Hall of Infamy (12 page)

There was a muffled sound like a hand impacting on soft flesh. Kitty's clear voice cried out with pain. There was a deep laugh. It was Lord Alex, all right.

Tears formed in Lucy's eyes; tears of jealousy and humiliation, but most of all, of sheer frustration. The itching was terrible now. Her pussy was due for shaving in the morning and stubble

dusted the swollen tissues. The tiny hairs caught in the rough fibres of the blanket, exacerbating the chafing sensation until it sent her half-insane. If only there were more weight, she might have pressed her clit against the fabric and… But it was no good. The blanket was too insubstantial, and the incessant rubbing only tantalised her even further.

Something made her pause. It was the sound of the key in her door! Lucy groaned, barely daring to believe what she was hearing. The door swung open and Lord Alex stood in silhouette against the well-lit corridor.

‘Well, Lucy. Not disturbing you, I hope.'

‘Oh… Ah… No, no, sir,' she managed.

She felt the bed move as he sat on it and drew the blanket up slowly. Lucy had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out with desperation.

‘Just thought I would check. Tsk, tsk, it's ridden up again. I hope the blanket was not vexing on your skin, my dear.'

Relief flooded her as the blanket was lifted and cool air fanned across her shaven sex.

‘What's this? It looks damp. Heavens, girl, you're all wet. I think I had better explore further.'

‘Oh God, please… sir!'

‘Getting a little whiskery again, aren't we? It's shaving day tomorrow, is it not?'

‘Oh, ah, yes, sir…!' Lucy managed, trying not to think about the barber, due in the morning to put the maids through their twice-weekly ordeal by shaving brush and razor. A strong forefinger probed and slid inside her lubricated sex, and Lucy was powerless to prevent her lower abdomen bucking up to meet his hand. The chains restraining her clinked and the leather collar and cuffs creaked as her body fought against her bonds. Lord Alex laughed at the mewling, bucking creature that his maid had become, but Lucy was too far gone to care about anything, except one…

‘Oh, fuck me, please, sir. Oh, God, fuck me, master.' She babbled and begged between incoherent howls of desperation.

Lord Alex did not grant her wish but he let her clit rub against the heel of his hand as his finger thrust deep inside her pussy. His other hand pushed her little nightdress up even further and squeezed her breasts. Lucy fought the wrist-cuffs and the ankle restraints with ever-growing frenzy as her master's hands took her to the point of orgasm, and then beyond.

Pleasure exploded through her body. The chains of Lucy's restraints and her iron bedstead rattled violently as she convulsed within the confines of her bondage, and shrieks of ecstasy filled the little room. She had been so desperate for so long that the climax came like an explosion of white light, wiping away awareness of anything but itself.

For a few seconds, at least. Soon enough, she came gasping back to awareness, of her state of helpless and naked bondage, and most of all to the smiling presence of Lord Alex, sitting on the bed and watching her.

‘There, now,' he said in satisfied tones as she began to get her breath back, ‘that's better, isn't it?' He pulled the nightdress down, covering her nakedness, for which Lucy was profoundly grateful. Even in the afterglow of her orgasm, the way she was restrained made her feel terribly vulnerable to his whims.

Lord Alex pulled the blanket up, bent to plant a fond kiss on Lucy's forehead, and then checked the chain that fixed her collar and wrist-cuffs to the iron bedstead.

‘Dear me, this is a bit loose. I do hope Mrs Pritchard is not getting slack.' He produced a small key and unlocked the padlock that secured it, shortening the chain by a couple of links so that Lucy could move even less than before. He stroked her cheek before bending to kiss her gently on the lips. Then he rose and went to the door, turning to blow her a kiss before he locked it for the night.

‘Good night, my dear. Sleep tight, as they say!'

Cautiously, Kitty placed the tray on the little rosewood table and darted an anxious glance towards her mistress.

‘You may pour,' Lady Alicia instructed, continuing to look out of the casement window. Trying to control the trembling of her hand, Kitty poured the Earl Grey, anxious in case she should spill a drop. When it was safely done, she stood awaiting further orders, sneaking a furtive peek at her mistress as she stood bathed in sunlight.

Lady Alicia presented a truly magnificent spectacle, her black hair pulled into a bun which emphasised her sultry Spanish beauty. Her breasts were full and her hips generous, her waist laced tight into a long black corset. Apart from fine drawers of black silk and matching stockings, her only garment was a black lace negligee which she had allowed to fall open, letting the sun's rays caress her bare breasts and thighs.

Finally she turned to the maid. ‘Well, girl, how did you enjoy your trip to the stables yesterday?'

Kitty felt the blush suffuse her cheeks. She hesitated, hardly knowing how to answer.

Her mistress regarded her gravely for a moment. ‘So answer me, little one – did Mr Blackstock belt you well?'

Kitty's bottom lip began to tremble. ‘Yes, ma'am,' she whispered huskily, staring at the floor.

‘Let's see. Turn around and drop your drawers!'

This instruction was easy to follow. The skirt of Kitty's uniform was so short it rode up as she bent, and she had only to pull her knickers down to leave her bottom exposed.

Lady Alicia grunted her satisfaction. ‘Yes, he did, didn't he?'

Kitty quivered at the memory as her mistress leisurely perused the evidence of her thrashing.

‘All right, you can pull them up. Let that be a lesson to you not to spill my tea!' The maid adjusted her dress with huge relief. By the time she stood upright again, her mistress had returned to her vigil at the window. ‘Tell me Kitty, when Mr Blackstock was belting you, were any of the stable-boys present?'

Kitty blushed a deeper shade of scarlet and the knot in her stomach tightened. If she had dared, she would have refused to answer, but Lady Alicia's enquiries were not to be ignored. ‘Y-yes, ma'am,' she whispered, hanging her head in shame as she remembered the boys' comments… their hands… their things…

‘I see. And what were they doing during – and after – your punishment?'

Kitty sniffed disconsolately but she knew she had to answer; Lady Alicia had an uncanny talent for finding out the truth. ‘They – they touched me… and they – they played with themselves. They made me kiss their… their—'

‘Played with themselves, you say?' Lady Alicia interrupted. ‘What do you mean? Surely you aren't accusing them of self-abuse?'

Kitty glanced up to find her mistress's gaze upon her. Her tone was shocked but her eyes were sparkling and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. ‘Come here!'

Kitty approached her mistress with trepidation, but Lady Alicia merely motioned her to look down into the courtyard. Below, outside the stables, a boy of about nineteen was forking manure into a barrow. As the day was hot and the work hard, he had stripped to the waist. Though slender, his body was wiry and gave the impression of strength. His dark hair had been cropped, giving him something of the air of a convict. His body was nearly hairless, his pale skin glistening with sweat as he laboured in the warm sun. He put down the fork and bent to lift the barrow, the seat of his cord breeches tightening as he did so. Unaware of the women's gaze, he lifted the barrow and wheeled it out of sight.

Lady Alicia turned to Kitty and her eyes were bright. ‘What about him, the new lad – did he abuse himself?'

Kitty noticed that her mistress had slipped a hand inside her silken drawers. She looked down, remembering the boy laughing and slapping his cock against her tear-streaked face. After the buggering from Mr Blackstock, Kitty had been left desperate with desire. The stupid boy had failed to understand, or had refused, the invitation she offered with her open legs. Instead she had to suck him, which gave her no chance of relief. Kitty had to stop herself from smiling; revenge was going to taste sweet.

‘Yes, ma'am,' she said, trying to sound reluctant. ‘He – he frigged himself while I was getting whipped.'

Davy followed the blonde maid up the stairs, his eyes fixed on her behind. Below her knickers, above the tops of her stockings, he could see the traces of Mr Blackstock's belt inscribed in shades of mauve. The sight, together with the memory of Kitty bucking under the belt, her bottom bouncing from the impact of the strap, combined to make his manhood swell inside his tight breeches.

Davy had never been inside the house before and wondered at the size of it as Kitty led him down a long corridor, her perilously high heels click-clacking on the tiles and echoing around the hallway. He had no idea why he had been summoned. A wild hope that yesterday's delights might be repeated competed with a strange sense of unease. Finally the maid stopped, and turned to look at him haughtily. As she knocked, Davy thought he caught the hint of a smile. The little trollop wasn't so full of herself yesterday, he thought, but his amusement was short-lived. A husky female voice bid them enter.

Davy was astonished. He had had little experience of women. What he had seen of Kitty with her drawers down for the belt had been something of a revelation to him. Certainly, he had never seen anything like Lady Alicia. She stood resplendent in the sunshine by the window, hands on hips. Her proud breasts were upthrust by the corset, veiled only partly with a film of black lace through which her jutting nipples glowed like rubies against pale cream skin. Davy blushed to see so much of so grand a lady, then blushed deeper as the riot of silk and lace and perfume in the room made him all the more aware of his own coarseness; his stench of sweat, horses and manure, his rough stained breeches and the patched smock he had thrown on when Kitty had come to fetch him.

Lady Alicia regarded the red-faced stable-boy with distaste. ‘You – what is your name, boy?'

‘Davy Falconer, if you please, your ladyship.'

‘You will address me as “ma'am”, do you understand, boy?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

‘How long have you been at Hope Hall, Falconer?'

‘I started last week, ma'am, if you please, ma'am.' Davy found himself unable to wrench his gaze from her nipples. Visions of chewing them made his mouth go dry and his cheeks flame brighter.

‘Well, Falconer, I have to tell you that reports have come to me of appalling behaviour on your part. I wish to find out if these reports are true.'

Davy felt a sudden dread. What had he done? He tried to think. He thought of Kitty's smile but, no, it couldn't be. The other stable-lad had done the same, had egged him on; he had thought it must be normal at Hope Hall – permitted, encouraged even…

‘I have been told that whilst this maidservant was being chastised yesterday, you had the gall to masturbate. Tell me now, boy, and tell me the truth. Did you or did you not abuse yourself yesterday?'

Davy reeled in shock. Lady Alicia was terrible in her anger. For all her flouncing silk and lace there was steel in her voice. He did not know what to say. He had frigged himself while the chit was being whipped, though surely she had been too distracted to see? Did making her suck him count? he wondered. At any event, there had been others present, as guilty as he and yet witnesses, for all that…

‘Yes, ma'am, but I weren't the only—'

‘Silence, boy!' she roared. ‘I have no wish to hear excuses from masturbating brats. At Hope Hall self-abuse is punished, and that means you are going to be thrashed.'

Davy was thunderstruck. The thought occurred to tell her ladyship to go hang, to go and get himself another job. Somehow, though, the words would not come. Maybe he was mesmerised by Lady Alicia's splendour; perhaps the hope of more delights like watching Kitty's whipping was too intoxicating to forgo. Anyway, as Davy told himself, he was a tough lad who could take a beating from any woman. His only real fear was that he would be ordered to drop his breeches. In front of Lady Alicia and a sniggering Kitty, that would be too humiliating to endure.

To his relief, Lady Alicia indicated a whipping-triangle ready set up in the corner of the room, and coldly ordered him to remove his smock. A birch or cat on the back, he thought, suppressing a smirk. I'll show these women how Davy Falconer takes that! He allowed Kitty to buckle the restraints around his wrists. He grinned insolently at her, but she seemed disturbingly self-satisfied. He suffered himself to be secured, standing with arms above his head against the triangle. Nor did he struggle when the maid fastened his ankles close together. Only when Lady Alicia came close, close enough for him to smell her intoxicating perfume, so close that her jutting nipples grazed his naked back, did his self-assurance start to waver. She reached around and took his nipples between sharp nails, and for the first time Davy shivered.

‘You stink, boy, do you know that?' Lady Alicia whispered huskily into his ear. Her overwhelming presence assailed his senses. Her lacy negligee brushed against his bare back, tickling terribly. He could feel her nipples, as hard as unripe strawberries, boring into him. Musk-rose perfume made his head reel as her nails bit hard into his nipples and her teeth nipped at his ear. Davy groaned.