Hall of Infamy (7 page)

Once more the sickening whistle echoed through the stable-block. Kitty howled with pain again.

‘There's some beer in the jug – complements of Lady Alicia. Pour it out, Dick. There're three glasses there. Davy, you can unstrap the baggage's legs for her, now.'

Kitty slumped limply over the saddle, gasping brokenly and trying her best to stem the flow of tears coursing down her cheeks. Her bottom and thighs throbbed abominably. She had lost count of the belt-strokes she had received, but was sure it was close to two dozen in total. The agony was seeping away to a dull ache but every time her sore bottom was touched, even gently, waves of pain would lance through it again.

Mr Blackstock waited for his glass of beer, occasionally patting her proffered rear and provoking a new gasp from the maid. She felt the straps unbuckled from her legs and the loosening of the belt that kept her hands pulled back.

Mr Blackstock walked around the beam to her head. Kitty's attention was riveted to the stirrup-leather that still dangled from his hand. In the other he held his beer, and he placed this on the bench before turning back to the quietly sobbing girl. A callused hand lifted Kitty's chin until she found herself looking up into the big groom's eyes. His expression was one of amusement, but quite devoid of pity. Once again, the thick leather was tapped against her face.

‘Now, sweetheart,' he said gruffly, ‘have you had enough leathering? You could go another dozen easy, but I thought you might prefer to do something else.'

‘Anything.' Kitty blinked up at him desperately. ‘I – I'll do anything you like, sir. Please…'

The groom released her chin, allowing her to drop her chin again, and draped the stirrup-strap around her neck. Kitty shivered at the contact with the cool leather, closing her eyes and praying he would accept her offer.

‘Funny,' the big man said thoughtfully, ‘that's what they always seem to say!'

‘All right, little missy, time to strip.'

Kitty eyed the three men nervously. She had had cold pump water splashed on her face and been given some to drink, and this indulgence had revived her somewhat. Even so, she swayed a little, her legs still unsteady, and was glad she was no longer in her heels. What did it matter if the stone flags were cold beneath her stockinged feet?

It was getting dark and the grooms had hung oil lamps on a beam above her, before settling on some bales of hay stacked in the corner. Here they watched, eyes bright with excitement as they drank their beer. It filled Kitty's heart with a sense of impotent indignation. It was so typical of her mistress: to send down cold beers to the men whom she had instructed to abuse her maid. It was like a message from the Marchioness, ensuring that Kitty remained aware of why, and on whose behalf, her ordeal had been ordained.

Anyway, she realised, dwelling on Lady Alicia's cruelty would not get her anywhere. She pulled off her uniform coyly. Kitty knew the men wanted a show, so she took care not to strip too quickly. She was all too aware of the leather strap, now doubled up again in Mr Blackstock's hand. She dropped the satin garment to a chorus of whoops and whistles and placed a hand uncertainly on her hip.

‘The corset too, sir?' she asked hesitantly. She was wearing a heavily-boned back-laced corset of black satin. Kitty knew it would be a sore trial to unhook it on her own.

‘Get over here,' the head groom grunted gruffly. Kitty swallowed hard and trotted over to him, horribly aware of three pairs of eyes devouring her curvaceous shape. Mr Blackstock took hold of the front of the corset and, with a brief grunt, unhooked the front. The corset fell away behind her. The suspender straps were still attached, so she felt her stockings tugged down behind by the weight of her stays. This was not her most pressing concern, however.

‘All right, boys. You're going to see a proper B and B.'

‘B and B?' Davy puzzled.

Mr Blackstock chuckled. ‘Belting and buggering, lad.'

With a yelp, Kitty found herself propelled onto a nearby hay bale. She gasped as the prickly straw scratched her naked breasts and belly. She could feel the still-attached corset dragging along behind, her stockings now pulled down to just above her knees. Then she felt another tug and realised that the groom had knelt down on the corset. She hoped he would not damage it. If he did, there was no question about who Lady Alicia would blame. Kitty dared not even think about the state of her silk stockings.

‘Hand me that saddle-soap, Dick.' There was the sound of rubbing and then she felt his finger on her anus.

‘There's an art to ringing rose-holes, Davy.' Mr Blackstock spoke exactly, as if he was giving instructions on how to mount a skittish mare. Kitty gave a surprised gurgle as his finger gently circled her sphincter, massaging the tender tissue until the muscle relaxed.

‘Ooh!' she moaned as the finger fondled the so-sensitive tissue.

‘It's no good forcing it. You have to tease it gently till it's ready to let you in.
Uff
!'

She felt his big cock-head press against the ring of muscle. There was tightness and resistance for a moment and then she felt it slide in, surprisingly easily. Kitty remembered Mr Blackstock's cock as not particularly long, but thick as a girl's wrist. He must have lubricated her rose-hole well, she thought. That, or else Lady Alicia's training dildos must be having an effect on her at last. All the same, it was tight enough to make her gasp as she felt him ease in further. Worse, the force of the big man pressing down pushed her naked breasts and belly harder into the scratchy hay.

‘You're reaming the little bitch proper, Mr Blackstock!' Dick called out excitedly.

And it was true. The groom's weight crushed Kitty's bare body into the hay as his fat cock inched into her, deeper and deeper. Lost now, moaning deliriously, Kitty could feel his belly rasping against the sore flesh of her bottom. Surely that was as far as it would go? she thought wildly. Then his hands closed on her hips and she gave a startled gasp as she felt him use his tremendous strength to pull himself even further in. She clutched the bale, burying her face in the coarse straw as Mr Blackstock buggered her magisterially.

‘Oh, ah, oh,
oh
!' Kitty moaned and whimpered as her bottom-hole was mercilessly reamed. Her hands scrabbled desperately at the bale as she felt herself swept away into a sort of delirium. There seemed to be nothing in the world but the groom's great cock impaling her, nothing but the throbbing of her bottom and the piston-like motion of his thrusts.

‘Oh, yes…
yes
,
sir
…!' she heard someone babble in the distance.

Finally the big groom grunted. There was a short series of even harder thrusts as he growled obscenities, and Kitty felt him shudder as he climaxed, and at last the reaming ceased. Kitty was engulfed by conflicting emotions. An odd sense of disappointment mingled with the desperation of her own unfilled need, and fought against an ebb tide of relief. Not that she was given long to think about it. Mr Blackstock withdrew without ceremony, leaving Kitty gasping on the bale.

‘All right boys, you can play with her for while, but mind, she has to be sent back in time to serve them dinner in the hall!' the groom growled, picking up his glass of beer and wandering off towards the pump.

A strong hand took hold of a hank of Kitty's hair and hauled her up onto her knees. Blinking dazedly, she saw Dick sit on the bale in front of her. The boy was grinning and unbuttoning his breeches. Davy, who she realised must be kneeling behind her, relinquished his grip on her hair and reached around to take a double handful of her breasts.

‘God, Dick, I ain't ever felt anything so fine as these.'

Kitty moaned as his rough hands clumsily squeezed her breasts.

‘Aye, there are certain perks to this job, Davy-boy!' Dick patted the maid's hot cheek and she found herself looking into his laughing eyes.

‘All right, easy, girl. You know how to suck this – I seen you do it.'

He slapped his engorged cock against her face, smearing the tears that had run down her cheeks, before sliding it down with obvious intent. Kitty opened her lips tentatively and let him push his ruby cock-head into her warm mouth. As she did so, she felt the boy behind her press his hardness against her throbbing bottom. Her own desire was getting truly desperate now, but she dare not ask for what she needed. She took more of Dick's stiff cock in her mouth and opened her legs invitingly, hoping against hope that the lout behind her would have the brains to take the hint.

It really was an outrage! To be treated like that, by such a horrid little tradesman. It really was too much! Amelia stroked her denuded mons as she fumed. Awful though the experience had been, she seemed unable to stop thinking about it. For all her shame and anger, her shaven sex fascinated her and she could not stop fondling herself. Amelia gently fingered her quim as she lay in the bath, experiencing a strange mixture of emotions from the sensation: part horror, part excitement, and part delight.

After her own shaving, Amelia had watched Clara receive the same treatment, and the image had burnt itself into Amelia's mind. Slowly, she licked her lips as she remembered the different elements of the scene: Clara's slender limbs; the black straps brutal against the white of her silk stockings; the bound girl's gurgling cries as Mr Catchpole worked with the shaving brush; the blonde fur being stripped away by the gleaming, relentless razor; the way the girl had whimpered at the touch of the cold steel. Amelia permitted herself a smile as she remembered her cousin's paroxysms while the barber's knowing hands had coaxed her into climax. The spectacle had almost made her own ordeal worthwhile.

The door opened suddenly and Amelia raised her hands quickly to her breasts.

‘Don't think I don't know what you were up to, Amelia,' Jamie said, as he lounged in the entrance. ‘You just can't keep those fingers from your sex, can you, you slut?'

Amelia held her tongue but, to her chagrin, felt her cheeks redden.

‘Aha,' her tormentor said with a smile, ‘it looks like I was right.'

Amelia silently cursed her traitorous face as he sauntered over to her.

‘All right, you should be clean by now. Stand up.'

Amelia stared at him, and at the whippy-looking yellow cane he held. Jamie held his peace for a moment as Amelia struggled with herself.

Deciding there was little alternative, she got up sullenly, doing her best to cover her naked charms as the water drained off her into the slipper-bath.

‘No, Amelia. I thought we had discussed this. Place your hands behind your head. I want to take a look at Mr Catchpole's handiwork.'

This was too much for her to endure. Rather than do as she was told, Amelia put her left hand, with which she had been attempting to cover her breasts, down with her right, which she was using to shield her quim.

‘You really are a slow learner, Amelia,' Jamie said regretfully as he stepped behind her and unleashed a sudden stroke of the cane. The whippy stick cracked across Amelia's wet bottom. She gave a startled shriek of pain.

She tried to turn, to keep her naked rear away from him, but shuffling in the wet tub was slow, and his circling was quicker. Again the cane whistled through the air and thwacked across moist bottom-flesh. Amelia squealed again. When the third stroke caught her across her thighs, Amelia doubled up and howled. Then she raised her hands, though she still crouched wincing, knowing that she could not win this game.

‘Ow! Ooh! That really stings, you – you – you…' As she blinked the tears of pain from her eyes, she met his gaze and the insult died on her lips as she watched him flex the cane.

‘And so unnecessary, Amelia, my dear,' Jamie said calmly. ‘Eventually you will learn it is best to obey right away. Now get your hands behind your head and stand up straight. Legs apart… Oh yes, that's
much
more appropriate. Would you mind terribly, Amelia, if I were to have a feel?'

Amelia moaned as he placed his hand over her wet mons and squeezed gently.

‘Oh, yes, that's very nice. He did do a good job. Mrs Pritchard tells me you enjoyed it too, after all that fuss! Anyway, time to get dressed now. Lord Alex and Lady Alicia have asked me to present you to them after dinner tonight, and I have something particularly special for you to wear.'

‘Not long now. Just wait till I see Uncle Alex. Just wait till he sees what Jamie has done to us. God, I hope we don't have to wait much longer. I'm dying for a pee.'

‘Oh, Amelia, please don't make things any worse.' Clara blinked in appeal. ‘Aunt and Uncle must have agreed to this…' She fell silent and leant against the dark oak-panelled wall with a chinking of chain.

Dressing for dinner had proved a grave disappointment to Amelia. Jamie had donned a smart dinner-jacket, complete with a white tie and white double-breasted waistcoat. However, for Amelia and Clara there was nothing but a fresh pair of stockings, clean knickers, and a new silk smock for each of them to wear.

‘I thought you said there was something special,' Amelia had muttered as she put the hateful outfit on once more.

‘Oh yes, of course.' Jamie smiled and produced from his jacket pockets a pair of sky-blue lacy garters and matching hair ribbons, and a similar set in pink. ‘Here.' He handed the blue set to Clara. ‘To match your lovely eyes.'

Amelia had fumed to see the silly girl's eyelashes flutter at the compliment. Then he had handed the pink set to her. ‘To match your bottom when I spank it later, Amelia, and your blushing cheeks.'

Amelia had very nearly mutinied again, but he had strolled over to the cane cupboard and she hurriedly pulled the garters on. Betsy had then put the cousins' hair in girlish bunches with the ribbons, as Amelia watched Jamie out of the corner of her eye. The young man had emerged from the cupboard with a handful of dark-brown leather straps.

‘What is taking them so long? We must have been here for over an hour.' Amelia shifted from foot to foot. The pressure in her bladder was starting to become acute. She was also increasingly uncomfortable. Jamie had strapped the girls' wrists behind their backs. Each wrist was secured to the opposite arm by a second strap, buckled just above the elbow, so that their arms were bound across the small of their back. This left their befrilled bottoms available and impossible to protect. Collars had followed, and chain leashes attached to these.

‘Now, listen carefully, my pets.' Jamie had taken the leashes from Betsy and smiled at his captive's amiably. ‘There are a lot of stairs and, without your hands available to save you if you fall, I want you to be very careful and try to trot along in step.'

Amelia had had just enough time to add this outrage to the catalogue she intended to bring to her aunt and uncle's attention before he had set off. After that, she had had to concentrate. There was no real reason why they should trip, though the heels on their white button-boots were certainly perilously high. However, the feeling of having no recourse to her arms, usually taken for granted, made her feel dreadfully insecure.

When they had finally got to the dining room Amelia had taken a deep breath, ready to present her long list of complaints. But to her utter fury, Jamie had produced a padlock and secured the leashes to an iron ring set into the wall by the dining room door. He had then kissed Clara on the forehead and told them to wait.

‘I suppose they are having their dinner,' Clara mused, belatedly answering her cousin's last question.

Amelia glared at her. The position of her arms had tautened the thin silk over her breasts, and her pretty nipples were sticking out. The bunches made her look even sweeter and more vulnerable than usual. Amelia shook her head. ‘And what about us,' she demanded, ‘what about our dinner?'

‘Oh Amelia,' Clara said softly, ‘I – I don't think we are allowed to eat with… with… them.'

‘Them? And who are they?' Amelia demanded furiously as the blonde girl quailed, her chain leash clinking as she cringed away. ‘The adults? The quality?' Amelia spat the words, pulling herself to her full height and standing as erect and proudly as her bondage and shaming outfit would allow. ‘I am an adult. I am nineteen and I am a baronet… I… I… I—'

‘Of course you are Amelia, my sweet,' the Marchioness of Hatherby's husky, amused voice put in.

‘Oh, Aunt Alicia.' Amelia was a little taken aback at Lady Alicia's abrupt appearance. Her ladyship was looking particularly resplendent in a mauve silk evening gown trimmed with cascades of white lace. Long mauve satin gloves complemented the dress, and her raven tresses were coiffed into an elegant arrangement. She smiled fondly at the tethered girls.

‘And Clara, how lovely. My, how you have grown!'

‘Jamie, he – he,' Amelia spluttered, ‘he made us, he has dressed us like this, he – he chained us and left us here—'

Lady Alicia put a satin-covered finger to Amelia's lips. ‘I know, and I know what a trial it must be to a girl of your spirit. Never mind. Look, he has given me the key.'

The woman winked and held up the padlock key, and Amelia felt her heart lift. Lady Alicia released the lock and took the ends of the leashes in her elegant gloved hand.

‘Those men are having their cigars and port and—' she bestowed a radiant smile on the cousins ‘—no doubt discussing awful crudities.' She gave the leashes a firm tug and Amelia found herself stepping forward uncertainly. ‘So you two little darlings had best come along with me.'

Amelia and Clara followed their aunt into the splendid drawing room.

‘Aunt Alicia,' Amelia said as her aunt tugged them over to a comfortable chaise-longue.

‘Yes, my dear?' Lady Alicia paused and half turned with a questioning expression.

‘Do you think I – we – might have these awful straps and things removed? We've been trussed up like this for ages and it's ever so uncomfortable.'

To Amelia's distress, Alicia pursed her lips, as if considering this carefully. ‘Not just yet, Amelia, I think.'

Amelia's heart sank as her aunt sat on the chaise, still holding their leashes, and indicated that the girls should get down on their knees. She tried another tack, for her need was becoming urgent.

‘Please, Aunt, I – I really do need to be excused.'

‘To be excused?' Alicia arched an eyebrow enquiringly.

‘To go – I need to go.'

‘But to go where?' Alicia idly picked a dressage-whip from the chaise with her free hand.

‘To – to – to… I need to use the, the water-closet.'

‘Oh!' Lady Alicia put the tip of the crop beneath Amelia's chin, lifted it and beamed. ‘You need to go and do pee-pee! Silly girl, why on earth did you not say?'

‘I…' Amelia blushed, abashed by her aunt's evident amusement.

‘Did that beast Jamie not let you squat before had your bath?'

Now Amelia's cheeks turned crimson, and she knew Alicia was mocking her. Jamie had indeed offered her the use of a bucket in the nursery parlour before she had taken her bath. She had refused indignantly. Watching Clara tinkle into the bucket, frilly knickers around her ankles, as tears of pure embarrassment ran down the blonde girl's face, had not persuaded Amelia to change her mind. The nursery water-closet was kept locked now, and Jamie held the key, but she had told herself the chance was sure to come. If she absolutely had to, she had reasoned, she could even fill her bath a little more, once she got out of it. At least that would be in private. Unfortunately, Jamie's abrupt entrance had put paid to that particular scheme.

Amelia looked up at her aunt and pleaded with her eyes. The pressure in her bladder was getting worse all the time. For a long moment, she looked into her aunt's dark brown eyes and tried to fathom what the woman was thinking. At last, Lady Alicia leant forward and patted Amelia fondly on the cheek.

‘You know, you really should have gone when you had the chance,' she said, and once again her beautiful face broke into a dazzling smile.

‘I wonder what Hope Hall will be like?' Emma risked a shy smile at her companion as the carriage lumbered out of the reformatory gates.

Polly was seated opposite her. The interior of the coach was functional, even grim, with doors of black-painted iron, and the small windows were barred. However, the seats were of horse-hair and leather, and soft enough to mitigate the poor suspension over uneven ground. Emma was profoundly grateful for this, as the after-effects of her ‘farewell' still lingered on the tender skin of her rear.

‘At least we are quit of that place.' Polly gestured with her free hand in the direction from which the coach had come. ‘You'll be all right, I expect.' The big girl gave Emma a wan smile.

‘I'm sure you will be, too,' Emma said reassuringly.

The coach hit a rut and lurched violently, throwing both girls about on their seats. Only the handcuff, which manacled Emma's left hand to a bar set by the carriage door, prevented her from being thrown to the floor. She rubbed her wrist ruefully, for the violence of the motion had caused it to chafe against the iron bond. She looked at Polly, who had her own left wrist secured to the opposite door.

‘I'm not so sure,' Polly said quietly. ‘They obviously mean to make you a lady's-maid, eventually, but I think that the Marquis had special plans for me.'

‘Oh.' Emma smiled encouragingly, although what she had overheard in the reformatory courtyard concerning her fellow passenger had puzzled her. ‘Never mind, your job might be even better.' Polly showed no sign of cheering up, so Emma decided it might be best to change the subject. She looked around the prison carriage again.