That night, Nancy Blake lay awake for what seemed like
hours.
Her mind was a turmoil of conflicting emotions. Of despair, terror ... and of a strange,
unwanted sort of excitement. The sort of
excitement, for example, aroused by the Assistant Reeve, Martha Cleveland.
Nancy had now been ordered to visit that hard-faced
dominatrix - a person of very considerable power and authority in Limbourne -
on three separate occasions. And each
time she had found herself becoming more and more embroiled in the frightening,
yet thrilling, world of lesbianism. How
awful it was to be made to do such things ... yet ... yet ... Nancy could not
deny there were moments when she felt herself driven by desire over which she
had no control. When, instead of being
led, she was virtually doing the leading herself.
At the first visit, the Assistant Reeve had had to
threaten her with dire punishment if she did not do what was required of
her. But, on subsequent visits, though
Nancy was very nervous, there had been no need for threats. At the end of those visits, Martha Cleveland
had expressed herself quite satisfied with her new, young protege ... and
promised to make a favourable comment or two to her Owner, Mrs Maud
Campbell. In her innocent way, Nancy had
been delighted by that. She even began
to think of the Assistant Reeve as a 'friend', rather than an official of the
State. That was a foolish thing to do
for, it need scarcely be said, Martha Cleveland was as hard as nails and, whenever
the mood suited her, would put in a bad report.
For the time being she was getting special pleasure from suborning young
Nancy. And that was all that mattered. Certainly, she would have no compunction, in
the future, about whipping the girl mercilessly should the need arise. With her inexperience, Nancy could not
imagine anyone - and especially a woman - being so 'kind' at one moment and
then being so cruel. In fact, she was
getting a kind of schoolgirl crush on Martha.
Oh the poor innocent!
However, it seemed to Nancy that Martha was only the
second person who had befriended her in any way since her arrival in the
village of Limbourne ... the village which in so many ways was so 'ordinary'
yet, in others was so frightening, so bizarre, so evil. The first person, of course, was her companion
in misfortune, Matt Dawson, the other slave of the horrible, dumpy, middle-aged
Mrs Campbell. She was a woman who often
looked like the kind, complacent Chairman of the Women's Institute yet, at
heart, was as viciously cruel as most Owners in Limbourne.
Yes ... Matt ...
Young Nancy found herself trembling as she thought of
him. In some ways, Matt was as
frightening as Martha Cleveland ... and as exciting, too. No ... more exciting, she had to admit. Nancy let her mind run over those times when,
acting on Maud Campbell’s orders, Matt had taken her sexually. At first, she had loathed him for what he had
done. Her whole being had revolted
against his brute maleness. Then she
began to realise that it wasn't all that bad.
That Matt's solid, young vigour did things for her. Also, she began to realise, it was not Matt's
fault that he took her as he did. He was
acting under orders. Under their Owner's
orders. If he had not obeyed, he would
have been savagely punished until he did.
So what could Matt have done about it anyway? He was in a cleft stick, just as she was
when she was sent off to amuse Martha Cleveland.
Beyond that, Matt, she came to understand, was kind.
He had sympathy for her plight, she was sure.
She came to feel that , though he enjoyed taking her
sexually, he would not have done so - unless acting under orders - without her
consent. That was a comforting thought.
In short, Nancy Blake felt she had both a companion and a
friend in Matt. Possible, under
different circumstances, he could have become her lover. The thought of that sent a quivering thrill
right through Nancy. She let her mind
dwell on the idea of the two of them being alone together. What a wonderful thing that would be! Without that hideous old woman smirking and
gawping at them!
Oh yes ... that would be lovely ...
She thought of Matt's strong organ melting her. Their desires mutual. Equal.
Above all, enjoying a union between themselves alone. Oh, if only that could be!
But no ... NO ... OOOO!
Nancy Blake's mind and nerves cried out in sudden
terror. That temptation must be
resisted. That way mortal danger
lay. For, she sensed, if Mrs Campbell
ever caught Matt and herself in any sexual waywardness (so absolutely forbidden!)
their punishment would be beyond anything they had so far endured. And that had been severe enough. Moreover, Nancy thought of the Report that
would be sent back to her State Training Centre at the end of her
Probation. That, surely, would earn her
a public flogging ... as well as other humiliations and sufferings too hideous
to contemplate.
No ... thought Nancy, I must resist temptation.
I must be obedient ... I must be submissive. I must accept my lot. If things had turned out differently, she
might have been one of the lucky ones.
Free. An Owner herself. As it was, she had to accept her Fate, cruel
as it was, like everyone else had to.
Under the State regime, if you were once designated a slave, you were a
slave for ever.
Nancy Blake blinked back tears of self-pity. What a cruel world she had to exist in!
It seemed a long time before sleep finally came.
***
Nancy was not the only one who lay awake that night.
Matt Dawson did, too.
And, for most of the time, he had a thumping erection. The temptation to deal with it in the
appropriate fashion became well-nigh irresistible again and again. Yet he dare not risk it. That was one of the biggest crimes in Mrs
Campbell's calendar and Matt knew, if caught, his sufferings would far outweigh
his brief pleasure. Moreover, Mrs
Campbell seemed to have a sixth sense about such things. A number of times, while he had been simply
fondling his hard, throbbing organ (thinking of nubile Nancy!) his Owner had
entered suddenly. Although Matt had never
had any intention of masturbating to a glorious conclusion, his nerves had
flared horribly as he had snatched his guilty hand away.
"No naughty ideas, eh Matt?"
Oh that smug, suety face, looking down! Oh how he hated it! Why wasn't he allowed to be natural? With himself?
With delicious young Nancy?
But, needless to say, Matt Dawson knew the answer to
that. He was a slave ... and thus
condemned perpetually to be the pawn and plaything of others. Oh his owner, of other Owners, all in
Authority. Like Nancy, Matt sometimes
felt utterly weighed down with despair.
Which is hardly surprising!
All the same, being a young man in rude health, Matt was
not quite so cautious and frightened as Nancy.
He reckoned, with care and cunning, there were moments when she and he
could have sex together, without the horrible old dragon of a woman ever
knowing. It just needed organising and
awaiting the right opportunity. After
all, the other day, Mrs Campbell had been out of the house for over an
hour. All that time, Nancy and he had
been alone together. Naked ... available
to each other. Yet they had done
nothing. Just because they were so
scared of their Owner. That was
ridiculous. Matt vowed that next time
such an opportunity occurred, he would take it, and damn the consequences! He would fuck young Nancy of his own volition
... and not because the old crow ordered it.
Then sat there gloating over it.
Lusting vicariously. Oh it was
disgusting at her age! Yet nobody
thought the worse of her. She was a law-abiding,
respected citizen of Limbourne. Let no
one try to take her good name away.
Least of all a mere slave.
All Owners were entitled to treat their slaves as they
wished - and that was that.
Matt thought of Nancy lying nearby. Softly, delectably nude.
Only the Punishment Room between them (actually, the
so-called Play Room)!
Was she, perhaps, thinking of him? Perhaps playing with herself. As far as he could make out, Nancy was
permitted to do that. The ban on masturbation
only applied to himself. That made it
all the more cruel.
Matt gripped himself and began to manipulate gently.
Oh dear God, how difficult it was to keep a check on
oneself! Oh ... ohhh ... if only he
could! But he daren't! At any moment, his Owner might come in. He mustn’t.
No ... NO ... OOOO ... he mustn’t!
Almost sobbing, Matt took his hand off himself. This freedom to touch, yet not to masturbate
properly, was one of the cruellest crosses to bear. Sometimes Matt thought it would be far easier
if Mrs Campbell had put some kind of restraining device on him each night. But she didn't. She left him free ... and made her verbal
prohibition.
The old bitch!
She knew what torment that put him through, night after
night!
But there was no escaping it.
Matt tried to compensate himself by thinking about Nancy
again. Soon, soon, he told himself, I
shall be fucking that little darling.
Hearing her gasp with delight; feeling her shudder and squirm in sexual
joy. Oh ... it would be so wonderful!
Because it would be between themselves alone!
Little did Matt Dawson know that, not long before, Nancy
had been dreaming about the very same thing.
And, in her mind using the very same phrase!
***
Garbed in her brief, tight and revealing maid's uniform,
Nancy served Mrs Maud Campbell her breakfast next morning. As usual, her Owner seemed surly and
short-tempered at that hour of the morning.
Nancy put it down to nocturnal drinking habits. More often than not, Mrs Campbell had a
hangover to contend with. Certainly,
mornings were not a good time to cross her path.
"This coffee's too weak, girl!"
"I ... I'm sorry, Ma'am ... I'll get some m-more
..." Nancy came springing quickly
away from the wall, where she had been waiting tensely for some such complaint.
"Yes ... do ... and be sharp about it." ordered
Maud sourly.
Nancy scuttled into the kitchen, carrying the coffee pot
with her. As fast as she could, she made
a fresh pot. Through the kitchen window
she caught glimpses of Matt toiling away, splitting logs.
Back came Nancy, within a few minutes, carrying the fresh
pot of coffee. Nervously, she poured a
new cup, adding the prescribed amount of milk and two sweetener tablets. Mrs Campbell said nothing. She didn't even touch the cup as Nancy
retreated a little, but stared sourly into the distance. Her expression seemed to indicate she had a
nasty taste in her mouth. A minute
passed. Then another. The silence was heavy. Nancy thought she could hear her own heart
beating over Mrs Campbell's heavy breathing.
Faintly, the 'chop-chop' of Matt's axe could be heard. He has to work physically harder than I do,
thought Nancy, but in a way, he's luckier.
He did not have anywhere near so much contact with their Owner ... which
was always a nerve-racking thing in itself.
Another minute.
Maybe more ...
The sound of the clock on the mantelpiece became
unnaturally loud. It was an ornate,
Victorian-style one in black marble.
Then, suddenly, Maud Campbell picked up the cup and
sipped. There was a moment's pause. "This coffee's only lukewarm,
girl," she said testily.
A sudden surge of hate went through Nancy and her heart
skipped a beat. Oh how typical of her
Owner that was! Oh how grossly unfair of
her! It was she who had made the coffee
lukewarm - by lingering - not Nancy. But
one never dare say any such thing, let alone argue.
"I ... I'm sorry, Ma'am," said Nancy lamely.
"It's no good being sorry," snapped Mrs
Campbell. "You'd better wake your
ideas up, Nancy. Go and fetch the
cane!"
Hate surged more fiercely through Nancy and she bit a
quivering lower lip. Yet again she was
to be punished for nothing ... for nothing!
Oh how monstrous it was! All the
same, Nancy did not protest nor delay in carrying out the order. She went straight to the long drawer of the
sideboard where the cane, some straps and a number of other items were
kept. She took out the cane, feeling the
familiar sickness of dread apprehension.
It was slim, hard and smooth, very flexible with a hooked handle.
"Kneel there," said Mrs Campbell, when Nancy
came back with the cane and handed it to her.
She indicated a place by her chair.
Nancy knelt. "No ... not
like that," came the voice from above.
"Get your bottom towards the chair ... and get further
forward." Nancy then realised that
her Owner was not even going to bother to stand up. Well, at least, that might lessen the power
of her strokes somewhat! "Knickers
down, Nancy ..."
Nancy's short black skirt had already ridden high, but
she pulled it higher. Then she pushed
down her brief, flimsy panties. It was
always so unnecessary to have to do that, she thought repeatedly, since they
were so small and thin, they offered not the slightest protection. But she had long since realised she was
always given the order simply so that she experienced again and again the
indignity of performing the act.
Teeth clenched, nails clawing into the carpet, Nancy
waited. How many, she wondered? Surely
it could not be many, for such a simple 'fault'.
There was a faint rustle from Mrs Campbell's heavy satin
dress, a short, sharp whistling sound ... then the hard cane bit whippily into
the soft flesh of Nancy's curving bottom.
The girl gasped between clenched teeth and her hindquarters jerked
forward, then back. She kept them well
presented.
A short pause.
Then the same sounds ...
And the same burning pain. Like a hot wire being suddenly laid over the
bare, tense flesh. Nancy gasped again
and her hindquarters jerked a shade more violently. The stroke had fallen only a fraction below
the first. Accident or design?
Another pause ...
Perhaps a little longer this time ...
Nancy felt her waiting nates clench involuntarily.
"I won't have slackness in this house," said
Mrs Campbell.
The third stroke came.
This one, a little on the slant, cut across the first two
weals and thus, was more painful. A
whimpering snort of pain jetted down Nancy's nostrils and her young bottom
squirmed left and right as well as jerking forward.
Oh the burning sting of it!
That was bad enough ... but, in some ways, the hideous
injustice of it was even worse!
"Keep your bottom square, Nancy," rasped Mrs
Campbell.
Nancy realised she was twisting herself fractionally to
one side ... a natural and involuntary action under the circumstances. Clenching her teeth even more fiercely, Nancy
presented herself fully again.
Rustle ...
Rustle ...
Whistle-hiss ...
Searing pain!
Luckily for Nancy, this cut fell an inch or so below the
first three ... so was a shade more tolerable.
"You're getting too careless these days, slut!"
It wasn't true. It
wasn't. Nancy took amazing trouble to carry out Maud Campbell's orders ... to
be meticulous ... to take care. But what
use was that? What difference did it
make?
The fifth stroke lashed down, cutting across the
fourth. A whinnying whimper came from
Nancy and her head jerked up as her bottom made a juddering-gyrating series of
squirms.
Oh God ... how many more?
How many for nothing?
Down came the sixth, biting fierily like all the rest,
but falling a little lower across the fullness of Nancy's buttock cheeks.
Another jerk of the haunches; another toss back of the
head.
Oh please ... please ... let that be all!
Nancy kept her bottom still presented, feeling her nates
clench involuntarily as she waited, tense.
Please ... please ... no more!
Then a sob came from Nancy as she realised no more were
coming. She felt Mrs Campbell's hand at
her waist, sticking a pin or a brooch through her maid's dress, thus holding
the short skirt up and keeping her hindquarters exposed.
"Go and stand in the corner, Nancy," came the
order, "and think about past slackness.
And how you can improve in the future."
"Yes ... yes ... Ma'am," answered Nancy,
getting up quickly and stepping out of her little knickers. She picked them up and stuffed them in a
pocket in her dress. Quite often, after
a strapping or caning, Nancy had to undergo this humiliation of standing in a
corner, rather like a little school-child.
Like many of Mrs Campbell's little foibles, it irked her to screaming
point to stand there for half an hour or an hour at a time. But Nancy did not scream. She just submitted.
"Take the cane back first ..." Maud Campbell's suety features were
expressionless but there was, perhaps, a little glint of satisfaction in her
cold, blue-grey eyes. Both Nancy and
Matt were aware that, outwardly, Maud Campbell looked kind and matronly ... and
though she rarely showed her sadism on her features ... she got the very
deepest pleasure from making them suffer.
From thrashing them as and when she liked.
She may have looked fond of lavender and lace. But, beneath the facade, she preferred
lechery and the lash!
Nancy carried the cane back to the drawer. It was always incredible to her that such a
simple thing could be so painful. How
long, she thought, before I have to open this drawer again? Then she walked over and stood in a corner
... one where her Owner had a good view of her.
Her naked bottom belt cool in the morning air (it was springtime and the
room was unheated) except, of course, where the six weals encircled her
flesh. From there came the familiar warm,
throbbing sensation ... plus the soreness and the sharp stinging which always
intensified when one walked or bent over.
Nancy gazed at the pattern of the wallpaper, as she had done often
enough before. It was a colourful but
tasteless floral pattern. How long am I
to stay here, she wondered? What plans
had Mrs Campbell for her today? Despair
hung like a black cloud over Nancy, weighing down her spirits. It was a cloud rarely moved away and, if it
did, for only a brief time.
The tick of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to become
even louder again and Nancy also heard the rustle of a newspaper over Mrs
Campbell's heavy breathing. What was it
like, Nancy wondered, to have never been a slave? What was it like to have authority and
power? To be able to make her stand like
that, shamed, with her bottom naked? Did
Owners realise just how fortunate they were?
Certainly it never seemed so.
They just accepted their status as the most natural thing in the
world. Just as they accepted that there
would always be a supply of slaves to serve them. Surely, reflected Nancy, there should be a
better ordering of society than this.
Yet the State accepted it.
Indeed, the State promoted it.
And, since she had always been told that the omnipotent State was always
right, Nancy had to accept the fact that she must be wrong.
Nancy's reverie was interrupted by the ringing of the
front door bell.
"Stay where you are, Nancy" ordered Mrs
Campbell. For it was one of Nancy's
duties to answer the bell. "Must be
the postman, with a parcel or something."
Nancy heard her Owner leave the room; then the sound of
the front door opening.
"Morning, Maud," said a bright and breezy
voice, "as I was passing I thought I'd pop in those photos you mentioned
at Sybil's the other day. Not too early,
I hop?"
"Oh ... Donald ... do come in. What a nice surprise. No ... it's not too early. Though we do start later here than in some
households."
Nancy's heart sank.
It hadn't been the postman; it was some friend of Maud Campbell's. Male, at that. And Nancy knew what most of those were
like! Nasty, hypocritical lechers in
middle-age! She devoutly wished the
floor would open up and swallow her and so save her from yet another incident
sure to bring her only embarrassment and shame.
"Lead on then, dear lady," said the unctuous,
jovial voice.
Perhaps she'll take him into the living room, thought
Nancy, with despairing hope. But no ...
"Come in here, Donald," she heard Maud Campbell
say, "I'm afraid the breakfast things haven't been cleared away yet."
Nancy felt the colour mounting to her cheeks ... and
suddenly got the impression her bare bottom could be blushing too! Oh, how shaming it was to be exposed like
that before a strange man! Would she
never get used to it? Nancy doubted it!
"Oh dear ... oh dear ... what have we here?"
said Donald. Nancy could detect a note
of glee in his voice.
"Nancy, you mean?"
"Mmm ... yes ... if that's the young lady in the
corner."
"It is. Made
me first, weak coffee. Then lukewarm
coffee."
"Dear, dear ..." Donald clicked his tongue.
"So I had to give her a touch of the cane ..."
"Yes ... I see that."
Nancy could imagine the eyes boring lecherously into her
striped nakedness. Another vile beast
... and another respected citizen of Limbourne!
"Please sit down, Donald ..."
"Funny thing ... something similar happened over at
our way this morning. Lucy ... that's
our girl ... burnt the toast twice on successive days. So the wife had to give her a good
strapping."
"Quite right, too.
The young girls they send us seem to be getting slacker all the time,
these days. I think I shall have to send
a letter to one of the Training Centres."
"Not a bad idea.
Do you think they're easing up in those places?"
"I sincerely hope not. Discipline ... strict discipline, is
absolutely vital in our society."
"Oh I agree, Maud.
Entirely agree. This young lady
inclined to be slack then? Have to cane
her often, I mean?"
"Too often for my liking," came the reply. And Nancy felt the hate surge in her heard at
the sheer hypocrisy of it.