Portrait of a Disciplinarian (13 page)

He broke off with a grunt, projecting a gout of come into the air just as Hermione adjusted her position, so
that
her lolling breasts caught the full force of his ejaculation. She gave a shriek as jets of sticky white fluid splashed over her plump globes and spattered her tummy. The third eruption caught her in one eye and across her nose. She dropped his cock but he snatched it up, to milk the last of his come over her already dripping breasts.

‘Filthy beast!’ she managed as her spunk-smeared features screwed up in utter disgust. ‘Why do you always have to do it in my face?’

‘Because you look so pretty like that,’ he told her, ‘and you get so delightfully petulant about it. I save up all week, you know, just to make sure I have plenty.’

‘Filthy beast,’ Hermione repeated as she accepted a handkerchief and began to wipe the mess from her face.

In the bushes, Stephanie’s knees were wide and her dress rucked up, one hand pushed into the slit of her union suit as she fiddled with her quim.

As she looked from her window in the Blue Room into the darkness of the Devon night, Stephanie was rapidly coming to appreciate the difference between plotting to steal a gigantic pig and actually doing so. She had not even started out, and already her heart was hammering. The hundred and one things that could go wrong were jostling for attention in her imagination, from the highly probable, such as being caught sneaking out by her Great-aunt Victoria, given a spanking and sent back to bed, to the highly improbable, such as being abducted by Elias Snell and sold into an Arabian harem. Nevertheless, she told herself, she was her father’s daughter and a Truscott. She would go on.

It had been a peculiar day. Hermione had been sulky the previous evening, and Stephanie had not dared admit to having peeped at her with Benjamin Porthwell, despite feeling both sympathy and curiosity. It had been the same the next day, although there had been little opportunity for talk. Claude Attwater had come to
collect
them in the morning, bringing with him two Brown Shorts uniforms. Both were rather large, so Stephanie had spent the subsequent initiation ceremony and rally terrified that her shorts would fall down at some crucial moment. She had also discovered for the first time in her life how it felt to have rotten eggs thrown at her, although she had managed to dodge skilfully enough that none hit her.

By a lucky chance they had run into Freddie Drake on the way home and, after a little artful flirting and a great deal of playing on his guilt, Stephanie managed to extract twenty pounds from him. They had then called in at Bridestowe Rectory, and after a few minutes of somewhat embarrassed conversation with the Reverend Wallace Tredegar managed to get Porker Porthwell alone. The money had changed hands in return for a neatly written betting slip accepting twenty pounds for the Emperor to win the fat pigs class at odds of ten to one.

They had returned home in time for tea, well pleased with themselves, and spent the late afternoon going over their plan for the evening until every detail was honed to perfection. At her grandfather’s insistence she had dressed for dinner, but she made the mistake of feeding Lord Salisbury a chop bone from her plate and ended up with her bare bottom flaunted to the room as she was given a brief but effective spanking by Great-aunt Victoria. Even now she felt a little tender behind, which kept her firmly in mind of what would happen to her if they were caught.

The Brown Shorts uniforms were in the huge wicker basket in which Mrs Catchpole and the maids collected items for the wash; that was just where Stephanie had told Vera to put them. The first step of the plan was to retrieve them and the last to put them back, thus establishing an alibi in the event of later accusations. So as she prepared to leave the Blue Room she was in nothing more than her nightie and shoes, which would
also
allow her to pretend, if she were caught going downstairs, that she had intended to raid the pantry.

Not that she had any intention of getting caught. Holding her door just ajar she waited and listened, then slipped out into the corridor and down the servants’ stairs. The lower storey of the house was absolutely dark, but numerous real pantry raids had taught her every obstacle on the way, except the soft, squashy thing she ran into as she reached the doorway of the scullery.

‘Stiffy!’ Hermione hissed as Stephanie stepped back with her heart pounding. ‘Watch where you’re going!’

‘Sorry, I didn’t see you,’ Stephanie whispered.

Hermione didn’t bother to answer, and together they moved on into the scullery. A trace of light from a crescent moon turned the familiar room into a confusing pattern of shadows, but they quickly located the basket. Finding their uniforms was harder, especially the socks, and when Stephanie had tugged the baggy brown shorts up around her hips they immediately fell down again.

‘I think you’ve got my shorts, H.,’ she whispered, then froze.

Somewhere in the house a door had been opened and closed again. Footsteps sounded in the passage above, and without waiting to risk discovery the girls scampered to the far end of the room, where a door let them out into the night. It was cool, and Stephanie found herself shivering slightly, but neither dared turn back. A light in one of the bathrooms had come on, and a female figure stood silhouetted against the curtains.

‘Aunt Lettice,’ Hermione said quietly, ‘but I don’t think she heard us.’

While they waited for the light to go out Stephanie tucked the waistband of her shorts into itself, securing them loosely on her hips. When the gurgle of water announced the completion of Aunt Lettice’s business they set off, first making for the outhouse where the
apples
were stored, then running light-footed across the lawn. Their eyes gradually adapted to the gloom. The lake was a puddle of liquid gunmetal beneath the black bulk of Burley Down, and the high wall just visible as a shadow among shadows. On the bridge Stephanie took her sister’s hand for comfort, and they stayed close together as they left the grounds.

Utter blackness returned as they entered the tree-shrouded track along the bottom of Burley Down, and Stephanie felt Hermione’s hand tighten on hers. A breeze had got up, rustling the leaves and filling her with fears she knew to be irrational to go with the very rational ones she already had, but she continued to put one determined foot in front of the other until they reached the main road. She heard the gentle chink of harness and caught the scents of horse and tobacco long before she saw the dray or the faint red glow of the drayman’s pipe.

‘Mr Snell?’ she enquired.

‘Who else do you think it might be?’ he asked, chuckling.

‘Not so loud, please,’ she urged.

‘Nobody to hear,’ he assured her, ‘not at this time of night. Now, how about you two have a little cuddle, and we’ll be getting to work.’

Stephanie had been trying very hard not to think of what he had demanded for his help, and even now that she could put it off no longer she found herself prevaricating.

‘All that would be better once we have the pig,’ she said quietly as she lowered the bag of apples into the dray, ‘and besides, what is the use of us … us touching each other if you are unable to see anything?’

‘I’ve a lantern that’ll show plenty.’

‘What if somebody else sees?’

‘We’ll charge ’em sixpence.’

‘This is no time for levity,’ Stephanie hissed. ‘Now, please, the pig first …’

‘Cunt first, pig second and cunt for afters,’ he insisted. ‘That’s what we agreed.’

‘We’d better do as he says, Stiffy,’ Hermione broke in. ‘After all, he could do anything he wanted with us, out here.’

‘I’m sure Mr Snell would not think of taking unfair advantage,’ Stephanie lied as her quim went suddenly tight.

‘Could be,’ he remarked, ‘and there’s no better way to make sure I don’t than to make sure I can’t.’

‘And we did agree,’ Hermione added, ‘so it wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable if he was cross and made us … made us surrender. And if he drives up the track a little and we go in the back of the dray we couldn’t possibly be seen.’

‘H.!’ Stephanie gasped. ‘Really, you … oh, very well, Mr Snell, but must you always make such an utter beast of yourself?’

With a chuckle he went to the head of his lead horse, whispering to her as he pulled gently on her bridle. Stephanie and Hermione stepped quickly out of the way as the big dray was turned, and followed as Lias led his team back up the track. Stephanie’s stomach was fluttering and there was a huge lump in her throat. She was barely able to take in what she was about to be made to do.

‘Climb up on the wheel,’ Lias suggested.

Too numb to fight any longer, Stephanie obeyed, raising her foot to a spoke only to have a huge hand cup her bottom and boost her up on to the side of the dray.

‘Whatever are you wearing?’ he asked. ‘Sackcloth?’

‘Shorts,’ Stephanie answered as she clambered into the dray.

‘Girls in shorts, whatever next?’ he remarked. ‘Still, I dare say shorts come down as easy as dresses come up. In you go, my love.’

He had boosted Hermione up as he spoke, but rather too hard, so that she lost her balance and tumbled in,
bringing
Stephanie down in a tangle of spread-eagled limbs.

‘Hang on there, wait until I can see,’ Lias demanded.

Holding back an answer with some difficulty, Stephanie untangled herself from her sister. The dray smelt of stale beer, and the rough wooden boards on which she was sat were distinctly sticky, except where a scattering of straw covered them. Lias climbed in, and when he opened the lantern a beam of dull yellow light revealed more straw, in bales. ‘Straw,’ he explained, ‘for the pig.’

‘How appropriate,’ Stephanie remarked as he sat down on the nearest bale.

He ignored her, turned the lantern so that the part of the dray where she and Hermione were sat was illuminated, then began to unfasten his trousers. Stephanie watched with a resigned expression as his fat brown cock was pulled out one more time, along with his balls, which he began to stroke.

‘Come along then, girls. No time like the present.’

‘What … what do you want us to do?’ Stephanie asked weakly.

‘Get out of those silly shorts, for a start,’ he replied. ‘You can keep the shirts on, but pull them up to show your titties.’

Hermione began to comply, but Lias shook his head.

‘No, no, not like that,’ he told them. ‘Do each other. You turn your bottom to me, Hermione, and you, Stephanie, you pull your sister’s shorts down, nice and slow.’

Hermione didn’t look too happy but did as she was told, much as she had for the Reverend Porthwell, sticking out her bottom to make a plump ball of flesh, the waistband of the shorts slack around her waist. It was an extraordinarily rude pose and was going to become a great deal ruder if Stephanie pulled the shorts down, but it was also tempting, offering her an opportunity both to avoid disgracing herself and to take a badly needed revenge.

‘Perhaps you’d like to watch me spank her?’ she suggested to Lias as she took hold of the waistband of Hermione’s shorts.

‘Hey!’ Hermione protested, twisting round, her shorts already half down, with such force that Stephanie was taken by surprise. Sprawled on her back in the sticky straw, she could only manage a squeak of alarm as her foot was grabbed and twisted, forcing her face down. An instant later Hermione was on her back, and Stephanie realised that her sister really was quite heavy.

‘I warned you!’ Hermione spat, and Stephanie’s shorts were hauled down, baring her bottom to the night and to the interested eyes of Elias Snell. ‘Now I’m going to do you!’

He was laughing, and laughed louder still as Stephanie’s shock gave way to consternation and she began to thump her fists on the wooden platform of the dray and kick her feet.

‘No!’ she squealed. ‘Not this! Not again! Hermione, please … I beg you, not a spanking, not in front of him!’

‘You were going to do me,’ Hermione answered, and planted a hard smack on her sister’s bottom.

Stephanie’s skin was cold and the slap stung, but her answering howl held far more of humiliation than of pain.

‘Shut up!’ Hermione ordered. ‘You wanted him to see a spanking, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but not mine!’ Stephanie wailed.

‘I suppose your bottom’s too precious for him to see?’ Hermione snapped back, and began to spank her sister’s wriggling bottom as hard as she could.

‘Ow!’ Stephanie squealed. ‘Not so hard! Ow! Ow! Ow!’

‘Will you shut up?’ Hermione demanded. ‘Somebody might hear you!’

‘Then stop spanking me, you horrid beast!’ Stephanie whined. ‘Ow! Hey, no … Hermione! N –’

Her protests turned to a weird gulping noise as one of the over-ripe apples from their bag was wedged firmly into her mouth, gagging her.

‘Now that is comic!’ Lias said with a laugh. ‘Just like a pig ready to be served up with apple sauce and roast tatties. Only difference is, she ain’t been stuffed!’

Stephanie twisted her head around to glare at him, but then her eyes widened as the spanking began once more. He’d been enjoying the show: his cock was rigid in his hand and he was wanking as he watched her bottom dance. She lost control, her fists drumming on the hard wooden boards, her feet waving wildly in the air, as the tears burst from her eyes. She was wriggling so desperately beneath her sister’s weight that she was providing the drayman with a thoroughly rude show of her open bottom slit and the rear of her quim as he masturbated over her. Only her pulled-down shorts prevented her spreading her legs and making a yet more blatant display.

‘There,’ Hermione said suddenly, ‘maybe that will teach you your lesson, Stephanie. Is that all right for you, Mr Snell?’

The spanking stopped. Lias Snell’s answer was an incoherent grunt. An instant later Stephanie felt something hot and wet splash over her burning rear cheeks, and her face screwed up in disgust as she realised she’d had her bottom spunked on. Again he grunted and a second ejaculation spattered her cheeks and thighs, then something hard yet fleshy pressed against her smacked flesh: his cock. Her disgust rose higher as he wiped his spunk over her bottom. She clamped her jaw and the apple in her mouth suddenly gave way, exploding in a mess of half-rotten pulp and pips over the floor and in her face, leaving her spitting out bits as Hermione finally lifted her weight off her.