Golden Wrists

1 Mistress On a Chair

The manner of my coming is guesswork, I suspect I was drugged and wafted across the Atlantic as cargo. I may never see New York again.

In the first two days of my imprisonment, I lost the two companions who’s fate had been similar to mine. I mourned their passing and yearned for Ivory Blake with a terrible hunger of the heart. Ivory had become the core and center of my life but now was gone. I returned to the island of Plessious, along with the sweet but omnipotent Naomi Samis. They are gone, gone, gone. And I am here alone in the stone prison with its central column to which my neck is chained.

An iron collar is locked upon my throat. From it the chain to the stone column allows me to pace back and forth, a good deal of freedom but not enough to do me any good. I constantly plead for its removal but am only laughed at by those who attend my needs. Sometimes when no one sees. I shed my tears in the bitterness of defeat.

I was cruelly whipped on arrival, my introduction to the ancient house named Rockley. I was then sentenced to the condition in which I now am, for seven days, only four of which have gone. At the end of it I am to be whipped again. How wonderful is the omnipotence of this man I know as Andrew Everleigh.

He visits me each day and I have no choice but to stand naked beneath his venerable regard as we discuss the affairs of The Estate, and the disposition of my body. Andrew Everleigh may be old but he is very shrewd.

“That young upstart, Hugo Markham, will be missing you,” the man who holds me prisoner remarked. “He’d best give up his claim and with you gone, I expect he will.”

His regard of my nakedness, which never had been carnal, made me think he was faintly aware of me as a human being. “You’ve only three days to go before being whipped again. How do you feel about it?”

“It’s medieval, I can’t believe it will happen.”

“It will happen. Do you think the first one did you any good?” That’s a question I’ve asked myself again and again in my loneliness. Being whipped so terribly made me humble in a way to cause me shame. It is, of course, nothing more than a demonstration of how a man’s will and a man’s strength can rob a girl of pride and self-esteem. I had not previously concerned myself with breasts and pubes, but I’m now frighteningly aware of these female sexual attributes. I do not want to be hurt again, the pain is beyond bearing. I hear my voice and am mortified a thousand-fold. “I don’t want to be whipped again. Please, is there not something I can do or say? I am now obedient.”

Andrew Everleigh nodded absently as if my pleading might be taken for granted. “As you have been, Diane, you are too big for the role you have to play. Whipping will diminish you and make you submissive to my needs. Can you understand?”

“I will be obedient to you now. Please don’t have me whipped again.”

He goes away and I sink down upon the stone to lean whipped skin back against the pillar which holds my neck by a chain.

The next day was one more step towards a destination I could not see. Fingering the iron band around my neck, I once more stood before a male gaze in which there was neither lust nor an awareness of my breasts, Andrew Everleigh continued where he had left off the day before, “You are aware of the seven days you must serve, my girl,” he said as a preamble, “After that there will be an eighth day and a ninth. What say you then?”

“After you’ve whipped me again I thought you would set me free.”

His ascetic smile comes through thin lips. “You engage in wishful thinking, girl. But that is to be expected. I’ll not be sending you back to that plush New York office and those pampered clients. You are going to serve me here at Rockley instead.”

“As a naked slave? Is that what you want of me?” Andrew Everleigh does not answer, Instead he repeats the dry chuckled I can’t interrupt. He goes away. The door slams shut. I was alone with stone walls and a chain.

I ask of my jailers. I am sure they know something but they do not speak. They are polite with their Miss Durrant this and Miss Durrant that. I can tell from the way they look at me I have much to learn. They get pleasure from examining my nudity, perhaps planning where their whip or cane will cut in that time when I would scream again.

My lonely imprisonment would drag were it not for knowing what will be done to me on the seventh day. And the seventh day approached with a speed to make me shiver. I told Andrew Everleigh that he has already reduced me to a naked nothing, but with this he does not agree. He asked me slyly if I would have preferred to stay with Naomi in the whorehouse cage without his ransom. Casually he mentions the sum of money he paid for my release. I am appalled and envision myself being whipped forever to compensate him for so huge a sum. Everything said and done to me here points to my jailer’s whips as the only valid currency I have left.

Instinct and my lawyer’s training tells me of hope. Andrew Everleigh probably sees the second whipping as cutting me down to size, but if it is no more than that, there lays behind it a purpose, Andrew Everleigh will demand a service from the chained and naked woman he will make grovel at his feet. This pathetic hope is all I have in my impotence.

I hope I appear more courageous than I feel as the last day comes. No one mentions what would be done to me tomorrow but it hangs heavy over me. Even the old man who holds me captive does not speak of it. I shiver constantly but not with cold.

It will be done to me in Rockley’s great Hall, a frightening vastness of space in which I will stand alone beneath the cynical eyes of centuries of ghosts, Goodness knows what the immensity of stone may once have seen. Today it will behold a naked Miss Diane Durrant unkindly whipped at the orders of a man who, a month ago, I did not even know.

The collar I had worn for seven days is unlocked and taken from my neck. One of my jailers, Constance, assures me that everything will be okay and I’ll be all right but I don’t believe a word of it. I am led downstairs.

The stark immensity of it is awesome even if I were clothed. Naked, it diminishes me to a frightened little girl who’s pleas for forgiveness and mercy have echoed uselessly against the stone. Encouragingly, Constance and Betty tell me that I am to be made ready for the grand event but will have to wait a while for it to happen. Silently I reflect that if they think making me wait to be whipped is a kindness, they’re crazy.

The stop is shockingly dead center. From above hang the two ropes whose purpose I can guess. The wristlets are buckled tight, each with it’s metal ring. There is a heavy crate on which I am told to stand. There is room for Constance, too, as she raises my arms one at a time to the ropes she gathers from beyond arms length. When I step back upon the floor I am neither suspended or stretched as I had supposed but simply stand with hands and arms held high and far apart. As the crate is carried away I realize I have been fastened in a manner to allow me to jerks and twist and kick to my heart’s content as leather marks my skin. My two jailers now strew upon the stone floor a fine array of whips and canes and crops. They say nothing and, indeed, what need is there for words. Once more they tell me not to worry. They go away and leave me there to stand.

I am ten times more naked than I have ever been. The great hall has that effect. I see among the whips there is a gag and know I will scream.

I wonder if there is watcher in the wings but do not care. I manage to spend some time in an exploration of what the ropes permit. They prevent me leaving the stone on which I stand but allow a twisting of arms and legs, and a reaching with my hands to the wristlets and the heavy snaps anchoring their rings. It is quite hopeless, I cannot get my hands anywhere near each other even though I can tease myself by motions meaning nothing.

The voice of Andrew Everleigh sounds one more alarm as he circles the nakedness he appears to own, “I suppose you know you have a magnificent figure. Miss Durrant?”

It catches me off guard. I blush and hate myself for allowing this man to see pink cheeks and disarray. “It’s a pity you can’t enjoy it.” I clothed the words in frost.

“I have an artistic appreciation. I do not drool. You are exquisitely fastened.”

“You intend to be present when I’m whipped?”

“No. I would find no pleasure in such sport. Constance and Betty will deal with you. Afterwards we’ll talk.”

I twisted as I was meant to do against the tethers on my wrists.

“Can’t we talk now?”

“We could, but we won’t. I prefer the aftermath”

“You want me broken and in tears, is that it?”

Andrew Everleigh shrugged. “I expect you read that line in a novel. By the way, in case you’re interested, I’ve disbanded your office in New York, and after you’ve received the pain I’ve prescribed for your ill temper, I’ll offer you a position in my service.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “Executive rank, what else!”

Once more I was alone. It was a long time before my jailers returned to chose their whip.

I find myself not wanting to talk of this second whipping at Rockley. Pain is a bore and best ignored. I was relieved of the shame of screams by the offered gag which I opened my mouth for eagerly even though the strap and buckle hurt my lips and cheek For me a gag was merciful.

I was whipped with great competence and shrewd female knowledge of where it hurt the most. Constance gently informed my breasts were not required to kiss the thong. It was the master’s orders.

When a girl like me is whipped, she goes into another world. Maybe some other girl could have stood passively and accepted the pain, but I could not. It seemed a pity my audience was restricted to the two women who bestowed my pain for I put on quite a show of leaps and twists and turns and kicks at nothing. In an abstract way I knew what I was doing but could have cared less for I was encompassed by the anguish by which I would be made eligible to discuss my future with the man who held it in the palm of his hand, the man who had purchased me.

I had a great need to scream as the leather and cane cut but was ridiculously grateful the vocal expression of my anguish was limited to the disgusting small sounds vouchsafed by the gag. When Constance and Betty were done with me, I was unconscious but hung in limp desolation from tethered wrists, glistening with sweat and moaning my way back into the world. They left the gag sealing my lips and went away.

The aftermath is wonderful, knowing the punishment is passed and release awaits somewhere up ahead. A girl does not struggle any more but accepts the status quo in gratitude. Hours later the man I had come to think of as ‘Uncle Andrew’ came to view his broken woman. I stiffened myself for what must now transpire but had the nerve to ask if he was satisfied with his ‘broken woman.’

“You’re not a broken woman, Miss Durrant, I never intended to have you broken, I want you intact. And you and I can view what has just happened as simple guidance.”

“It hurt me terribly. It’s still hurting.”

“Good. That is what I intended. I trust you approved of the gag?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Then may we advance to the next order of business?”

“I suppose so but I’d be a lot more receptive if I weren’t standing naked with my arms up in the air. Must you keep me like this?”

“Yes. I will give you rank but you will be always subject to my will. If I want you to stand on your head, you’ll do it.”

Wearily, I threw away my pride to say, “Very well. I’m defeated. What are the terms?”

Andrew Everleigh was slow in answering. As I hung without caring, listless against the ropes. I cared little for what he might propose. All I wanted was to get back to New York and pick up my life. But the way this man had me fixed it was pretty much like wanting the moon and the stars. I was still getting shivering spells from being whipped and was certain I was an unattractive sight for any male eye. Slowly I became aware of Andrew Everleigh’s scrutiny, seeing my woman’s nakedness for the first time for what it truly was. Having me whipped filled some egocentric purpose in his mind, no doubt a prelude to the incredible proposition he now offered.

Andrew Everleigh was not a beneficiary of The Estate but the whole damned family must have been money makers because I knew him to be wealthy in his own right. I suppose if you have enough money almost anything seems possible. As he spoke I found myself tensing to stand erect and once more take up the instinctive play of my wrists against their fastenings.

“Constance and Betty gave me this idea, Miss Durrant. I don’t suppose it’s one I would have thought up myself.” He paused, his eyes riveted on my pubic hair, which I felt positive he was not even seeing. He then struck off at a tangent, “I took a fancy to young Ivory - damned nice girl. Nothing like the little bitches of her age you meet these days.” He raised his fierce old eyes to mine. “Are you getting my drift?”

I hadn’t the faintest idea what he was driving at. All I wanted was to get my hands back and cover myself. But you don’t say quiet when Andrew Everleigh asks a question. Politely I asked, “Not really, but please continue.”

“I know a lot of people, and a lot of them have daughters. But I don’t know a single one where the girl isn’t a trial and tribulation to her family.” His focus was now on my breasts but he wasn’t seeing them, either. “I’ve got this great, big old house which I scarcely use so I’m turning Rockley into a place of training for the delinquent daughters of the rich. You’ve seen the headlines in the papers:

“‘Daughter of Duke’s Family Found in Bed with Butler!’” He snorted. “Or maybe the damned girl gets arrested when some lousy club in Soho gets raided. Or when she pilfers a scarf from a store because shoplifting is popular among our kids. Rockley is going to be a school for the little dears. Discipline and detention is what it’s really about. Do I interest you?”

“I’m sure it would never be issued a permit.”

“The law won’t have a thing to say about it. These people are rich or titled or both. What they do with their daughters the law couldn’t care less about. And won’t even know.” Once more he fixed me with a steely eye. “How’d you like to run the place?”

“It doesn’t sound like my cup of tea.”

“You’d be the Headmistress, or Mother Superior, or whatever other title you dream up. Constance and Betty will take their orders from you, so you’ll possess total authority. I’ll pay you more money than you’d ever make out of that lousy law practice in New York.”

“But you can’t possibly show a profit from a business like that!”

“Who said anything about profit? And I’m not sure you’re right about that. There’s fifty of these little tricks who’s parents can’t wait to ship them away. Don’t worry about the money”

“Sounds crazy to me. What will you do to me if I refuse?”

“You’ll go back to the room upstairs and sit on the floor with a collar and chain on your neck. No whip, no nothing, except a lot of time to think.”

He was a shrewd old bird and knew damned well that sitting chained in that horrible prison would drive me up the wall. Suddenly I found myself examining the prospect of more or less possessing fifty young women, who would have to do whatever I told them to. Fifty pert young bottom, one hundred youthful breasts, and fifty pussies! Uncle Andrew discerned my interest. “You’re something of a bitch yourself, Miss Durrant, you’re made to order for the job. Don’t tell me you’re going to quibble?”

Quibbling seemed less and less sensible. I was still bound and naked and would quite probably be whipped again if I said the wrong word. On top of this, there was also the prison upstairs with its pillar and its chain. Conceding the disadvantages of my situation, I was finding Uncle Andrew’s proposition more and more attractive, It was utterly bizarre and could only happen with a man like him. He had the facilities in Rockley and the money to make it happen.

“You mean I get to wear clothes and won’t be chained?” I asked doubtfully.

“That’s right, Miss Durrant, and if you’re considering the possibility of running away and returning to that city you so adore. I must remind you of the ease with which you may be apprehended and returned here for a punishment you’ll remember all your life. Surely I don’t have to tell you of the ease of kidnappings?”

The old bastard, he’d do it too! New York faded to be replaced in my visions by fifty young damsels I could personally whip into obedience, respect, and goodness knows what else! Grudgingly, I conceded. “I don’t have much choice, do I! Okay, I’ll say yes.”

I got the brief of nods before Andrew Everleigh turned to leave.

Feeling cheated of detail and longing for release, I demanded loudly, “Aren’t you going to set me free?”

Uncle Andrew turned to retrace a couple of steps. The tone of his voice left me in no doubt of where I was at. “You have been demanding and disrespectful, Miss Durrant. Constance will attend you with cane and whip.” He turned again towards the door and I knew unhappily that next time I would treat the Master of Rockley with all possible respect.

I went crazy and almost wrenched my arms from the sockets as I tugged and heaved against the leather wristlets and ropes. It was quite useless and by the time Constance arrived I was close to tears.

“I’m sorry about this, Miss Durrant,” she said with seeming sincerity. “I have orders to whip you again ... I had hoped we were through.”

I was frantic at the thought of going through all that agony again.

I made a mistake. “Please don’t whip me, Constance.” I pleaded like a child. “In fact, don’t whip me at all. I’ve got so many marks on me now, Mr. Everleigh will never know the difference if we don’t tell him.”

“I will tell him of this thought, Miss Durrant. He said you would undoubtedly make this suggestion. It earns you an extra infliction of five across each breast.”

“What!” I almost scream in dismay. “You mustn’t whip my breasts. He didn’t tell you to whip my breasts, did he?”

“I fear so, Miss Durrant. With the extra you have just earned, they are now to received ten strokes each. I really am terribly sorry.”

“Damn your sorry, it’s me who has to feel sorry.” I absolutely forbid you to whip any part of me. I absolutely forbid you to use any of those beastly instruments to mark me up any more than I am now. And, certainly not upon my breasts! Not my breasts!”

It was as though I had not said a word. Miss Constance’s voice sought to be soothing, “Mr. Everleigh insists upon your breasts. Miss Durrant. And he instructed me to have you spread your legs apart so I might pay attention to that area. I will begin now, Please feel free to scream.”

The women who was to whip me had no need to order me to open my thighs. In my leaping and contortions against agony I served her purpose all too well, and she used my movements to score several good hits on my so tender part. I could not hold my legs together, the pain when the thong stuck my ass or breasts was just too great. Each fresh blow set me jerking against the straps upon my wrists. As my breasts were cut again and again, even without blood. I vowed I would never cross Andrew Everleigh’s will again. Somewhere along the way Constance paused for breath to ask sweetly, “Have you a message for The Master?”

“Tell him I will obey. I will obey every word.” I rushed out the words as I heaved with pain.

“I will deliver your message. Miss Durrant. I now continue.”

It went on and on. Perhaps the leather thongs invading the privacy of my sex or impacting across the softness of my breasts were not as hard as that which had marked my back but the pain generated by them was certainly as great or more so. As far as I was concerned, this punishment was worse than the one administered so short a time before. When Constance was satisfied she had done her duty, she freed my wrists, patted my bare bottom with the assurance that all was going to be all right, then went upon her way.

I wept in a desolation of lonely pain. I cared for nothing any more except the terrible sensations recorded by my flesh. I lay upon the floor in naked misery until I heard the voice of the man I must now call Master.

“I am glad to see you a free woman. Miss Durrant. Miss Constance is an artist, is she not?”

“Am I really free? Is it all over?”

“Indeed, yes, but I expect acknowledgment.”

“I will obey you. I will do anything you wish. I will go to bed with you, should it give you pleasure.”

“Thirty years ago perhaps ... Not now.”

Male gaze prompted me to sit up and dry my tears. I was wonderful to have hands. In an excess of submission I mumbled. “Thank you for having me whipped, Mr. Everleigh. I’m sorry I deserved it and I’ll try never to deserve it again.”

“I’m sure you will, my dear. Let us put the past behind us, and, if you feel up to it. I will escort you to your new office. Come, take my arm.”

Rags to riches! All in the time it took to whip my breasts!

Leaning heavily upon male support I became aware I was enveloping us both in an aura of female musk and my own personal scent of sweat. I simply did not care.

Strength flowed from Andrew Everleigh in wave after wave to make me wonder if he had an erection or would use it if he had. I was thankful not to be addicted to male erections, they mess up a girl’s body and a girl’s life. Trying not to talk, I allowed myself to be led into a new dimension.

It was a beautiful office, totally modern except for the ivy view from the large windows. Everything in the room bespoke a comfortable authority. The desk with it’s chairs must have cost a fortune, and around the walls were heavy iron rings, perhaps as hint of possibilities. Hanging upon one wall was an array of whips and crops and canes to set my heart to thudding in forgetfulness that these things could be used upon me, too. Undoubtedly it was a sanctum to daunt a teenage heart.

“You are a headmistress, Miss Durrant. Try your executive chair.” I winced on contact, feeling my nakedness against the leather.

Cautiously I suggested. “This is a place of punishment. Are we to be concerned with the academic?”

“Not at first. Perhaps later we will introduce classes as required. The first thing the little hellions need upon arrival is the whip, the pillory, or the stocks. I will rely upon your ingenuity for other things.”

“But they’re little more than children.”

“That is not the case. A girl has to be well advanced into her teens before she demonstrates the qualities which bring her here to Rockley. Judging by inquires I’ve received, I think you may expect a few inmates beyond the age of twenty. Lady Mord Carryton, who is known to her associates as “Tuppy”, is twenty-five. Her parents giving us carte blanche over the correction of her faults.” Uncle Andrew cocked a sly eyebrow. “I suspect you will enjoy your new position, Miss Durrant.”

“Can I... I mean ... Am I allowed to remove their clothes?”

“If you wish, You’ll probably find it convenient to strip them naked for their punishments. But for the rest of the time you may suit yourself. Keep the whole clutter of little hellions permanently nude if you so desire.”

For a few moments I forgot my own nudity in mental contemplation of the small army of damsels I must soon distress. By the time Uncle Andrew escorted me to my own personal suite, and announced his need to hurry back to town, I was in a dither of outrageous excitement. His last act was medieval.

“You will kneel here and now and make you vows to me, young woman. Say what you wish but say it well.”

Before I had been whipped the second time I would have retorted with anger at his suggestion. But now my knees hit the carpet with a thud and I heard, “I will obey you. Master. I recognize your authority and my own dependence, I will not run away. I am not so foolish as to believe you could not recapture me. I will perform the task for which I am employed and I will do it well, Whip me if I fail.”

Uncle Andrew went upon his way and I realized he had faith in my ability to perform the bizarre service of his desire. When he was gone I quickly considered the means by which I might make good my escape but discarded them all in the realization I would be running from my heart’s desire. I had owned darling Ivory and had exerted authority upon Ava and Wilma Wright. But never anything like this! Suddenly I was on Uncle Andrew’s side.

As a test of authority, I summoned Constance and Bullock to the lovely office. I quite forgot I was naked but sat in my executive chair as if I had all my life. I motioned to them to sit down so I might explore the measure of my new authority. I was well aware they could easily overpower me and return me to the tower room and the collar and chain. But if it was in the cards, it was best I know.

They were mature and sensible women who knew a good thing when they had it. At the end of our conversation I felt several inches taller, I went upstairs to dress with an easy mind. For reasons of his own, Uncle Andrew had opened the door to my heart’s desire. Suddenly I knew happiness.

The frictioning of my whip marks became pleasurable on my second day. And it was then the influx of maidens began. The Rolls Royces and the Bentleys drew up to the door and the front steps of the great house with a discrete silence and unloaded their frightened cargo, one after another in a stream sufficient to keep Constance and Bullock busy. After a while I intruded my own presence upon the scene to pick up what I learned were the standard protests.

“Look, I don’t care what you do or say, I’m not going up those steps or in that door.” Or, “I’ll bet you this place is some sort of lousy school. Look, Mother, I want to go home with you! Please!” Or, more strongly, “I’m not going to stay in this place, no matter what you say about it! I’ll go to the nearest village and get on the first bus, You can’t possibly expect me to stay in such a place.”

Constance and Bullock were marvelous, enfolding each protester in arms both protective and authoritarian. It was rather like the collection of some rare pieces which were quickly popped into a cage to be examined and cataloged at a later time. Little did those girls know what they were getting into!

By this time I was involved. Had someone offered me a free ticket to New York, I would have not taken it. It appeared that Rockley possessed a considerable area referred to vaguely as ‘downstairs.’ And Constance and Bullock conferred with me as to the possibility of confining our dewy eyed delinquents singly in cells or as a group in one large cage, a facility already prepared. For the first time I used my executive chair and the lovely new office to hold a conference with these two woman.

“We have a dormitory ready and waiting,” said Bullock thoughtfully. “Each cot is equipped with a chair by which a collar, a wristlet or anklet, will make sure the girl does not stray. But for the first night I favor discomfort on the floor.”

“We can’t have them getting morbid on us,” agreed Constance.

“Leave them in the cage this first night. But there is also a compromise in the collars and chains already attached to the walls so the young woman will not be entirely alone.”

“When they are ready for a second shock, we’ll remove their clothes. Since they will be frequently punished, it is impractical to have them covered.”

“In your own role, Miss Durrant, we think you should maintain an isolated authority for the girls to fear,” Constance smiled warmly. “We will bring delinquents to you for sentencing, and perhaps for punishment if you should so wish. If they do not see too much of you, they will respect your authority with a proper sense of awe.”

“You must do exactly as you wish, Miss Durrant, but Constance and I have discussed the approach to punishment and decided that something old-fashioned and totally without dignity will be the best approach. These young trollops have been utterly spoiled and see themselves as colorful figures in a colorful world of night clubs, bars, and private parties. For them to bare their bottoms for the cane will be devastating.” It was unreal. The three of us sat comfortably discussing a group of girls I had not yet seen but whom we were holding prisoners. I shuddered to think of defending such an outrage in a court of law, but my whip marked skin had generated a faith in Uncle Andrew and his knowledge of blue blooded omnipotence. I still adored Ivory, but when I thought what I could do with fifty rebellious little tricks, my heart thudded so loud I could almost hear it. Not until that moment had I realized I was still naked. My two aides had a knack for failing to see the whip marks on my skin, or the skin itself. But it would never do for the head mistress to be seen by her pupils in such a state. I terminated our discussion and went to my apartment to make myself respectable.

Rockley had a considerable staff, and all of these servants shared the same gift of discretely failing to see whatever might embarrass the power who signed their checks. After only partly exploring the sights and delights of my private apartment, I was accosted in the passage by a tearful housemaid who followed me to my office, radiating sniffles.

“My name’s Amy, Ma’am. And it’s that there, Mary, the upper house maid, who keeps picking on me. Treats me something awful, she does,” Amy viewed me with tearful eyes.

“Can’t you cope with being picked on? It’s a fact of life.”

“Not with her, I can’t, Miss. I does my work real proper but she’s always finding fault.”

I pressed the appropriate button. When Mary appeared, she turned out to be one of those appalling English types who effect a superiority, based on nothing more than their desire to improve their social status. I sensed sport.

The dialogue was deplorable and Amy and Mary soon displayed themselves as belonging to what the English call ‘the working class.’ Both got flushed and abusive in their exchange of accusations which I soon realized arose out of nothing but the boredom of domestic labor. I put an end to it with swift decision.

“You are both being ridiculous. You will accept from me six of the best on your bare bottom, or you may seek other employment.”

It was instant shock. Amy stopped sniffing, and Mary clearly saw me as a traitor to a social strata she could not reach. I knew they were scared of my American voice and stared at each other and me in pure dismay.

“Six... On my bare skin... With a cane!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“That ain’t done over here, Miss Durrant,” Amy provided. “Put a stop to it in the schools, they did. Them headmasters were caning girls real bad.”

“This is not a school. I have given you a choice.” I had to admit Mary showed a touch of class. Without argument she went to the magnificent display on the far wall and selected a yellow cane, beautifully polished. The sight of it made my heart sing with joy. I accepted the awful instrument in regal composure, and said grandly, “I am sure you know what to do.”

Mary knew! In swift motions she pushed her panties down to her knees, leaned well forward and flipped her skirt up above her hips to reveal a pair of smooth curves upon which I swished the cane with all the vigor I could, Amy said a devout, “Oh, wow!” while Mary straightened up to rub feverishly and make a small, choked cry before resuming her bent over pose. I slashed again and was gladdened to see two thin lines forming scarlet stripes.

Mary took her six remarkable well. I told her to stay and watch Amy get hers. But by this time Amy was quite disorganized and dissolved into tears and assurances that she could not possibly stand the cane. By this time Mary had pulled up her panties and smoothed down her skirt. I suggested casually that perhaps Amy might appreciate my holding her in position while Mary inflicted the punishment. Once more there was pregnant silence before the sniffling housemaid repeated the humiliating performance Mary had carried off so well. The six strokes were applied by constant threats to enlist Mary’s aid, which apparently Amy did not want. I gave her my very best.

When the job was done, I sent away a remarkably respectful pair of women. When they were gone, I sat back in my executive chair and let my heart slow down and recalled the two youthful bottoms I had ruthlessly slashed. I thought of Uncle Andrew with deep gratitude.

As I sat there in my chair, reviewing past pleasures and future delights, I had to remind myself that in some ways I was as much a prisoner in Rockley as the girls downstairs. I could not fathom Andrew Everleigh or any of his motives, particularly in regard to myself. It could have been chance or design by which I gained the strange power in this prison for girls. I tucked away in the corner of my mind the thought of walking out of this ancient house and going back to New York to pick up the pieces of my life. And give Hugo Markham a piece of my mind for his bungling. Hugo had made such a mess of things that, had it not been for Andrew Everleigh, I would not have been a stripped naked whore inside a cage of iron bars, a female body to be rented by the hour. Or to be bid for in the auctions.

I had to wonder if Everleigh’s power was such as to kidnap and bring me back to Rockley should I run. I could well imagine it was something he could do. And I knew myself well enough to realize some perverse compulsion might one day drive me to make the dash for freedom. For me, Rockley was a prison without bars. I could well imagine my spurious freedom getting me into trouble. I shivered at the thought and realized Rockley and its owner were causing me to shiver far too often. I decided to go downstairs.

The cage was not really a cage at all but a huge stone chamber enclosed on three sides by granite and the full width of the other side encompassed by iron bars and a barred door. As yet only about half of the final total of maidens had been delivered, and these were dwarfed by the space in which they were confined. Mostly they stood in small groups arguing, while two or three hopefuls clutched the bars. They were all still very much haughty young rich bitches, which was the reason most of them were here.

Upon seeing me, several of them came to the bars to demand freedom and protest the treatment of themselves. Intermixed were several threats of police action and promises of my soon being thrown into a state prison. I was also informed that their parents had certainly never expected the way they were being treated.

I ignored the protests. They were pert little canary birds singing in their cage. Most were arrogant and proud but a little afraid. I could see that in most eyes. And pure defiance in others. It made my heart glad to think of how much those girls were going to have to be ‘trained’ and punished.

Seeing that I was not about to reply to their protests, most faded off into silence. “Well, aren’t you going to do something!” came a firm and very haughty demand.

They were delightful and diverse. I stood drinking them in until I realized I should either speak or go away. I left them to their indignation and anger. I felt a bitch but I had felt a bitch with darling Ivory, with Ava and Wilma. The lord of Rockley had called me that, too. But Ivory had attracted me to distraction.

I slept that night alone.