SMARTS!

by Jay Lawrence

  Frederica wriggled as the love slave raised the hem of her gown and pinned it to the back of the bodice. Only the fine silk drawers were left as a barrier between the willow switch and her tender flesh and she felt its cool length penetrate through the delicate cloth as Lord Urquhart placed it against her straining buttocks. Warm hands were reaching around her waist to unfasten the ribbons of the flimsy undergarment and carefully lower it just enough to expose her bottom to the chill air of the cellar. Suddenly, she realized that she had become extremely wet between the legs, that somehow, deep down in some dark, demented place within her soul, she longed for her husband to punish her thus.

  "Oh, please, sir!"

  What do I plead for? Clemency or to be chastised, most thoroughly, until I weep and scream with long pent-up passion?

  Again, the willow switch was placed against her buttocks and she squirmed her hips upon the rough surface of the wall, willing her husband to administer the first stroke. However, he continued to lecture his wife, gently tapping the implement upon her creamy cheeks as if to punctuate his stern delivery. Each tap of the switch sent a wild thrill through Frederica's entire body and she began to writhe against the wooden rod.

  Oh, God, please, whip me now! I cannot bear it if you do not carry out the deed.

  "You will comport yourself with the utmost decorum, Frederica. Unless, of course, I have decided, in my wisdom and authority, that you should behave like an absolute whore for my personal amusement. You will behave at table like a good little girl. You will obey your elders without question. You will show respect to my domestic staff and honor my chosen concubine as a sister. You will speak only when directly addressed and each utterance shall be accompanied by the deferential adjunct of 'sir.' There will be no exceptions. Now – prepare yourself."

  "Oh!"

  There was a brief, pregnant pause, during which Lord Urquhart withdrew the willow switch from his shaking wife's buttocks, admiring the elongated contours of her tensed form.

  "Of course, as a young Captain, I was occasionally called upon to flog my subordinates for deserting the garrison in favor of the local alehouse. Let me assure you that no man forgot the experience and a lesson learned at the hands of Flogger Urquhart was a lesson learned for life."

  Frederica clenched her bottom as hard as she could, vaguely aware of her husband stepping back from the wall and leveling the implement against her hips. A sudden urge to pray was the last thing to enter her mind before the first stroke cut across her rigid buttocks. Agonized, she tried desperately to twist her head around to look at Lord Urquhart and plead for clemency, but strong hands pushed her face towards the wall. A second sharp fork of lightning cleaved a scalpel path through the soft butter of her delicate flesh and she moaned pitifully.

  "Mercy!"

  "No mercy, my dear. I intend to switch you until you cannot sit down for a week. You really do have a lovely bottom for it. The welts are already beginning to show, livid against your peach-like skin. Remember, Frederica – you asked for this by disobeying your marriage vows. Did you honor and obey me at the dinner table this evening?"

  "I ... I..."

  "DID YOU?"

  Lord Urquhart's quiet voice suddenly rose to a near shout and, terrified, Frederica stammered:

  "N-no, sir!"

  "That's better. You see, you have much in common with other young ladies of your age and background. You have a distinct hearing problem. You do not listen. It is therefore necessary to capture your full attention by whatever means available – my hand, a leather strap, an oak paddle or a willow switch. There are many implements convenient to a determined husband with a spoiled little tyke of a wife. Lower her drawers a little more, Sydonie."

  Warm hands pulled at her flimsy undergarment and the cold air of the dungeon-like cellar reached the tops of her thighs, contrasting with the intense heat she already felt from her throbbing bottom.

  "Now, my sweet child. Now, you will discover that the pain you have just experienced was nothing more than a taste of things to come..."

  Again and again, the limber switch snapped across Frederica's helpless cheeks and the tender tops of her thighs, and she struggled violently in her bonds, screaming like an animal caught in a trap. Sometimes, she screwed her bottom up as tight as she could, as if to evade the brutal strokes, holding her breath and growing scarlet in the face before her resistance broke and again she cried out in a long unintelligible shriek. Her bottom was a mass of crimson welts that, from time to time, Lord Urquhart would pause to trace with the very tips of his fingers, sending convulsive shudders through his young wife's pinioned form. Eventually, after administering dozens of the harsh strokes, he finally threw down the switch and unfastened the front of his trousers, sliding his massive erection between Frederica's wide open thighs, unsurprised by the velvety wetness he found within. Grasping her waist, he pumped his seed into her womb as she ground her ravaged cheeks against his hips, the fierce heat from her thoroughly disciplined buttocks only adding to his arousal.

  "Unfasten Lady Urquhart's bonds, Sydonie, while I select a bottle of claret to partner the lamb. Let us hope that Cook has kept our dinner warm."

  It seemed that an invisible drummer beat a sturdy tattoo upon Frederica's buttocks. Although the willow switch lay discarded upon the cold stone floor of the cellar, the young woman's bottom ached and throbbed as if a swarm of hornets had descended on her creamy flesh. Livid welts crisscrossed the tender cheeks and she held her arms out by her sides, unwilling to touch the source of her distress.

  "Oh, it hurts!"

  "And be sure to pull up her drawers!"

  Lord Urquhart's voice echoed about the cavernous cellar as he bent to inspect the racks of dark and dust drenched bottles. Smiling triumphantly, Sydonie grasped the waistband of Frederica's drawers and pulled them up tight between the yelping young woman's legs. Pressing her fleshy lips against her mistress' ear, she whispered:

  "As you sow, so shall you reap, my Lady."

  Frederica turned to challenge the dusky creature, swallowing her sharp retort when she saw the look in the young girl's eyes. Pure evil stared from the dark brown orbs, devoid of warmth and almost lupine in their predatory gaze. The eyes of an animal which had run its prey to ground and now waited for the kill, with the infinite patience of the night stalking beast...

  * * * *

  It was not long after the excruciating punishment in the cellar that Frederica discovered she had conceived a child. Lord Urquhart was delighted and, for a time, an especially precious atmosphere of harmony pervaded the gloomy apartments of the vast mansion, warming and enlightening the chilly domain. At the beginning of her pregnancy, Frederica suffered from the common ills of queasiness and lassitude, but, as the early days passed, her complexion soon adopted the soft glow and delicate bloom of a June rose, her breasts swelled and tingled deliciously and she felt a deep sense of tranquility and joy for the little life which blossomed within her. Her happiness was only marred by her husband's decision that an expectant wife should forego the carnal pleasures of the marriage bed.

  "But I feel so very well! Indeed, better than I have ever felt! Can you not be gentle? Please, sir?"

  "My tastes do not run to gentle, as you well know, my fine brood mare! You will rest these few months and be all the better to start again when the child is weaned."

  "But..."

  "Enough, Frederica. You are my wife, child. Recall the full meaning of that little word. I will have no full-bellied spouse cavorting as a vixen, jeopardizing the future of my son and heir."

  "And what if I give you a daughter, sir? What then?"

  Without waiting for a response, Frederica snatched up her shawl and ran out into the garden, leaving Lord Urquhart frowning at her fleeing form. Spring had not yet come, although there were intimations of the changing year, clumps of wistful snowdrops pushing through the black earth beneath the twisted oaks. Looking over her shoulder to see whether her husband had decided to follow her out into the parterre, Fr
ederica marched along the narrow path between the rose beds, clasping the cashmere shawl about her shoulders. It was not really cold and the air was so still that she almost imagined she heard a carriage rumbling along the road to the village, beyond the thick, enclosing forest belt. The statue of Diana, with her sandstone hounds, seemed to smirk as she passed and there was suddenly an overpowering sense of being observed by some person or persons unseen.

  "Lady Urquhart!"

  "Oh!"

  A cloaked figure stepped out from behind a tall privet hedge, its face almost concealed by a wide brimmed hat. One trembling hand reached up to remove the flopping headgear and Frederica was relieved to see that it was the elderly clergyman.

  Thank heavens, it is only the Reverend Leckerstone.

  "You startled me, Reverend!"

  The poor old man seemed unable to look at her directly and he began to speak rapidly, stuttering and babbling unintelligibly, his rheumy eyes fixed upon a scattering of desiccated leaves on the gravel path.

  He has almost lost his mind. Why won't he look me in the face? Am I as Medusa, whose very glance would freeze his creaking form to stone?

  Gently, Frederica placed her hands upon the old man's shoulders, as if to stay the involuntary rigors, which shook his twisted body.

  "Please calm yourself, Reverend. Is there something you must tell me?"

  High above their heads, a raven croaked, and the clergyman raised his face to the slate winter sky, following the slow progress of the ragged black bird.

  "My dear – you must leave this place at once – before it is too late! Too late for us all..."

  Slowly, the old man turned his bleary, cataract dimmed gaze to look at Frederica and she blanched at the horror, which seemed to seep from every ancient pore.

  He is absolutely terrified. But why?

  "I don't understand..."

  "If you do not leave, it will all begin again ... the wheel of ruin ... the dark one will destroy you and your child..."

  "Frederica!"

  Lord Urquhart's voice called out from the direction of the house and the young woman turned to wave at the distant figure on the terrace.

  "I must go, Reverend."

  But the old man had already vanished, like water into earth, leaving nothing but the stillness and the silence of the garden. Softly, Frederica retraced her steps between the tangled briars and the watchful stone gods, sensing again the hidden eyes upon her back...

  * * * *

  That night, Frederica awoke in the black hour after twelve, roused from a deep slumber by some foreign sound. As usual, she was alone in the vast canopied bed, Lord Urquhart having disappeared to his concubine's mysterious chamber at some point after the veil of sleep had cloaked his young wife's eyes. Softly, she drew back the heavy bedcovers and padded across the moonlit room to look out at the garden.

  How lovely it is.

  The moon was full and gleamed in a clear sky, illuminating the maze-like formations of the parterre.

  Almost as light as day, yet silvery, elusive. But what is that other light, beyond the garden, among the trees?

  Suddenly wide-awake, Frederica slipped on her shoes and enveloped herself in a warm cloak, stealing out of the house down the back stairway and into the still night air. The heels of her shoes scattered gravel and her shadow danced ahead as she made her way through the garden, feeling once again the sense of watchful eyes upon her back. At one point, her heart leapt to see another shadow join her own, but it was only the statue of Diana, bathed in the soft white light. Coming to the end of the labyrinthine parterre, the young woman stood at the top of the flight of broad stone steps that led to the meadow and the mausoleum. Beyond the pale outline of the marble edifice, a reddish glow penetrated the murky wall of the forest.

  A camp fire. Gypsies, perhaps. They said my mother was a gypsy.

  The tall grass of the meadow tugged at Frederica's nightgown as she waded through its tangled depths, intent upon a closer look at the source of the glowing fire. Reaching the tree line, she slipped the hood of the cloak over her hair and crept towards the reddish light, strange voices and music filtering through the skeletal trees. Once, she thought she overheard a familiar laugh, which was swiftly replaced by the scratching notes of a fiddle played very fast and high. The black trunks of oak and beech seemed to close rank behind her and she instinctively hurried towards the camp, crouching down as the forest parted to reveal a narrow glade and a small group of figures came into view.

  What can they be doing?

  There were five of them, each heavily enshrouded by a long, hooded robe, so that it was difficult to discern whether they were men or women. One played the fiddle and the others stood about the fire, the crackling flames casting a dull orange glow on the dark cloth of their monastic garb. The smallest figure turned to warm its hands against the blazing heat and Frederica imagined she glimpsed a feminine face, briefly illuminated by the dancing light.

  "Is it time?"

  The voice was known to her, but she could not place it. Suddenly frightened, she crawled into a shallow hollow between the thick roots of a twisted oak and made herself small, peering out at the sinister gathering. No sooner was she concealed than there was a great commotion of snapping twigs and another hooded figure arrived at the glade, passing very close to where Frederica cowered. A faint scent drifted on the night air and the new arrival stepped into the pool of firelight, throwing back its voluminous hood to reveal a luxuriant head of ebony hair.

  Sydonie!

  "Come, Sisters and Brothers, 'tis time for the rite. Sister Lilith, do you have the offering?"

  "Yes, Priestess. Shall I bring it forward?"

  The smallest acolyte retreated to the darkest edge of the glade and returned with a wicker basket, which she deferentially placed before the powerful young woman. Something flapped and squawked within the container and Frederica caught a glimpse of white feathers, as Sydonie raised the basket high above her head and the fiddler abruptly ceased his haunting tune.

  "Sister Lilith, remove your robe."

  Slowly, as if mesmerized, the submissive figure shed its heavy shroud, revealing a voluptuous, naked body, which gleamed softly in the reddish light. Huge breasts swelled beneath a mass of curling hair and the moon-like face of Chastity gazed up at the wicker box, her features devoid of all expression, like a china doll.

  "You will kneel."

  As if given some secret cue, the fiddler began to play a rhythmic reel and the remaining figures converged upon the young girl as she sank down onto her knees, two taking hold of her outstretched arms, the third grasping a handful of her unruly curls. Softly, Chastity began to whimper, then to moan, as the music gained momentum and the three figures began to chant some devilish mass, pulling her torso into a taut cross. Swiftly, Sydonie opened the basket and pulled out a flapping bird, a white chicken. Feathers flew into the rising flames as the frantic creature struggled in the young woman's grasp. Then there was a sharp glint of steel and, smiling cruelly, she cut its throat, holding the dying bird over Chastity's pinioned body. Bright blood spurted onto the girl's neck, trickling down the luscious breasts and dripping onto her rounded thighs, as she shrieked, seemingly attaining a massive climax.

  "Good. Now you belong to me."

  Sydonie tossed the lifeless bird into the fire, then stooped to kiss the shuddering young girl's mouth. Slowly, sensuously, she caressed the erect and blood daubed nipples of her neophyte, then lowered her head to lick the dark fluid from Chastity's throat. Briefly, she paused to give a signal to the other three, who immediately released their captive and converged upon the writhing form, two feasting on the mountainous breasts, the third kneeling between the young girl's open thighs to taste her downy sex.

  "Oh no! Oh please! Help me, Lord!"

  Sydonie placed one hand over her victim's lips to stifle the piercing screams, which seemed a pernicious blend of abject terror and sensual ecstasy.

  I have to get away from this place!

 
; Horrified, Frederica began to extricate herself from the hiding place, meaning to crawl until she had escaped the glowing ring of firelight. In her fear and haste, she forgot the turgid roots of the tree and, stumbling, fell heavily upon her hands and knees.

  Oh no!

  "What was that sound?"

  The satanic group paused in the midst of the demonic feast and Sydonie turned around, scanning the darkness beyond the campfire. Frederica froze, her heart pounding like a drum as the young woman's eyes seemed to fix upon her trembling form.

  But they won't be able to see me – they'll be blinded by the light of the fire.

  "Shall I investigate, Priestess?"

  A man's voice and – oh, dear Jesus – one figure arose and approached the edge of the glade. Terrified, Frederica lifted her nightgown and fled, racing full tilt through the pitch-black wood, vaguely aware of a heinous commotion in her wake, angry shouts and pounding feet.

  "Who is there? Show yourself!"

  The bright beam of a lantern sliced through the darkness, briefly illuminating her fleeing back, and she almost fell a second time, colliding with the trunk of a tree and feeling the unseen thorns of brambles tugging at the thin cotton of her nightgown.

  I shouldn't be running like this – it may harm my child.

  Whimpering in terror, the young woman broke through the edge of the trees and raced headlong across the meadow, painfully aware that the luminosity of the full moon lit her as an actress on a stage. The heavy footsteps were closing in, but she did not pause to look over her shoulder, running up the flight of stone steps and through the parterre, her heart thumping as if it might burst from her chest. Finally reaching the sanctuary of the house, she caught a brief glimpse of a robed figure standing beside the statue of Diana, before, shaking uncontrollably, she slid the iron bolts across to secure the door.