The Mistress of Sternwood Grange

by Arabella Knight

  She crouched down between two dripping blackcurrant bushes, shrinking back from the sweep of the approaching headlights. She counted three white Transits, nose to tail in a tight convoy. The yellow beams dazzled her as the three vans swept up to the entrance. Doors opened and slid shut softly after the engines had died; Mandy knew why: nothing must disturb the residents.

  Dark shadowy figures moved silently between the opened back of each van and the open kitchen door in the rear-basement area. Boxes and crates were taken in, and heavy laundry bags brought out. Mandy had considered smuggling herself out in a laundry bag, but it would have left her helpless and with no chance of a quick getaway once in London.

  The men moved quickly and, within minutes, their nocturnal operation was almost completed. For Mandy, shivering between the blackcurrant bushes, it was all happening too quickly. The rear doors of the leading Transit were already closed, and the driver aboard. Mandy felt a surge of panic well up within her as she heard the engine purr. The wheels turned slowly, crunching the wet gravel softly. The engine of the second Transit coughed into life; its rear doors closed against her. It had to be the third van, she realised. And it had to be now.

  She sprinted across to the rear of the last Transit and jumped headlong into its wet belly, landing on two laundry bags which muffled her fall. Footsteps approached almost immediately. She cringed in the shadows as the measured tread grew louder. A shadow fell across her, then two soft, smelly, black bin bags were thrown in – one split, oozing a vegetable slime over her hair and face. Mandy crouched in a hedgehog-like ball, fearful of discovery. The double doors closed with a soft thud. Moments later, the Transit lurched into life and moved off slowly down the drive.

  Mandy removed a Dover sole bone from her soiled skirt and a pulpy avocado skin from the inside of her boot. She sensed the Transit slowing down – but remembered the cow trap at the end of the drive. She waited for the thump of tyres over the grille of metal bars, knowing that, once across it, London would be within her grasp.

  The Transit stopped. Waiting in queue for the leading vans to negotiate the narrow cattle grid Mandy supposed. She heard doors being opened and closed. Her heart raced wildly. Soft footsteps trod alongside the Transit and paused at the rear doors. Mandy’s heart hammered in the darkness – almost stopping as the doors were wrenched open. A strong torch beam stabbed the unlit interior, catching and dazzling Mandy like a rabbit in a headlight.

  ‘Get out, you stupid little bitch,’ Erica snarled. ‘Quickly, girl.’

  Trembling from the shock of being discovered just when she thought she was safe and free, Mandy scrambled over the stinking bin bags and clambered down into the cold night air.

  ‘Got her,’ Erica called out to the driver. She closed the doors firmly and slapped the side of the Transit. ‘Take her away.’

  As the van sped off, Erica raked the beam of her torch up and down Mandy’s shivering body. ‘I knew you were going to attempt an escape,’ she said, a note of triumph in her voice.

  Mandy blinked into the strong torch beam.

  ‘The clothes you picked. Could only mean one thing. Gave yourself away completely, fool.’

  Mandy remembered the frown that had greeted her as she had entered Erica’s room for the debriefing earlier on. Now she understood. She bowed her head, fearful and defeated.

  ‘Strip.’

  ‘But –’

  The cropped blonde swapped the torch in her right hand for the wicked little crop in her left. ‘At once.’

  Reluctantly, but fearful of the crop, Mandy peeled off all her clothing until only her boots remained.

  ‘Tights and boots as well,’ Erica snapped, tapping Mandy’s thigh with the loop at the tip of the crop. ‘I want you naked.’

  Hopping as she struggled to remove the boots and tights, Mandy squealed as her pink feet trod the wet gravel. The crop flickered out twice across her bottom.

  ‘Silence. I will not have the residents disturbed.’

  Mandy stood penitently, shivering and clutching the soiled clothing to her naked bosom.

  ‘Turn around and keep three paces and three paces only ahead of me,’ Erica snarled. She pointed the torch down at Mandy’s feet, illuminating the drive back to Sternwood Grange. ‘Walk,’ she barked, applying the crop across the naked buttocks before her. ‘You’d better get a shower before …’ She did not finish her sentence.

  ‘Before?’ Mandy asked timidly.

  ‘Before punishment.’

  After restoring her chilled nakedness under a stream of hot water, Mandy stopped shivering. Erica stood at the entrance to the shower, gazing at the bare bottom she was about to beat. Mandy closed her eyes and offered her breasts up to the warm sluice; the cropped blonde leant in and turned the tap over to cold. Mandy shrieked and huddled, arms across her breasts, beneath the icy cascade. She made a bid to leave the shower but Erica, crop at the ready, forced her back under the cruel deluge.

  ‘Out,’ ordered Erica, when she was satisfied that Mandy had suffered enough.

  Mandy scampered out and pawed for a towel. Erica whisked it away.

  ‘No towel. You’ll be warm, soon enough. Very warm.’

  At these words, Mandy shivered – not entirely from the cold.

  ‘Follow me,’ the cropped blonde commanded.

  Conscious of her nakedness in contrast to Erica’s fully clothed body, Mandy felt both vulnerable and humiliated. As if able to read her mind, Erica said that, from now on, Mandy was to remain naked at all times.

  ‘I can’t –’ Mandy began to protest.

  ‘Silence. You will remain naked at all times. You have broken the trust placed in you and going naked will be part of your punishment. And without clothes,’ Erica laughed grimly, ‘you won’t get very far. This way.’

  Part of your punishment. To remain naked was only part of her punishment. What else awaited her, Mandy wondered. Where was Erica taking her? They were not going upstairs to her bedroom.

  ‘In,’ came the curt command.

  They entered the gym. Mandy saw Partridge standing over by the wall bars.

  ‘Didn’t believe me, did you?’ Erica crowed. ‘I told you she was dressed for an escape bid. Caught her in one of the Transits.’

  The housekeeper turned her large, brown eyes upon Mandy in a sorrowful gaze.

  ‘Up against the wall bars, girl,’ Erica instructed, swiping Mandy’s bare bottom with the crop. ‘Partridge took you on here at Sternwood Grange and so she will administer the punishment.’

  ‘The girl is tired,’ Partridge reasoned. ‘Cold and tired. Can we not see to her in the morning?’ the gentle housekeeper remonstrated.

  ‘If she’s cold and tired then a taste of the cane should soon warm and wake her up. Twelve strokes, to begin with,’ Erica laughed. ‘Arms up and out against the wall bars.’

  Mandy stretched up on tiptoe as she grasped the wooden bar above.

  ‘Did you say strap or cane?’ inquired Partridge.

  ‘Cane her. Cane her bottom good and hard,’ Erica rasped, standing alongside Mandy to appreciate the punishment at close quarters.

  Mandy’s knuckles whitened on the wall bar as she heard Partridge pace across the wooden floor of the gym, a bamboo cane gripped in her right hand. The cane-tip addressed Mandy’s wet bottom almost tenderly, tapping off the undried pearls of water clinging to the swell of her rounded cheeks.

  ‘Commence,’ barked the cropped blonde impatiently.

  Partridge took up her position and raised the cane aloft. Mandy closed her eyes and eased her breasts away from the wood which cushioned them. The first stroke swept across her naked cheeks, lashing them intimately and striping them red. She grunted and jerked her nakedness into the wall bars, punishing her bosom on impact. The cane sliced once more, and then again: the two strokes coming unexpectedly in swift succession. Mandy squealed. Both strokes swiped her perfect peaches, leaving crimson kisses across their crowns.

  ‘Harder. I want the bitch to suffer.’ The voice of E
rica curdled in the uncanny silence of the gym. ‘She has caused me a lot of trouble tonight. She must learn her lesson. Learn, and suffer.’

  Partridge planted her feet apart for the next six strokes. They were administered briskly and crisply, leaving Mandy’s bare bottom ablaze. The housekeeper stepped forward, pressing the bottom with the length of the cane, and pretended to arrange Mandy’s right arm at the wall bar.

  ‘Nearly done,’ she whispered. ‘All over soon.’

  Mandy nodded imperceptibly, acknowledging the whispered words of encouragement.

  ‘Stand up straight. Bottom up,’ Partridge barked, for Erica’s benefit.

  Mandy obeyed, presenting her striped cheeks for the remaining strokes.

  ‘Wait,’ Erica intervened. ‘I’ll finish the punishment.

  You may go.’ She dismissed the housekeeper with a curt nod.

  Partridge reluctantly surrendered the cane and departed. As the door of the gym closed behind her, a sense of dread stole into Mandy’s mind. She was naked and alone – with the cropped blonde.

  She heard but could not see Erica placing the bamboo cane down on the polished floor. She sensed the cropped blonde approach, then felt cruel hands gripping each of her caned buttocks and squeezing them, then spreading them apart. The hands of her tormentress squeezed again, bunching the buttocks tightly. Mandy’s cleft became a thin crease as her soft cheeks bulged. Then the cupping hands taloned, dragging the cheeks apart, causing the cleft to yawn. Mandy whimpered.

  ‘When the mistress comes down from London tomorrow, my girl, she will want a full explanation. She will want to know every detail. Why you decided to go, where you were heading for, what you proposed to do. So you had better have some good answers ready. She will of course be very disappointed in you. There will be many further punishments.’

  Mandy clamped her thighs together and bowed her head.

  Erica thumbed the hot cheeks and spread their-softness painfully apart, bringing Mandy up on her toes in anguish.

  ‘I am going to cane you now, then leave you to contemplate how foolish you have been. If, on my return, you can convince me that you are truly sorry, I may omit to inform the mistress of your disloyalty and stupidity.’

  The mistress: Mandy thought of the havoc the grey-eyed solicitor would wreak on her bare bottom with a flexed crop or bamboo cane.

  ‘If you cooperate completely, I may decide to keep this unfortunate matter strictly between ourselves.’

  Mandy twisted her head to see over her left shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what –’

  ‘No,’ Erica purred, sweeping her palm up across the naked, punished cheeks. ‘Do not lie too hastily, girl. Let’s have no sudden contrition. You planned the escape very carefully. The warm clothing, and the timing of the vans prove that much. I want to know the truth.’ She cupped and squeezed the hot cheeks slowly. ‘And only the truth. Now turn round and face the wall – and give me your bottom.’

  Mandy stretched out her arms and, grasping the wall bars, braced herself for the concluding strokes of her prescribed punishment. Obediently up on tiptoe, she thrust her bare bottom up, her cheeks rounded and poised for their imminent stripes. They came in a sudden rush, swishing down across her bottom with a venom Partridge had not achieved. Mandy’s toes curled up in anguish as she pressed her lips against a wall bar to smother her squeals. The concluding stroke sliced into her buttocks, searing them with a burning flame.

  ‘Stay exactly where you are. I will return to hear your explanation within the hour,’ Erica whispered, tapping the naked bottom with the tip of her cane.

  Mandy unclenched her hands from the wall bars and soothed her ravished rump, skimming her palms across her reddened buttocks. Despite the caning, she felt relieved. Erica had caught her and had severely punished her, but no lasting harm to her ultimate plans had been done. Most importantly, her identity was intact – an identity which Celia Flaxstone would soon unmask on close inspection. But Erica was not going to inform the mistress, if Mandy proved wholly cooperative. She decided to play into Erica’s hands, and renew her bid to escape in a few days’ time.

  The caning had left her hot and sticky. She ached to touch herself but dared not risk being discovered playing with herself by the cropped blonde. She hated Erica: hated being naked before her, hated being at her mercy. Mandy also hated the knowledge Erica seemed to have of her weaknesses, cravings and desires. The cropped blonde seemed to unerringly know all of Mandy’s lustful yearnings and secret wants. Mandy hated this because she knew it gave Erica erotic power and dominance over her –a dominance Erica might choose to exploit.

  Mandy risked another furtive rub at her caned cheeks. She thought of the punishment, and how Partridge had been sweet, caning her just within the bearable limits of pleasure-pain. Mandy had almost relished that part of the punishment, but Erica’s stripes had been cruel. She had swished the bamboo with savage intent and withering accuracy. The concluding strokes had been almost unbearable, turning Mandy in a moment from trembling desire to shivering dread.

  Time passed slowly, achingly slowly. Erica would return. What then? Would Mandy be interrogated in depth tonight? It was already two – later, perhaps – and she felt exhausted. Mandy knew that she must remain alert and keep her mind razor-sharp. Her story must be sound, with no discrepancies or inconsistencies – easy enough perhaps in an ordinary grilling but, when naked, beneath the shadow of a cane, it would be all too easy to make a fatal slip. Above all, Mandy realised, even when being kiss-whipped by a crop, her identity and true purpose here at Sternwood Grange must remain her secret.

  The door to the gym opened and Erica entered.

  ‘I have decided not to bother the mistress with this matter, girl. You have much to thank me for. I hope you show your full appreciation.’

  Saved from the close scrutiny of Celia Flaxstone, Mandy was prepared to be very appreciative. Thank you…’ she started to gush warmly, then stopped. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Erica was naked.

  ‘And how grateful are you going to be, tonight. Mmm?’

  Mandy remained silent, her mouth dry, her hands prickling with a sudden sweat.

  ‘I worked out your escape route. I know you hid in the storeroom. I found the glove.’

  Mandy burned with shame, bitterly resenting Erica’s discovery.

  ‘That storeroom is full of interesting items, isn’t it? I don’t blame you for succumbing. I have selected –’ her voice dropped to a thick whisper ‘– a few of the pieces stored there. I think you might find them interesting.’

  Canes? Whips? Paddles? Mandy’s bare bottom tightened.

  ‘I don’t –’ Mandy stammered.

  ‘I find them very interesting,’ Erica said softly. ‘I am sure you are going to agree. After all, the mistress need never know about your naughtiness, need she?’

  It was not a question. It was a veiled threat. Mandy knew that she was now completely at the mercy of the cropped blonde. Though they were both naked under the neon lights of the gym, Mandy felt vulnerable and afraid. She hung her head. She was Erica’s now, utterly and entirely – and they both knew it.

  ‘Put this on,’ Erica murmured, approaching Mandy and whipping her bottom playfully with a black rubber brassiere.

  The soft rubber weighed heavily in Mandy’s open palm. Her nipples thickened as she gazed down at the moulded cups. Slowly, she eased her bosom into it and fingered the stretchy straps. The cups had been talcumed, allowing Mandy to fit and fill the soft rubber with her swollen bosom. To her surprise, her nipples peered out and then emerged through the peek-a-boo holes: forced out through the rubber slits by the weight of her breasts settling into the brassiere. The rubber gripped, feeling strangely tight and undeniably sensual. Mandy’s nipples stiffened into firm peaks, becoming pink stubs against the black of the rubber cups.

  Erica lowered her face to Mandy’s left breast. Closing her lips around the exposed nipple, she sucked hard. Mandy squeezed her buttocks tightly together in
an attempt to deny her delight. Gazing down, she saw the cropped blonde, naked and bending, sucking fiercely at her nipple. Erica buried her face in the warmth of the rubbered breast, then applied her rasping tongue, and finally her nipping teeth, to the nipple. Mandy felt the wetness at her slit oozing forth. She closed her eyes and shuddered.

  Erica withdrew her mouth and murmured, ‘Now try this.’

  It was a rubber mask. Mandy felt her belly tightening. She hesitated.

  ‘I want you to put it on.’

  Mandy held it in her right hand, her fingers sinking into the black softness.

  ‘You know of course how severely the mistress deals with failed runaways. Most severely,’ Erica remarked in a conversational tone. ‘They’re often whipped three times a day for at least a week.’

  Mandy donned the mask. It fitted tightly, pinching her face and flattening her cheeks. Tiny holes allowed her to breathe at the nose and mouth – but speech, like sight and hearing, was denied to her. Surrendering to the overwhelming sensation of the rubber, she tasted its harsh tang and, with that tang, the bittersweet taste of submission. Deprived of her essential faculties, she felt mute, blind and utterly helpless.

  Erica led her captive across the polished floor of the gym to a vaulting horse. Mandy came to an abrupt halt as her belly collided with the solid flank. She felt a dominant hand at her bare bottom, urging her to mount. She climbed up, and then lay face down across the horse. Mandy’s rubber brassiere kissed the scuffed hide: her nipples tightened exquisitely. Mandy felt Erica pulling her arms behind her back, then drawing her passive wrists together and positioning them at the point where her spine tapered into the swelling curve of her bottom. Handcuffs snapped silently into place, pinioning her into helpless submission. Mandy sensed that Erica had donned a single rubber gauntlet; she felt the softness of it as a palm caressed her bottom firmly, then the severity of it as the spanking began.