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.