“Mother’s being horrible. She’s a beastly old fan. Look, Miss Durrant, you won’t really do it, will you? I mean, you’re not really going to cane my bottom, are you?”
“The thought has crossed my mind, dear.”
“But I can’t move. Not the way you’ve got me fixed in this damned contraption. If you whip my bottom now, it will be damned unsporting.”
“But most effective?”
“How would I know!”
“Are you quite sure you’ve never been in this situation before, Paula? You seem to be much aware of possibilities?”
“That’s none of your business, Miss Durrant. If you put me in the horrible thing to whip me, you may as well let me out right now. If you don’t, I shall go straight to the police.”
“And how will you do that, dear?”
Poor Crombie burst into tears, tears of frustration, of humiliation, and above all tears of defeat. Between sobs she said, “I knew I never should have stuck my head in here. I knew you were going to do something awful...” Her tone became anxious. “How many cuts with the cane do I have to get?”
I loved her dearly, Undoubtedly this was not her first association with the cane. I went to the wall and chose a wicked yellow length to hold for Paula’s inspection and to inform. “I think you should kiss it, dear, in recognition of what it’s going to do to you.”
“Kiss that beastly thing! No way!”
“Kissing is a choice between ten and twenty, Paula, dear.”
Miss Paula Crombie kissed the cane. It was erotically stimulating to possess a girl’s naked body but not her head or hands. Miss Paula Crombie kicked dramatically as I striped the pretty little rump she weaved back and forth as best she could. There were the usual vocalisations but I guessed Paula was clenching her teeth so as to not give me the satisfaction of a scream. I intended only the British “Six of the Best,” and after the third had implanted its kiss, I walked around to see how the owner of a caned bottom was making out. Her sobbings paused long enough for her to say, “You needn’t think I’ll plead for mercy, you ... You...” Prudently she shut up.
It does not take long to implant six strokes of a cane upon a girl’s bottom. I comforted this wistful thought with reflection on the number of pretty bottoms still to be dealt with. When I had set aside the cane to step around and dry Paula’s tears and kiss her moist forehead, I inquired gently. “I suppose you understand why you’ve just been caned?”
“No. I don’t. I haven’t done a thing to deserve it since I came here. You haven’t given me a chance since I came here, locked up in that lousy cage.”
“Take a guess.”
“Oh, all right. I suppose it’s some introduction thing, an awful example of what will happen to me if I’m not a good girl.” She raised her head to stare. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely. I knew you were intelligent, dear. Now I’ll let you out and you can return to you companions.”
Poor, dear child. I still had one more shock in store. As she stood massaging her whipped bottom, I produced the handcuffs and dangled them suggestively. It did not register at first, but when it did her retort was predicable, “What do you aim to do with those things?”
“Lock them on your wrists, dear.”
“Like hell you will! Handcuffs are for criminals, not for girls ... Have you any idea who my father is!”
“It doesn’t matter who your father is, dear, your father sent you here. Remember? Give my your hands.”
Always I was to discover this the most potent motion of all. Each girl in her turn saw handcuffs as the ultimate degradation. The cane they understood, even the cage. But to have their wrists manacled in the manner of convicts and criminals portrayed on television was a humiliation beyond bearing. It amused me to record how long it took for the little dears to consider the consequences before sticking out a pair of paws for the bit of steel. This was the first time and I enjoyed ever moment before Paula disgustedly thrust her hands in my direction and looked on in fascinated wonder as I clicked the shinning steel cuffs around her wrists. When it was done and her hands were firmly linked, Paula Crombie held up joined wrists in pure disbelief in what she saw. I enjoyed the moment immensely but she did not. I suppose her first retort was obvious enough, “The girls will all laugh at me if you send me back like this, all naked and chained up. My bottom is marked up. Do you have to!”
I assured the little darling that indeed I did. I summoned her escort and sent her back to the cage as an illustration to approximately forty other girls of Rockley’s discipline. Gratefully I sat back in my chair and poured myself a drink from the bar behind my desk, I was trembling with lust It might be easy to say that if you have whipped one, you have whipped them all. Avoiding a repetitious account of maiden squeaks and pretty little bottoms scored in scarlet, I did not find this completely true. Each girl varied vastly in their approach to punishment. There were even those among them who wept bitter tears of guilt and repentance when being brought to my office for their initial interview. Then there were others who were aggressively determined not to yield an inch in their aristocratic prerogative of pleasure without pain. Among these was Lady Rose Cressey.
I ran into Rose during my second day of interviews, My aides and I had neatly polished a technique which sent every handcuffed girl back to the cage in shameless nakedness to recount her adventures to a breathless audience. Lady Rose stood before my desk as though confronted by a leper. Her opening of hostilities was instant, “You’re American, I know about you. You intend to cane my arse, and put me in handcuffs.” She took a deep breath. “Look, can’t we make a deal?”
“What do you suggest?” I was curious.
“I’m sure you’re a lesbian. How’d it be you keep me for your private girl without benefit of cane or any of that other rubbish?”
“Suppose I double your penalties for such insolence?” It hit her hard. She had been assured and certain of results. Eagerly she offered, “Would you like me to undress? I have the loveliest body and you’re already looking at my lips. Please, Miss Durrant, don’t send me back to that cage.”
I might have been touched had it not been obvious I was being manipulated. However, I might as well avail myself of the opportunity rather than call in Constance and Betty. I agreed. “Very well, dear, take off your clothes. Let me see what you have to offer.”
A few moments later I was looking at quite exceptional nakedness. Rose was a beauty by any standard but was not a Lady. I dropped her title to cynically inquire, “My dear young woman, since you have everything figured out. Tell me what comes now?”
“You whip me, of course, Or is it just the cane?”
“Which do you prefer?”
I knew I was playing her game but I was curious.
“I know about the cane and the games you lesbians play.” Her voice was mocking. “I’ve been whipped and made love in the forests of pussy curls...” Her voice became a sneer, “How do you want it?”
“That’s the classic line of whores.”
“So, okay, I’m a whore.” Lady Rose struck a pose, a very sexy and flattering pose. “Why don’t you take your clothes off, Diane? That is your name, isn’t it?”
“You’re being impudent,” I said severely. “What do you expect to happen to you here at Rockley?”
“Kissing your cunt, is there anything else!”
“You spoke of being whipped?”
“Oh, sure, that goes along with the scene. Whip me, I won’t howl any louder than the other girls.” Her attitude became sly, “I’d love to whip you, too. Would you like that?”
It was evident Lady Rose was a handful. Considering those waiting my attention down in the cage, I had no time to waste. I went to the pillory and raised its yoke. Before she placed her neck and hands where they belonged, this brash young woman of nineteen kissed me hard as though to emphasize the offers she had made. Then, quite passively, placed her neck in the wood and thrust her wrists to where I could lock them tight. For very sure no girl beneath my command could be allowed the initiative. Beneath watching eyes I selected a suitable whip.