Damsels in Distress (10 page)

Spotty, smirking, sandy-haired Horace Wittingstall, on the other hand, was exactly what she
had
imagined. She would have liked to box the loathsome little bounder round the ears.

‘I want the same arrangement as dear old pater, only not with his soft little play floggers,’ he declared. ‘I was thinking more of something like the cane,’ Farquar Salisbury said quietly but determinedly.

‘And,’ Virginia had gone pale and there was a tremor in her voice, ‘if I agree to this, you will give me the paper?’

‘The
confession
?’ he said. ‘Oh no, certainly not. No, I was not thinking in terms so much of a one off, as a regular arrangement.’

‘Are you completely mad, boy?’ Penelope demanded, shocked by the effrontery of the arrogant youth. ‘Have you considered what will happen to you if Mrs Chisholm calls the police?’

‘Oh yes,’ Farquar said, totally unruffled. ‘The confession was signed by an unknown governess, concerned not to lose her references and livelihood and the good name of her respectable, but frankly poor and obscure family. However, now she is a very respectable widow with a position in society. In short, she is now a personage of sufficient importance for this scandal to be of interest to the yellow press.’

There was a silence for at least a full minute as the two women sat stunned.

‘And, and your price is for me to… to let you…’ Virginia stumbled with her words.

‘Not any more,’ Farquar said calmly. ‘I asked to see you alone, not in the presence of this,’ he gestured dismissively at Penelope, ‘witness. Now the price is her bottom for our canes, too. After all, she does claim to be your friend.’

‘No, Penny, I cannot permit it. This is my Calvary, not yours. We must call the supercilious beast’s bluff.’

‘Somehow,’ Penelope said, ‘I don’t think the supercilious beast in question is bluffing. The other one is a different matter, but Mr Salisbury…’ she gave a little shiver as she remembered the boy’s penetrating gaze assessing her figure. ‘It will mean black ruin if he publicises that confession. One of the scandal sheets will take it up with a lot of hypocritical cant about ‘crusading against vice’.

‘But think, Penny – to give in to those smirking schoolboys, I cannot ask you to pay such a price.’

‘Now, this will serve us admirably,’ said Farquar, with a grin.

The two young men were shown the rest of the apartment by the agent’s clerk, and he was well pleased.

The venue for their trysts with the young ladies had been the subject of some discussion, even after Victoria and Penelope had finally given in. In the end, driven half frantic by Farquar’s deliberately unsuitable suggestions of various indiscreet places, Mrs Chisholm had suggested these rooms above an umbrella shop in Bloomsbury Way. There was a lot of bustle in the streets below and the adjoining apartments were used for storage, so sound would not be a problem. The flat had one light, good-sized room with bay windows, a smaller reception room, a kitchen and a bathroom, two bedrooms and a large cupboard.

The best thing was the entrance, off such a busy thoroughfare; all the other doors in the vicinity gave access to offices and shops. It was furnished comfortably if not fashionably; ready to use, even to move into. But best of all, it belonged to one of the late Mr Chisholm’s many businesses so that, although Virginia ultimately owned it, it was administered through agents and solicitors. In short, it would do, Farquar thought with growing satisfaction. It would do very well.

‘Do you want more claret, Salisbury?’

‘No thanks, and don’t get drunk.’ Farquar picked a cane from the Chinese vase he’d filled with rods and swished it through the air experimentally. ‘This is not the time for being squiffy.’

‘Don’t see why not,’ Wittingstall said, taking a drink. ‘Caned plenty of boys when I was hardly sober enough to stand!’

Farquar shook his head. ‘You are such a philistine. Anyway, this is something altogether better. These are women, Wittingstall. If you can’t see the difference, well I don’t understand.’

‘You caned that girl in Ma O’Reilly’s the other night,’ Horace retorted.

‘She was a whore; she had a hide like leather. I just wanted…’ Farquar stopped. Caning the girl had been much better than swishing schoolboys, but she had been far too casual, too used to it, too professional. He had wanted to try his famous eye on a female fundament, in case there were some great surprises, some differences he had not banked on. The exercise had been worth the money. But this was the real event.

The doorbell rang. The boys looked at each other. Horace giggled nervously but obeyed Farquar’s signal to go to the door and let the ladies in.

‘All right,’ Penelope said as she swept in, ‘let’s get this nonsense over with.’

Farquar had refilled his glass whilst Horace had gone to let in the guests. He swirled the Chateaux Montrose in his glass and sniffed it before taking a sip. Penelope was resplendent in a gown of blue-grey silk, with matching hat and gloves. Victoria wore her widow’s black, but it was a fetchingly tailored satin dress, with a tight bodice but full, bell shaped skirts. Her gloves and hat were black and she wore a black lace veil.

After her initial bluster drew no reply, there was not much for Penelope to say. The two women looked about the room, which was now but sparsely furnished. There were only two comfortable chairs, and thus nowhere obvious for the ladies to sit, which was as he had intended.

Farquar saw Victoria glance over at the Chinese vase with its bouquet of canes and crops. She coloured and looked quickly away. Horace sniggered in the background, but that somehow seemed to make the silence even more oppressive.

‘Would you ladies like to take your gowns off here,’ he said at last, ‘or in one of the bedrooms?’

Both women blinked a little at this. ‘Disrobe…?’ Virginia said, as if not believing she had heard right.

‘Well, of course,’ Farquar said, smiling. ‘I can hardly flog you over skirts like those.’ He watched with quiet delight as both ladies coloured, looked at each other and he was sure he saw Penelope gulp. ‘If you would like,’ he said pleasantly, ‘Horace has volunteered to help undress you.’

‘No!’ Penelope quickly refused the offer.

‘No, no thank you,’ Victoria mumbled, blushing a delightfully bright red behind her veil. ‘We can get undressed on our own.’

‘Taking their time, ent they?’ Horace said, after a few minutes had passed.

‘Seem a bit reluctant, for some reason,’ Farquar concurred. ‘Perhaps we had better chivvy them along a little.’

At that moment the two ladies returned to the main room, and Farquar felt his cock begin to stiffen as he perused the quite delightful sight they made. He had told them to take off their gowns and petticoats, and that was all, give or take a crinoline or bustle, that the ladies had removed. Both wore white camisoles, beneath tight-laced corsets, and both wore brilliant white cotton drawers. Virginia had black, and Penelope white silk stockings gartered just above the knee. The snowy whiteness of their underthings made a fetching contrast with the redness of their faces. Both ladies looked mostly at the floor and Virginia entwined her fingers anxiously.

‘Lovely. Don’t they look lovely, Horace?’

Wittingstall, however, was so overcome by the sight of the blushing beauties that he seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech.

‘Would you care to come over here?’ Farquar asked politely, walking over to the polished mahogany table, and with evident reluctance, some sighs and many glances at each other, Penelope and Virginia edged over to his side. Farquar picked up a length of silky rope, taken from a curtain pull.

‘Hold your hands out in front of you, Virginia,’ he ordered.

‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘What’s this, you little beast? We agreed to be?’

‘Calm down, Penelope,’ Farquar snapped. ‘When we roast skittish boys at school we sometimes bind them. It helps them stay in position and cuts down on the “extras” we are obliged to give. Of course,’ he winked at Virginia, ‘if you are quite sure that you can keep still under correction, well then you would not have to fear getting your count doubled for some silly flinch or wince.’

Virginia took as deep a breath as her tight-laced corset would let her, and held out her hands to be tied. ‘It’s all right, Penny. I would rather… I would not want to risk it.’

‘Very wise, Mrs Chisholm,’ Farquar said, binding her wrists firmly with obvious expertise.

‘Miss Penelope?’ he asked with a smile, taking up a second piece of bell rope.

There was a slight pause. Penny seemed to be struggling with herself, but in the end she muttered, ‘Very well, you nasty little beast,’ and held out her hands.

‘I think we need to speak about that, actually,’ Farquar drawled, as he bound the fair young woman’s wrists tight. ‘Calling me a little beast is not terribly polite. I think you had better address me as Master Farquar, sir, in future. Oh, and you may address Wittingstall here as Master Horace, sir. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Master Farquar, sir,’ Virginia said, with only a hint of reluctance. She seemed, he thought, to have resolved to get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible by acceding to his demands.

Penelope was different, however. The little blonde piece was obviously chewing worms as she weighed up her situation – bound in her drawers and corset – with the outrage to her pride of giving in to him. He decided to help, so picking up a thin dark cane from the table he put the tip under Penelope’s chin, lifting it so that her blue eyes looked at him. ‘Do I make myself clear, Miss Simpson?’

They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, Penelope’s bottom lip quivering with outrage and shame. ‘Yes,’ she said at last with bad grace, ‘Master Farquar, sir.’ She dropped her eyes and a tear began to trickle down her furiously blushing cheek.

Farquar walked around to the other side of the table and took the end of the rope binding Victoria’s hands. He tugged it so that she was forced to move forward until her thighs met the edge and then lean forward. Only when her upper body was stretched out over the tabletop did he desist.

‘Horace,’ he said simply, ‘get the books.’

There was no need to explain further. As prefects, Farquar Salisbury and Horace Wittingstall were well practiced in the school house’s many methods of preparing boys for beating. Horace took five leather-bound volumes of a distinguished work of natural history and placed them on the table next to Virginia. With a dirty sounding snicker he placed three of them, one after the other, under her belly, until no space was left.

‘Is she tippy-toed?’ asked Farquar.

Horace looked down at the woman’s feet and frowned. ‘Don’t know, Salisbury,’ he said in a puzzled voice. ‘She’s got those heels on. Damned if I can tell.’

High heels were a phenomenon that neither boy had previously met with, but Farquar resolved the problem by telling Horace to add one extra volume and then see if Virginia could touch the floor with her toes.

‘Just about,’ Horace reported.

‘Just about will do,’ Farquar concluded.

He tugged the rope taut and secured the end to a crosspiece of timber underneath the table. Then he repeated the process with Penelope, and smiled as he noticed Horace brushing his hand over the blonde girl’s bottom as he raised her tummy with more large books. Miss Simpson bit her bottom lip and frowned furiously, but somehow kept her peace.

With both women secured, bent over the table, Farquar walked back round and perused his handiwork. His cock had been quite stiff since the ladies had returned in their corsets, but as he perused their waiting bottoms he felt it throb and twitch.

The truth was that he was furiously excited in a way he had never been when punishing boys. The ladies’ fundaments, though still veiled by the white cotton of their drawers, were so plumply, so softly, so
femininely
inviting. He had been waiting a long time for this moment to arrive.

‘Well now,’ he said a little gruffly, and stepped closer. There was just space enough between the bending women for him to stand. He reached out and took a handful of bottom on either side. Virginia gasped and Penelope gave a little ‘harrumph’ of outrage, but he ignored them both.

‘Well now,’ he said, ‘these feel nice and tender, Horace. Nice and plump and ready for the rod.’

His hands had found the splits in the backs of the women’s drawers, and praying that he did not come in his breeches, he slid his hands inside, provoking a pair of outraged sobs. The bottom flesh was warm and soft and smoother than satin, and Farquar stroked for a few seconds, utterly entranced.

‘I say, Salisbury, don’t be greedy, let me have a feel,’ Horace Wittingstall grumbled, in a rather strained voice.

Farquar chuckled. ‘All right, Wittingstall, don’t get impatient, there is plenty of this succulent flesh to go round. What do you think? Shall we part their drawers and cane them the way schoolgirls get it, or drop their underlinen altogether?’

‘No!’ Penelope protested in a shrill voice. ‘I don’t, it’s not, I mean, you can’t!’

‘Actually it is, “you can’t, Master Farquar, sir”,’ he corrected her smugly. ‘Only its not because I do not care to be contradicted by you saucy little trollops, so that little outburst will cost you three nice extras. Oh, and by the way, I think you will find that I can!’