia’s apprehensive wait.
It suddenly dawned on Elizabeth that following her closest companion’s examination, she’d be birched. Her desire for the proceedings to end, evaporated.
“This candidate is aroused,” Garland announced after examining a sniveling Patricia.
“Hold,” Dr. Collins instructed looking up from the youngest Heaton’s entry. “It says here this particular candidate tends to be excited by witnessing disciplinary activities. When actually faced with it herself, there is a notable absence of pleasure.”
“So, considering the activities taken place over the past two hours, examination now would be inconclusive,” Lord Hawking agreed reluctantly as he flicked a page of his Journal copy. “There is a suggestive mention of pleasure following disciplinary action.”
“But with a volunteer candidate, the presumption can not be taken unless admitted by the candidate;” Lady Heaton added.
“Do you admit to gratification in receiving discipline or in serving others, Patricia,” Dr. Collins asked.
“No Ma’am,” the impetus maiden declared. “But…well,” Elizabeth could visualize her friend looking anxiously at her mother. “I like…that is…I admit I find it…interesting in watching others get it. It can be fun to give orders but I don’t…except in certain circumstances…like to see my friends and sisters hurt.”
“Then why did you waste this panel’s time,” Lady Heaton asked.
“My friends were…that is, we’re the sextuplets. We do everything together.”
“So if one jumps off a bridge…” her mother didn’t finish the ancient adage. “If it please the Panel, I would prefer to deal with this in a domestic setting.”
“I think not,” Lord Hawking replied with a nasty smile. “Patricia Heaton voluntarily undertook the test knowing the consequences. While it is true, there is no presumption in a non-slave offspring; predictions can be made regarding the future evolution of the candidate’s status based on current preferences. I think it only fair that the clauses detailing these situations be followed.”
“Meaning,” Dr. Collins interpreted “an annual unannounced Observation without stimulus beforehand until the candidate reaches her twenty-first birthday.”
“Agreed,” Lady Heaton capitulated. “I trust, however, this Panel does not take it amiss if domestic issues are addressed privately.”
“Not at all,” Lord Hawking reassured her. “But, perhaps it be best if a simple baseline observation is performed this night to determine subsequent observations.”
“I concur,” Dr. Collins agreed. “As this matter involves Panel issues beyond mere domestic matters, I think it behooves the little minx to get her tail thrashed by the one person the entire candidate pool has avoided.”
Elizabeth blanched. She’d hoped they’d all escape…him. The slavegirl spent the subsequent interval with her forefingers pressed tightly against her ears. It succeeded in muffling the proceedings to some degree but not enough. Not nearly enough.
Unlike Eileen, Patricia was not given to Ms Buel for succor. Nor was she permitted with the slaves. Instead, the bereft girl was installed within her own corner for the remainder of the proceedings. Namely, the birching and brandings.
“You may rise, Emily” Lady Heaton instructed. “You have behaved quite well this evening but you have one more chore to perform. Turn around Elizabeth and approach your mother.”
Anticipatory dread mixed with guilt filled the teenager’s stomach as she complied. “It’s only three dozen,” she told herself. “You’ve had worse with the apple switch when Ms Buel discovered we’d been raiding Mr. Finnegan’s orchard.” Her rational side agreed but pointed out; “But Mommy didn’t horse us for that. Let alone while when we’re both nude and I’m squirmy!”
“It might interest you to know, Elizabeth. You’re mother prepared these bundles yesterday while you girls were riding. Now, as you both know the drill,” Lady Heaton said as she rose from her seat as she drew forth a birch bundle. “Take your positions.”
Not daring to refuse but unable to look at her mother as she knew her exposed quim needed washing, the youngest Nason hesitantly approached. It helped when her mother turned her back toward her and knelt down slightly. Pressing her firm breasts against the older woman’s back, Elizabeth placed her arms across the waiting shoulders and crossed them. Without hesitation, Emily seized her daughter’s wrists and straightened her knees while remaining bent at an angle. As the teenager heard their owner approach, she felt her mother gently kiss her left hand. It was the only comfort she could bestow.
The first dozen were given without pause. It seemed as if, no sooner did the teenager react to one stroke, than the next landed. Scratchy pain surmounted rational thought. Wrists gripped firmly, the adolescent was unable to move her arms in futile attempts to gain comfort but her fingers could and they were near fleshy pillows that substituted for the chair legs she usually clutched. Her legs flopped about with the occasional sideways kick as her body shifted in a useless effort to avoid the stingy twig tips.
A brief pause interspersed the first set from the second. It was then, reason returned and Elizabeth realized what she was holding. With a cry, her fingers released their hold as her salty tears dampened her mother’s graying strands. Digit kisses meant to reassure only intensified the girl’s sense of disgrace and she welcomed the birch’s return.
The second set were given just as quickly as the first but these strokes were angled so as to permit the tips to administer their own kisses along the neither divide. This tender skin, naturally protected by the very curves of Elizabeth’s hillocks, was unaccustomed to corporeal assault. Consequently, her pelvis pressed inward to escape but the body which had nurtured and formed so long ago could not provide an egress. Instead, a certain body part slid this way and that along a soft fleshy posterior. Pain transformed into pleasure which became mental anguish at the third pause.
Weeping, Elizabeth sought to hide her face in her mother’s hair as the older woman frantically sought to reassure the only way she could.
The adolescent welcomed the return of the birch. The pain allowed her to ignore the reality of who was restraining her. Whose nude flesh she was pressing against. Whose skin could feel sweat, tears and, worst of all, her juice. She wished so desperately, she didn’t have this curse. This need. This desire. This craving.
But she did.
“Not like…not…this;” Elizabeth could feel her traitorous body preparing…preparing…”Oh God!” she screamed as the spasm spread throughout her body.
Emotionally and spiritually broken, the brandings proved anticlimactic for the youngest Nason. Each slave in turn was bound to the table, her thigh restrained and the brand applied. Skin sizzled and smoked amid the smell of cooking meat. It could have been enjoyable for the right sort of person.
For Elizabeth, that type of pleasure was spent, for now.
She felt dirty.
If this was improved slavery, she didn’t wish to know the horrors her sweet mother had endured so many years ago.
Ever got a spanking that just wasn't hard enough for you? I just sent my husband an email entitled IQ test, with a picture of a rock, a board, a brick , and a teddy bear. I added the sesame street song, can you guess which thing is not like the other...etc...Think he'll get the point? He's pretty smart...an engineer. I'm just a brat. giggle. Seriously it's laundry day and if it weren't for some wild "Tyger" conservation I would be bored silly. I did find an awesome song that would be great for an Stube vid.
Vast- Pretty When you Cry...
Ever wondered if you could take an email back? sigh.....Update He just wrote me back. Rock doesn't start with a B. Oh my....I thought he was soooo smart! LOL
Update II His next answer: You can't hit a sub(missive)with a bear. Aaahaaahaa. Close but no banana!
John Lydon at the San Francisco Winterland, "Ever get the feeling you've ---- -------" - no prizes just an interest poll :)