A Little Wager

by Lucy Wild

  “Observe the diagram,” he said, slapping the cane onto the blackboard, sending a plume of chalk dust into the air, the sunlight from the window catching it as it drifted slowly downwards to the floor. “Here you see the intimate area of a young woman such as yourself. Now, how much do you know about this area? Could you name this part here for example?”

  Lizzie looked at the drawing on the blackboard. It had been produced as if whoever drew it had been kneeling or lying between the open legs of a woman, everything was visible in the drawing, even parts she scarce knew existed. She shook her head, unable to bring herself to speak, the shame of what she was seeing too much to handle.

  “Come on,” Sir Doyle said. “You must know this at least?” The tip of the cane moved down to that part of her she refused to ever speak about, the most private part of a woman’s rear, the one thing they should never, ever reveal to a man. Yet, here was a man, openly pointing to it and asking her to name it.

  She shook her head again.

  “Stand up,” he said, setting the cane down on his desk. “Turn round and place your hands on the sides of the desk. That’s it, elbows down. Now do not move.”

  Lizzie remained bent over her desk, hearing the creak of the floorboards as he moved behind her. The varnished wood of the desk was cold on her arms, sending a chill through her as he began to admonish her. “You must put effort in during these lessons if you do not wish to disappoint me. I will not have shame or modesty silencing your tongue. If you are to understand yourself, you must learn about yourself. I will not have an ignoramus living with me, I just won’t have it.”

  His hands took hold of the hem of her frock, she felt him lifting it upwards, sliding it over her buttocks. She heard a sharp intake of breath as he saw her lack of underwear. “You will take three for your wilful ignorance and three for not trying. You will count each.”

  She winced as she heard his hand moving through the air and then she gasped out loud as he smacked her left buttock with such force that the desk scraped forwards across the floor, her hands almost losing grip, causing the word to fall from her mouth, “One.”

  “Good, little Beth,” he said, his hand landing on her right buttock with equal force.

  “Two,” she said, her voice weak, a tear rolling down her cheek as the stinging heat of the blow penetrated deep inside her. “Three.” A pause. “Four.” He stopped completely, pacing behind her, continuing to lecture her on the need to participate in her lessons. He was mid-sentence when he spanked her again, his palm landing directly on top of the last blow. “Five,” she said, the pained tone of her voice enough for her to realise she could take no more.

  But she had to. She had no choice but to wait as his hand slapped down again, this time remaining in place on her bottom, sliding softly over her buttocks, her nerve endings on fire with the sensation after such painful blows.

  “You may sit down again,” he said, suddenly yanking his hand away.

  She winced as she sat down, the pain in her buttocks not lessened by the hardness of the bench underneath her.

  Sir Doyle picked up the cane and pointed it at the diagram again. “What is this?”

  “A bottom, Sir.”

  “This is your bottom,” he said, swirling the cane in a circle. “What is this point here?”

  “I do not know what it is called, Sir.”

  “It is the anus. Say it. That is my anus.”

  “That is my anus.”

  “Good girl. What is this?”

  “I do not know, Sir.”

  He sighed heavily. “Right, I will run through all of this and then I shall test you. That is perhaps the best way to do this. That is the mons pubis, note the hair in the diagram. That is the labia minora and that, the labia majora. This underneath, towards the anus, is known as the perineum. Now this is the urethra, from which you relieve yourself. Understand?”

  Lizzie nodded, feeling her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the thought of what was happening, that a man was discussing all of this with her.

  “This here is the most important part of a woman and would you believe there are some people who would tell you it does not even exist? As if it could be simply excised from a woman, rubbed out of the diagram of anatomists and biologists and certain theologians who have a very different perspective to mine. For this here is the clitoris. Do you know about it at all?”

  Lizzie shook her head. “No, Sir.”

  “It is the pinnacle of pleasure for a woman of leisure, yet as I say, there are those who say it does not exist. Of course, they can be proved wrong in an instant. Do you know how?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “I shall show you in a minute. First, what is this?”

  Everything he said had fallen out of Lizzie’s head, she could remember nothing. Wracking her brain, she attempted to answer his questions, knowing the consequences of failing would be blows from that wicked implement in his hand. The fear of what he might do made it all the harder for her to answer and when he told her to stand and bend over her desk again, she was glad that at least the interminable wait was over and that once he had struck with the cane, the fear of waiting would be gone, replaced by the pain of memory of the event.

  She was made to stand again, told to take hold of her frock and hold it up above her hips. She gripped it so tightly, her knuckles turned white as she heard the cane whip back and forth through the air behind her. From nowhere, she felt the sharp edge of it lash across her buttocks and she dropped her dress at once, letting out a scream of pain as she grabbed her buttocks, rubbing them frantically, trying to do anything to reduce the pain coursing through her, a reddened raised line already swelling from the blow.

  “Dress back up or you’ll receive six instead of three,” Sir Doyle snapped.

  “Please,” Lizzie muttered. “It hurts so much.”

  “So it should. It will teach you to concentrate. Dress back up.”

  Reluctantly, Lizzie let go of her bottom, taking hold of the dress with trembling fingers, sliding it back up to her waist. It was barely above her hips when a second strike of the cane whipped across her bottom and she again screamed, this time bursting into tears but somehow managing to keep hold of her frock.

  Sir Doyle paused just long enough for the pain to subside ever so slightly before he lashed her posterior a final time, leaving her gasping for breath whilst he slowly strolled over to his desk, setting the cane down. “Sit on your desk,” he said, ignoring her sobs. “Feet on the bench.”

  “It hurts,” Lizzie whined, though she did not ignore the motion of his hand towards the cane, knowing what would happen if she were to disobey him. Slowly she climbed onto the desk, sitting down as gently as she could, the pain in her bottom more than any she had ever known, worse than any blow struck by her father, though he had used his whole strength at times in disciplining her. She supposed she should consider herself lucky that he had not known anything about canes.

  With her feet on the bench, she looked up at Sir Doyle as he stood opposite her, smiling down at her. “Remember how I said there was a simple way to prove that the clitoris exists?”

  She nodded, wiping her tears away as she did so, her chest hitching slowly.

  “I will now demonstrate. Spread your legs for me.”

  Chapter 14

  Lizzie looked up at Sir Doyle, trying to work out if this were some kind of test. If it was, how best to respond. She couldn’t simply open her legs and let him look at the most sacred and hidden of places, the spot no man but her husband should ever see. Yes, he had seen there when tying her nappy in place but that was different, that was incidental to what he was doing, or so she told herself. But to have him intensely stare at that area for no reason other than because he could, with the light of the sun streaming in from the window leaving her with no way of hiding her modesty, the thought was enough to make her shudder.

  “I will not tell you again,” he growled, folding his arms as he looked at her. “Do you wish for me to retrieve
the cane and put it once more to use upon your person?”

  “No, Sir,” she replied, taking a deep breath as she moved her knees slowly apart, wincing as she did so, feeling the warmth of the sun between her legs, though the heat of his gaze was far hotter. “Is that far enough?”

  “Keep moving until I tell you to stop.”

  Her knees were already three inches apart, was that not enough for him? Slowly, as if a part of her were dying inside, her innocence and privacy disappearing in a wisp of smoke, she slid her left foot along the bench, her right sliding in the opposite direction a second later.

  “That will do,” he said when she had a clear foot and a half of gap between her knees. There was no hiding what was down there from him, not in this position. “Keep your hands by your side, none of that modesty nonsense in here.”

  She did as he asked, watching as he knelt down between her legs, examining her closely. “Now I apologise if my hands are cold. Observe closely what I do.”

  He rubbed his hands together vigorously before reaching between her legs. His left hand touched her first, his fingers on one side of her core and his thumb on the other. The moment his skin touched hers, Lizzie felt a warmth spreading through her. It was almost instantly quashed by her shame at allowing such a thing but there could be no denying it had happened, much as she might want to refuse to countenance having any feelings at all other than disgust at the way he was spreading her lips apart, revealing the darker pink that dwelt hidden within, exposed to his gaze as he moved his right hand towards her.

  “See what I have done,” he said. “I have moved the labia apart in order to show you the thing that fools deny exists. If I slide my fingers up a little, see the way the hood slides up over it, revealing the nub of the matter. That point there, see it? That is your clitoris.”

  Lizzie was curious despite herself, looking down to see a tiny rounded pink nub just between his fingers. “I see it,” she said quietly, a worrying squeak to her voice as her breathing grew heavier, his fingers remaining in place.

  “If I do this,” he said, licking his right index finger and then sliding it softly down over her clitoris,” do you notice the intensity of the sensation?”

  Lizzie nodded, unable to speak. The instant he touched her there, something inside her melted and whatever it was, it was hungry, wanting more. He brushed over her again, this time circling the nub slowly, sliding back and forth over it for a few seconds. “There would be those who tell you this part is not there, I think perhaps I have proved them wrong, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Lizzie closed her eyes as he continued to circle that spot. She felt a warmth growing inside her, a strange sensation, almost as if she were widening deep inside her core. Where before she had felt nothing, now all of a sudden, she felt a sense of loss, as if she were empty without reason, a void that needed filled with something, with anything, just not left tingling with that aching loss. The longer he touched her that way, the more the feeling grew and it was only by keeping her eyes tightly closed that she was able to ignore the shame that threatened to overwhelm her, shame that she was enjoying it, shame that it felt so good, shame that she should feel anything but disgust at what he was so expertly doing to her. Without realising it, a slight moan escaped her lips as he slid his finger down towards her entrance.

  “You are wet,” he said. “Open your eyes and look. See that moisture there?” He brought his finger up to her face and she saw a glistening sheen upon the tip. “That is a good sign, that is a very good sign.”

  “It is?”

  He moved his finger back to her clit, not answering her question, instead concentrating on circling it, a faraway look in his eyes as he did so. Lizzie leaned back, pushing her hips towards him, another little moan escaping her as his face moved so close to her core that she could feel the heat of his breath on her. If he were to stick out his tongue, it would glide right over her. She cringed inwardly at the thought. How could she allow herself to want such a thing to happen? It was an awful thought. Awful, perhaps, but still it lingered as her body fought with her mind, a yearning for him to press his lips to her clitoris, to know how that would feel. Would it feel as good as his finger? Better?

  Out of nowhere, he stopped touching her, leaving her feeling utterly frustrated as he stood up and returned to the blackboard. “Now, return to your seat and recite the names of the parts as I point to them.”

  Lizzie did her best, sitting with her entire body tingling, a wetness between her legs constantly reminding her that what had just happened wasn’t a dream. He had touched her. Even worse, she had liked it. She somehow managed to name the parts of the diagram the cane pointed at, though her voice was weak and her mind whirling with dark and sinful thoughts.

  “Your vagina belongs to me whilst you are under my roof,” Sir Doyle said, setting the cane down on the desk. “As do you. Is that understood?”

  “I am not sure I know what you mean, Sir.”

  “I mean that you are not to touch yourself, you are not to explore down there, you are not to bring yourself to orgasm.”

  “What’s an orgasm?”

  He sighed, rolling his eyes as he did so. “You clearly will need more lessons on this matter. For now, let it suffice that if I were to continue touching you in the way I did, you would experience an orgasm, also known as a climax, also known as coming.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “An intense pleasure but it is a pleasure that I will provide you when I think you have deserved it.”

  “Do men have orgasms?”

  “Indeed we do and that question brings me neatly to the second half of this lesson.”

  He picked up a cloth and wiped the diagram from the board. With a piece of chalk in his hand, he began to draw a vertical line and at first Lizzie could not work out what it was that was appearing before her. Then she realised all at once and let out a gasp.

  “This,” Sir Doyle said, picking up the cane again and pointing it at the board, “is a gentleman’s member, also known as a penis, a cock, a dick and sundry other terms we needn’t get into for now. You will observe I have made two drawings. The first is how the member appears most of the time, pointing downwards. Behind are the testicles, from which comes the glorious seed with which the human race and our majestic empire are propagated. The seed comes out of the external urethral opening located here in the glans or head. It then finds its way to the egg and nine to ten months later, a baby is born.”

  Lizzie’s mind whirled. She knew almost nothing about how babies were made, the entire thing being a mystery to her. As he continued to talk, she tried to take it in but the thing that stuck with her for a long time afterwards was the second diagram he pointed to, drawing her attention away from thoughts of babies and families back to him and the lesson. “This is the erect member,” he said, “a requirement for intercourse is that the member appear like this. The orgasm of the male, to which you referred earlier, takes place when the member is in appearance like this diagram here. Do you understand?”

  “I think so, Sir.”

  “Allow me to demonstrate, diagrams are never as good as live models.” He put the cane down and walked over to Lizzie’s desk, stopping in front of it and reaching for the fly of his trousers, unbuttoning whilst Lizzie winced before him. Surely he wasn’t going to…

  He did, reaching inside and drawing out his member, holding it in his hand. “Note that it is flaccid as in the diagram,” he said bluntly.

  Lizzie tried to nod but her entire body was frozen in place, unable to move an inch. The only part of her that was alive at that moment was her core, the throbbing emptiness returning as she looked at his member, her body seeing it as a way to fill that emptiness, her mind repulsed but also intrigued by the sight of it, the first she had ever seen in person. Did all men have that hidden away? “Do they all look like that?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “Not at all. There are a wide variety out there, most are much smaller. Now if I begin to do thi
s, watch what happens.” He started to stroke his hand along the shaft, slowly at first and then faster. As he did so, she was shocked to see the shaft start to turn hard, to stiffen and grow until within a minute, it was enormous in comparison, pointing upwards with a single clear drop of liquid at the tip, his hand continuing to slowly slide up and down the shaft. What would it be like to touch that? She blushed at the very thought, telling herself to stop thinking such obscene things. What about to lick it? Stop thinking that!

  “If I were to continue doing this for a spell,” he said, his hand moving faster still. “I would soon produce the seed of which I spoke, though time has gotten away from us today. I must hurry if I am to cover everything.”

  For a brief second, he was silent, his hand running up and down the length of his shaft as he stared down at her. Then he seemed to awaken as from a daydream, putting his member away with some difficulty before buttoning his fly, the bulge of his trousers demonstrating that the hardness failed to leave him even though he was no longer touching himself.

  “Pleasant as it would have been to continue, a dominant master must maintain self-control at all times. And that brings me to the final part of the lesson for today. I am your master; you are my little Beth. Now, you might be wondering what that means so I will explain as simply as I can. I am in control and in charge of you and what you do. I will set rules for you to obey, you will obey them. In return, you need not trouble yourself with having to make any decisions, nor need your feminine shame control your desire for you are no longer in control of your desire, I am. If you break my rules, you will be disciplined in the way I see fit. If you are good and please me, you will be rewarded. Is that simple enough for you?”

  “Why do I need to wear a dress like this?” Lizzie asked, “or a dummy? Or sleep in a cot?”

  “You had a poor childhood, correct?”

  Lizzie nodded, the roar of her father flashing through her mind, the darkness of the cupboard she was so often locked in. “I did.”

  “I am giving you the childhood you should have had, a world of boundaries and guidance, nurturing and growth. I am taking you back so that you can shake off the past you have had and become the person you can be, and you are capable of being a great person, little Beth, if only you would let me help you get there.”