Alice And The Colonel

by Jaye Peaches

  Before him, a pretty woman with black hair, curled about her pale face. The two appeared to know each other well; both relaxed in their manners and formalities. Alice felt a pang of jealousy when Edmund laughed at an inaudible remark of his companion. Breezing up to Edmund, she stood as close as she could to him and before Edmund could do the formal introductions, she attempted to monopolise the conversation.

  “Do you know of a Miss Fanshawe?” she said quickly and before Edmund could open his mouth and reply, Alice continued breathless. “Can you believe she has been sending love letters to a Frenchman? Is that not atrocious?”

  Edmund’s face froze. Alice saw the tips of his ears go pink, his eyes narrowed and flickered to one side of his face, towards his female companion. Alice turned to face her, and as she did, the raven-haired woman, who seemed to have gone even paler than before, almost dropped her purse. Without another word, the stranger sped away towards a doorway.

  Edmund opened his mouth and then shut it quickly. His rocking feet appeared to want to take flight after her. She wondered what had caused the sudden change in his demeanour, but before she could ask, a jovial, pot-bellied man appeared at Edmund’s side and interrupted.

  “Colonel Seymour, what a pleasure to have you amongst us once again and this must be your most delightful wife,” boomed the bald man.

  It took some time for the ingratiating man to leave them be and then before Alice could ask her questions, Edmund spoke rapidly in her ear. “Stay at my side from now on. We will speak further on this matter when we are in private.”

  The longer she remained on his arm, as Edmund circulated, the more she suspected she was in some kind of trouble. He barely gave her any attention. Hunting around she could not see his black-haired companion. She appeared to have left.

  Alice tapped his arm during one lull in conversation. “Please may I speak to my new friends again?” She desperately wanted to hear more gossip, perhaps ask about Edmund’s companion.

  “No. Remain with me.” He turned to speak to a tall gentleman, giving Alice no chance to plead again. Somehow, she didn’t think it would do her any good. She felt tense and uncertain about the evening’s events.

  The late hour called for numerous departures and the arrival of several carriages. Alice, still attached to Edmund’s arm, said good-bye to many news faces and names, some she would remember, others she could happily forget. With mid-summer approaching, the sky still held the afterglow of the setting sun. A mute Edmund assisted Alice into his carriage and signalled to the coachman, seated at the front of the carriage, to depart with a thump on the roof.

  The wheels jerked and rumbled on the uneven street, forcing Alice to cling to the carriage drapes.

  “I am ashamed of your behaviour this evening,” said Edmund abruptly.

  His words confirmed Alice’s suspicions. “I did nothing unbecoming, I believe,” she said with conviction.

  “You engaged in gossip—malicious rumours—about a friend of mine,” he said.

  “Whom?” asked Alice.

  “Miss Fanshawe,” said Edmund. “Not only did you repeat the falsehoods, you did so in her presence and caused her much embarrassment and hurt.”

  Alice swallowed hard. It hadn’t crossed her mind that the black-haired lady was the very Miss Fanshawe accused of liaisons with a Frenchman.

  “I didn’t know. Most unfortunate,” she said half-heartedly, her fingers tightening their grip on the drape. “I didn’t initiate or create these accusations. I merely repeated them as they were told to me.”

  “Then you revelled in telling me,” pointed out Edmund. “Alice, you barely know anyone in these parts and you misjudged the situation appallingly. You must learn who is to be trusted and who is nothing but a spiteful scandalmonger. You will write a letter of apology to Miss Fanshawe and aid in the quashing of this terrible rumour.”

  The thought of contradicting her newly discovered friends didn’t appeal to Alice. Her pride held strong and it blinkered any sense of guilt she might have at Miss Fanshawe’s predicament.

  “I shall not. You are being unreasonable, Edmund. How do you know these love letters do not exist?”

  Edmund shook his head slowly. A grimace of displeasure fell upon his face. “You will write this letter, Alice, and that will be the end of the matter. I shouldn’t have to defend my decisions to you.”

  “Shouldn’t? Or cannot? This only confirms my opinion that it is you who might have misjudged the lady,” snapped Alice.

  “You go too far, Mrs Seymour, with your suppositions. Will you or will you not write this letter?” asked Edmund will finality.

  “No, I shall not, Mr Seymour!” retorted Alice.

  Edmund looked out of the window. Dusk had cast shadows about the landscape. No longer in town, they had moved off the turnpike on to the long winding estate road. Trees lined the track and in the distance, owls began the night-time chorus of hoots.

  Raising his hand, Edmund thumped hard on the roof, and the carriage drew to a halt. Before the coachman could climb down, Edmund exited the vehicle and strode over to a nearby tree.

  Alice, peering at his outline, surmised her husband was relieving himself against a tree. She sat back in her seat and wondered if he would punish her for refusing to write a letter—it seemed a little harsh until she pictured Miss Fanshawe in her plain gown and her face as she left the room: it wasn’t an expression of guilt or shame, but sadness and regret.

  Edmund returned and sitting opposite Alice, she caught sight of what he held in his gloved hands: three stems of nettles, freshly picked and broad in leaf.

  The carriage moved, the wheels bumping on the uneven track. The only light came from an oil lamp hung in the corner. It cast a shadow across half of Edmund’s face, leaving one solitary eye staring at Alice. She blinked back at him, looking at the nettles lying across his lap.

  “This punishment will be swift and quiet,” said Edmund. “You’ll feel its effects for a while longer.”

  “Edmund, no, please!” said Alice.

  “You will lift your skirts, turn and show me your bare bottom.” His tone soft exuded the authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. Alice, though magnetised by its intonation, hesitated, fearful of his intentions.

  Edmund repeated his instruction. “If you refuse, I shall take you over my lap and the punishment will be prolonged.”

  Alice heard him and found she responded as if he had taken over her hands and fingers. She didn’t want to suffer his punishment; she didn’t understand why he insisted on it. Hitching up her skirts to her waist, gathering the layers of fabric about her, she twisted around in the confined space and knelt between his legs, elbows on the seat.

  The shame of the position, knowing Edmund had a perfect, if shady, view of her posterior made tears prick in her eyes.

  “Why, Edmund?” she blurted out. “Why do I have to apologise to a stranger?”

  “Caroline Fanshawe lost her parents, like me, when she was but a child. Her elder brother, Frederick, took on the responsibility of raising her,” explained Edmund. “Her brother and I were well acquainted. Freddy joined another regiment with the rank of Captain. During fierce fighting with the French, Freddy was captured. Injured, his captors treated him badly until a French doctor witnessed his neglect and intervened. By then, Freddy though alive, had to lose a leg to gangrene. The doctor saved his life and kept him alive until a prisoner exchange was arranged.”

  Alice swallowed hard. She began to understand what Edmund was telling her.

  “Freddy returned to England, under the care of his sister, who gave up any plans of marriage to nurse him. She asked me to help trace the doctor, so she could send him her personal thanks. The correspondence, the subject of this malicious gossip, are not love letters, the doctor is already married, it is simply the exchange of information between two people, who have over the years become friends.”

  A tear trickled down Alice’s face. “I will write the letter. I will be most apologetic and I
will tell everyone I meet that there is no scandal to speak of.”

  “You should feel guilty, Alice, but that is not the reason I am punishing you. You said you would be respectable in the company of others, you haven’t been. I asked to you to do something, you defied me and refused. Do you not trust me? I am your husband and have your best interests at heart. Maybe this was a test—to ask you to do something without explanation. I am sorry to say, you have failed.”

  Alice let out a tiny sob, she truly felt disappointed at her behaviour. Edmund had done nothing to paint her in a bad light at the dance, he had introduced her to many people and she had hung on to the first piece of gossip and repeated it with little consideration. “Please punish me,” she said looking over her shoulder.

  Edmund picked up the nettles at one end. “We have little time, you must be quiet. The coachman is not to be alarmed.”

  Alice tensed, buried her face and took hold of the sleeve of her pelisse between her teeth, biting down hard.

  * * *

  The oil lamp shone a light across her buttocks, each crescent curvature, pert and firm in aspect, while pliant to touch. Edmund adored her splendour briefly before refocusing on his task.

  “Spread your legs apart, Alice,” said Edmund. “Stick your bottom up a little farther. Good girl.”

  He picked a leaf from the stem, a single variegated leaf and held it in his gloved hand. With his other hand, he spread her cheeks apart. Alice flinched at his touch: his gloves would be cold.

  “Hold still,” he instructed leaning forward.

  With the leaf between his fingers and thumb he pressed against her sex, the folds and with a sweep of his hand, drew the leaf upwards, into her cleft, over her quivering bud, pausing to rub slightly.

  Not a noise left her lips. The stings were not immediate, they would come over her gradually and with increasing ferocity. Picking up the three stems, he swept them back and forth across her cheeks, without force, almost as if he held a feather duster. The leaves made contact with her skin and tiny wheals, scarlet and livid, began to raise as he continued to administer the nettles.

  Alice’s feet jiggled and she let out a muted whimper. Deciding she had reached her limit, he gave one final swish of the nettles, harder than previous and it whipped across her lobes. Tossing the nettles out of the carriage, he scooped his wife up, allowing her skirts to drop and gathered her into his arms.

  Tears streamed silently down her face. As he had asked, she had kept still and quiet. “You took that punishment well, braver than many soldiers I know. You will feel it for a while, but once we are in our bedchamber, I will soothe you with ointments.”

  “Edmund, I am sorry I didn’t do as you asked. I do trust you, honestly. I am… adjusting to this life and I will not always be good for you.”

  “In public you must try hard. In private,” reflected Edmund, aware of his hardening cock, “maybe I shall not be so exacting. A paragon of virtue is not what I desire. Do not despair, I am pleased with you.”

  Alice snuggled into his coat and he held her close to his chest.

  Half an hour later, Alice lay naked on their bed with Edmund by her side, smearing the cold unction on her bright welts. Each time a finger traced about her anus, she moaned softly, toes curling up and fingers clenching the pillow.

  “Does it sting still?” he asked.

  “No, the salve is deliciously cold and soothing,” she murmured. “It is your touch I adore.”

  Edmund took the ointment and smeared about his forefinger. “If this hurts too much, say so and I will stop,” he whispered into ear. His finger toyed about her puckered entrance, then with a push, the tip entered and she released a deep exhale. However, she didn’t ask him to stop.

  His finger continued to play with her tight passage, stretching and probing until his knuckle slipped inside her. With a firm hand, he wiggled his finger briskly and her labia swelled dramatically in response. With no more stimulation, he watched Alice implode with an orgasm. Chuckling, he withdrew his finger and washed in a basin of water. Returning to the bed, Edmund nudged Alice over onto her back.

  “My turn for a little fun,” he said playfully. Sitting astride her belly, but without putting any weight on her, he bent and kissed her rouged lips. “Open your mouth wider.” He leant forward, lifting his body up. Dropping his flap front down, he released his thick cock and touched the head of it to her lips.

  With a groan of delight, he let his cock slip into her mouth, as far as her soft palate. “Suck it sweetly, my dearest, and I will fill your belly with my fire.”

  Alice writhed beneath, knees drawn up to his back, her hands gripping his firm thighs. Each dip and rise of his cock in her mouth, she drew her cheeks in and sucked him hard. Her tongue curled about his tip, her teeth bared painlessly against his shaft. Finding a rhythm to their joining, Edmund felt his balls ache with the need to deliver and he withdrew, grasped his shaft and with a few brisk jerks of his hand, spurted out on her tongue.

  To his delight, Alice swallowed his hot milk with no display of disgust, instead she licked her lips and sighed, eyes drooping. Covering her with a blanket, he lay next to her warm, smooth skin and kissed her into a state of sleep. Lying back, staring up at the canopy above his head, he was consumed with a glowing sense of satisfaction. Bar the silly rumour mongering, and the unfortunate incident over Miss Fanshawe, Alice had been the queen of the dance. Her beauty had been noticed by many, and in private, Edmund had received many compliments.

  With a grin on his face, a proud Edmund joined his wife in a deep dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  A week later, Alice received a reply to her letter to Caroline Fanshawe. The lady, with tactful courtesy, thanked Alice for her kind words and assured Mrs Seymour she didn’t hold any acrimony towards Alice. She had been well aware of the rumours about her correspondence and always chose to ignore it, hence her departure from the Assembly Rooms. She invited Alice to visit her and her brother, Frederick, and take tea with them.

  ‘Any friend of dear Edmund’s will always be ours too.’

  The statement moved Alice. Edmund, pleased with the birth of a new friendship, urged her to go.

  “She is a respected lady. This gossip will never deter her true friends. In the absence of your mother, Miss Fanshawe will be a good companion and chaperone in my absence.”

  Alice smiled and picked up her ink pen, dipping into the inkwell, she fashioned a suitable reply of acceptance, while her husband beamed with approval.

  Chapter Eight

  “No.”

  A simple one-word answer and Alice’s shoulders slumped upon hearing it. She wasn’t surprised by her husband’s refusal to host the visit of three of her friends, so rather than blurt out disgruntled words of discontent, which would elicit nothing more than a frown, she sighed and continued to thread her needle. She could not help wonder what chance she had at hosting a ball if he wouldn’t allow her to invite her friends to stay.

  Edmund returned to reading his Manchester Gazette.

  Alice waited a suitable passage of time punctuated by the swinging pendulum of the mantelpiece carriage clock.

  “May I invite Ann Parris? On her own, she is quite meek.” Alice paused in her stitching. She would have preferred Lucy, but it was impossible to invite one sister without the other and together they were a boisterous pair. Ann, although somewhat subdued in nature, had a greater intellect in conversation.

  “Miss Parris,” Edmund lowered his paper. “Tall.”

  “Yes, and a little clumsy too, I might add, but kind and thoughtful. She has no sisters and three younger brothers, who do occupy much of her parents’ time. I believe the rod is not spared in the Parris household,” added Alice with a mischievous smile.

  “I should imagine it is not,” concurred Edmund with a faint hint of amusement.

  Alice paused in her crewelwork. “Do you think a time will come when the rod is spared in this house?” She didn’t look at Edmund.

  “It has b
een spared this past week, has it not? Since the dance, I’ve no call to even mention the need to spank you,” remarked Edmund.

  The welts from the nettles had vanished quickly, leaving her only the memory of their application. How she had been bent over and had her buttock cheeks spread wide apart by his firm fingers. The dreadful stings, which had accompanied the sweep of the leaves, prickled and burnt. The astonishing act of discipline, conducted in a confined space, left an indelible imprint on her mind. The raw emotions remained too. The shame of her punishment she did not wish to dwell upon. However, other more buried sentiments lingered too. She recollected his tender attentions afterwards, his keenness to have her and how his finger entered her tight hole, sending her into a place of bliss. She tried hard not to blush at the reminiscence.

  She re-focused on the conversation. “I do not believe you have had any cause to use it, sir,” said Alice softly. “Though, I have on occasion wondered if I should find a reason for you to use it.” Her skin flushed with colour at the temerity of her own words. Why she yearned for the attention of his firm hand on her bared bottom, she could not fathom. Just sitting opposite her husband, in close proximity, made her skin tingle with anticipation. It did so most evenings they spent together.

  Alice glanced up at Edmund, expecting to see a face of disapproval or even disgust. She saw neither; the faint expression of mirth remained fixed on his face.

  “I do hope you will not fall back to your old ways, Mrs Seymour, after such a period of improvement,” he said sharply.

  “It certainly is not my intention, Mr Seymour,” said Alice sheepishly. “I do think I might stumble upon occasion. Rather like an unsteady horse or faltering toddler. Then, might you pick me up and set me straight again? In a fashion of your pleasing, naturally.”

  “My dear, as I have said before, you are a strange creature. If you wish me to spank you, why not simply ask?” Edmund chuckled.