Hall of Infamy

by Amanita Virosa

  Some of the rubber garments hanging from the racks looked just like dresses, other items like uniforms for nurses or maids. There was latex underwear garnished with copious rubber frills, rubber gloves and stockings, and great enveloping capes. Amelia glanced over at her cousin to see what she made of this bizarre array, but Clara was still staring into space distractedly.

  ‘Now, rubber knickers must be very tight.’ Isobel’s voice was brisk but there was no mistaking the note of amusement in it. ‘We have various designs, you see. These are the new style, legless panties. Or we have the bloomer type with the directoire leg, which I would recommend as more secure. Try these on, ma petite. They should fit you, I think!’

  Why the Frenchwoman should think anything of the sort was a mystery to Amelia. It was clear to her from the beginning that the rubber bloomers were far too small.

  ‘Oh, no, Mademoiselle, I really can’t – these are too tight.’ The note of panic in Amelia’s voice was due to Mademoiselle Isobel’s position behind her bare bottom and Amelia’s suspicion that the needle was itching in her hand.

  ‘Of course they are not too tight, silly,’ Isobel said in an amused voice. ‘It is just that you need talcum powder.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Yvette, leave that now. Bring me the talcum powder and a brush, and then bring us some caf‚!’

  The powder was duly brought and with it a make-up brush. It was so soft that its touch proved all but unendurable. Mademoiselle Isobel had to ask Jamie to hold Amelia down as she applied the talcum powder over her legs and thighs.

  ‘Ooh, no, I can’t stand it. No, please, not there – it tickles so, aiee…!’

  ‘Ah, but you will need it in those ticklish places later, or the rubber will stick and then where will you be, cherie?’

  ‘Oh, oh, please, no more. Mercy…!’

  ‘Be still, Amelia, and stop fidgeting, or I shall have to punish you most severely when we get home.’

  ‘A wilful child! I see you have your work cut out with this one, Jamie. The doleful results of sparing the rod can be seen in such comportment amongst so many modern misses, I am afraid to say,’ the Reverend Dawes put in sympathetically.

  Eventually the powder was applied to Mademoiselle’s satisfaction and, with a great deal of effort and some help from Jamie, the rubber bloomers were eventually pulled up. To say that they fitted like a second skin would be the height of understatement, unless that be epidermis stretched taut over swollen flesh. The bloomers gripped Amelia tight about the legs, and clasped her mons even more firmly. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something other than the chafing of the rubber as it stretched over her clitoris. This was not easy, for she was made to parade up and down.

  ‘Yes, these are just the thing for bedwear, Mademoiselle. I think the legless ones will be better with the smock. Do those come with frills?’

  ‘Oui, Monsieur. Note the elastics above the knee and at the waist are just a little tighter than the rest. That sometimes chafes, so should be used with petroleum jelly. These yellow ones are semi-transparent, as you see, but both also come in black, white, pale blue and pink, though all of those colours are more opaque.’

  Let me take them off. For pity’s sake, let me take them off. Amelia pleaded with her eyes but she did not dare to speak. She was getting more desperate with every stiff, peculiarly squeaking step. If I cannot take the damned things off, she thought, at least let me stand still!

  ‘Pick your legs up, Amelia.’ Jamie’s voice was sharp. ‘I did not tell you to shuffle. Pick those legs up now.’

  Amelia was trapped in a nightmare. Forced to march, naked, up and down, she was unable to ignore the presence of the Reverend Dawes, who seemed almost to devour her with his awful eyes. Yet every step brought her closer to disaster. Every step stretched the rubber sheath over her clitoris, just a little tighter. Every step brought disaster inexorably closer. It was as if she were being forced to march right over a cliff.

  ‘Ooh. Ahhh. Aiee!’ The inevitable happened at last, forcing a strange strangled shriek from between Amelia’s lips. Just for a second her ordeal, her tormentors, the whole world vanished, wiped out by an incandescent flash of ecstasy.

  Amelia came to herself all too soon. It was too appalling. She found herself on her knees in a fashionable shop, wearing nothing but a pair of clammy rubber knickers. Jamie, the Reverend Dawes and Mademoiselle Isobel were all looking down at her with amused distaste.

  ‘Good Lord, Amelia, what an extraordinary performance!’ said Jamie, but it was the Reverend Dawes whose verdict she waited for, head bowed.

  ‘The girl is evidently an incorrigible wanton, Jamie. I am about to test a new design of flogging drawers, that Mademoiselle Isobel has been good enough to run up to a design of my own. Perhaps we should see how these rubber items stand up to similar wear and tear!’

  Amelia stood waiting glumly next to Clara, both girls standing to attention, hands held neatly, as ordered, at their sides. Her smock had finally been restored to her, but her loins were still gripped in the clammy rubber embrace. The legs of the bloomers descended below the hem of the silk smock, and Amelia was only too aware of the bizarre sight she must have made.

  The party had traipsed back to the lingerie section of the shop, where Mademoiselle Isobel took coffee with the gentlemen. Monique seemed to have been gone an age, and Amelia wondered what could have taken her so long. The shop-girl’s reluctance to model the Reverend’s order had been obvious, and Amelia wondered if the girl might have stolen out of the emporium and run away.

  Such speculation was curtailed by the arrival of the young lady in question. Monique still wore her dark brown hair in an elegant coif but, instead of a fashionable full-length dress, she now wore only a lace-trimmed sleeveless white cotton shift, the hem of which just covered her knees. The girl’s anxiety was palpable, her reluctance to approach the company plain. Yet there was something odd about her gait apart from this; a stiffness that reminded Amelia of the difficulty in walking that the rubber bloomers had caused her.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Monique. Yvette! Trot along and fetch a number three cane for the Reverend – oh, yes, and a bucket of water and a sponge. Run along, tout de suite! Now, Monique, but you are not modelling chemises today, ma petite. Come along now! Off with it. I am sure that the Reverend is eager to see what we have done with his design.’

  If the girl had seemed unwilling to approach, she pulled the shift off, over her head, with even more obvious reluctance. Her expression was solemn, even dignified, and only the barest hint of a blush showed around her cheekbones, but Amelia saw her fingers tremble as she folded the garment to place it neatly on the wooden platform.

  Despite herself, Amelia stared in astonishment. Monique wore a white coutil corset laced tight about a neat waist and equipped with lace-trimmed cups to support her full breasts. However, it was the shop assistant’s lower body that compelled Amelia’s attention. She could not have conceived of anything tighter than the latex monstrosities that gripped her own loins yet, if anything, these cotton drawers appeared to grip the girl in an even fiercer constraint.

  ‘Ah, yes. I thought I had better order some flogging drawers for the attendees on my course. For the sake of propriety, you know. After all, it is not always desirable for single gentlemen to beat nubile young females on the bare!’ The Reverend chuckled to himself, although Amelia could not see what was so amusing, nor what relationship her own treatment had to the propriety of which he claimed to be concerned. Still, she reasoned that she was in enough difficulty already, so she kept her observations to herself.

  ‘You see, they are fashioned in two pieces, a front half and a rear, with leather strips serving to reinforce the seams at either side.’

  Amelia could see. The drawers had legs about half the length of the girl’s thigh, leaving just an inch or two of bare flesh between the end of the drawers and the tops of Monique’s black silk stockings. Fr
om the bottom of the leg to the waistband, thick leather strips ran, equipped with metal eyelets, much like one might find on the lacing of a corset. Laces connected the front and back panels on both of Monique’s flanks, and it was clear that these had been used to adjust the drawers until they were astonishingly tight.

  ‘Face front, girl!’ the Reverend ordered gruffly, taking the four-foot length of yellow cane from Yvette, who had arrived hurriedly back.

  The force of the lacing had pulled the thin cotton of the front panel so tightly over Monique’s quim that a fold of the material had disappeared between her legs, and the girl’s dark pubic curls could plainly be seen, flattened by the thin fabric. Amelia blinked twice at the sight, not surprised to note that Monique’s pretty brown eyes were watering and her bottom lip was quivering as she stood stiffly to attention. The Reverend leant forward and prodded the girl’s quim gently with the tip of his rod, provoking a terrified little squeak.

  ‘You see, Jamie, with these, the girl’s state of mind may be monitored, yet as no nakedness is entailed, even the most prurient-minded could scarcely claim any impropriety.’ He continued prodding for a few moments and Monique moaned again.

  ‘Hold your tongue, girl,’ Mademoiselle Isobel said sharply. ‘I expect the Reverend will give you something to groan about, presently!’

  ‘All right, turn and bend over. Place your hands on the platform there,’ the Reverend Dawes ordered in a slightly strangled tone. Monique obeyed, and Amelia caught her breath at the sight the girl displayed. She had a full bottom, and she might have as well have been naked for the extent to which the flogging drawers disguised the charm of her behind. She bent, corset creaking in protest, shapely legs straight, and as she bent the drawers appeared to tighten even more, though that seemed scarcely possible.

  ‘What is that, cotton?’ Jamie put in, his voice slightly hoarse as well.

  ‘The finest cambric. Usually we use it for the ladies’ pocket handkerchiefs,’ Mademoiselle Isobel said.

  ‘That’s why we need the leather strips,’ the Reverend Dawes explained enthusiastically. ‘The front and back panels are so fine, and the stress on them so great, I expect that quite a few will rip through wear and tear and…’

  He unleashed a yellow blur and the white-sheathed bottom quivered with the impact. The thwacking sound as the cane bit home made Amelia’s own belly tense in sympathy. Monique’s legs bowed slightly for a second and then straightened up again, but an ‘Ooh!’ bore witness to the ferocity of the stroke.

  ‘The idea is,’ the Reverend continued conversationally, as he lined up his next lash, ‘that the lacing strips can be re-used. When the panels split or rip, they can be replaced. A tedious job, perhaps…’

  He struck again. Amelia saw no more than a yellow flicker, the cane cut through the air so fast, but she heard the thing crack across Monique’s bottom and saw the buttocks quiver with the impact. This time, the shop-girl could not stop a squeal and she stamped three times with her high-heeled shoes before managing to straighten up into the prescribed position once again.

  ‘But not a skilled one. Mademoiselle can provide the panels, fashioned to the contours of the miscreants, and girls who split their drawers may be employed in sewing in new rears. Or fronts, should they split in that department!’

  He struck again. This time the cane whipped across the girl’s thighs and a strange whinnying sound was forced out of her mouth. Monique stamped her feet and wiggled her bottom desperately, and she had to be spoken to sharply by Mademoiselle before she would straighten her legs and assume the proper position again.

  ‘A most ingenious arrangement,’ Jamie murmured with admiration. ‘Still, this pair has not split yet.’

  The Reverend turned and smiled, flexing the cane between his powerful hands. ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘They seem to be standing up well, so far. Silk would be stronger, but I was hoping to keep to cotton, both for reasons of economy and because I do not want my girls giving themselves airs.’

  At this, he looked straight at Amelia and she hurriedly dropped her eyes. The effect of this was that her gaze fell on her jutting breasts and the nipples that were sticking out, visible against the thin silk, as they seemed to do distressingly frequently. You can keep your silk, she thought mutinously. But she hardly breathed until the Reverend’s attention moved back to the trembling Monique.

  ‘However,’ the Reverend Dawes said with a dramatic flourish, ‘there is another test yet. You, girl, give me that sponge.’

  The material constraining Monique’s bottom and thighs was so thin, and so taut, that Amelia could already clearly see the welts that the Reverend’s cane had raised on the girl’s hindquarters; lines of pink glowing through the snow-white stuff. Monique gasped as the man applied the soaking sponge, thoroughly wetting the whole target area. Then she started whimpering strangely.

  ‘Is it shrinking?’ Jamie asked in awe.

  ‘A little bit. I don’t think these can get much tighter, really,’ Mademoiselle chuckled.

  What was not in question was that wetting the cotton made it more transparent. The welts showed through lividly now, and Amelia licked her lips. The now wet gusset revealed every detail of Monique’s quim.

  The Reverend stepped back and placed the cane across the moist material sheathing the fullest part of Monique’s bottom. The shop-girl gave a little wail of fear and Amelia watched the plump cheeks clench in anticipation.

  ‘Relax them, girl. I’ll have no clenching – relax them.’

  Somehow Monique managed to comply and, without more ado, the Reverend lashed the proffered bottom once again. There was a subtly different sound as the cane impacted on bottom-cheeks constrained in wet cotton, and another shriek from Monique’s lips. This time she stood and clutched her bottom, deaf to Mademoiselle Isobel’s shocked admonishments. The girl shook her pretty head, and hopped from foot to foot for a full minute before turning a tearful and shamefaced look towards the man wielding the cane.

  ‘Feel that one, miss?’

  ‘Ooh, oh, yes, sir. It was terribly tight, your reverence, sir. Ooh. Ouch.’

  ‘Tighter than the others?’

  ‘Y-yes sir, quite a bit… ah… stingier on the wet.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, bend down again, girl.’

  ‘Ah, again?’ Blinking away tears, Monique looked first at the Reverend and then at Mademoiselle, before turning back with obvious reluctance to the platform and taking up her position once more. The Reverend Dawes strode over to her and patted the damp seat of her drawers, causing the girl to wince and suck her breath in. The large man chuckled as he squeezed her bottom flesh appraisingly.

  ‘No splits. Excellent; these will do very well.’

  Monique’s bottom was moving in response to his probing; as his fingers moved down the cheeks to pass between her legs, she let out a groan. Amelia wondered crossly what this fingering could have to do with the Reverend’s professed concern for the proprieties. Corporal correction was one thing, but it seemed to Amelia that this fondling was improperly intimate, and that Monique’s moaning and writhing displayed an indecent response to such liberties. Of course, she reasoned as the girl’s cries became more desperate, Monique was nothing but a shop-girl and little better could be expected from common sluts of that sort. Still, it was appalling that Amelia had to stand and watch the low-bred brute caress his trollop to what was obviously a climax, and she vowed to revenge herself on Monique, should the opportunity ever come her way.

  At least she did not have to watch for very long. The girl soon started grunting and gasping in a most undignified manner and finally fell, squealing to her knees. She was given but the briefest of interludes to recover, then packed off to extricate herself from the whipping drawers and dress. Amelia sighed with relief as she watched the girl scurry away.

  ‘A most satisfactory experiment,’ the Reverend said genially as he toyed with the cane
. ‘I should like a dozen pairs initially, Mademoiselle, and two dozen extra back panels. Now, it only remains to enquire how the rubber version functions.’

  Those predatory grey eyes locked onto Amelia’s and suddenly her heart was hammering again.

  ‘My dear.’ The Reverend Dawes inclined his head politely and indicated the platform with his cane. ‘Perhaps you would care to step this way?’

  A Rod in Pickle

  The joyous pealing of the distant church bells could be clearly heard from the nursery as the cousins were dressed in their Sunday best. Yet the sound failed to cheer Amelia. For one thing, the corsets had arrived from Mademoiselle Isobel’s on the previous day, and Betsy was lacing her into the stays with a relish matched only by the nursery-maid’s considerable strength.

  ‘Oof… ah… Please, Betsy, it’s like a vice already… Ooh.’ Amelia hung onto the bedstead for dear life, as the maid hauled at the laces with all her might.

  Clara, already laced into her own white satin waspie, stood watching, looking startled and breathing carefully, to one side. All she wore was the corset and the usual silk stockings, this time supported by the new suspender drops with which the stays had come equipped. Thus, the white lace trim of the corset, the suspender straps and the silk stocking-tops provided the most delightful frame for the blonde girl’s shaven quim.

  Unfortunately, Amelia had no leisure to enjoy this prospect. Betsy placed a plump knee in the small of her back, to get even more purchase, and both girls grunted as the laces were forced tighter, and then tighter still.

  When, a little later, they joined the rest of the Hope Hall household in the courtyard, Amelia felt no happier about the day. The collected maids all gloried in their full uniforms for once, hoisting long skirts out of the mire under Mrs Pritchard’s disdainful gaze. They did not even have to undergo the humiliation of wearing collars. In contrast, once again Amelia and Clara had been given the absurd smocks to wear. Clara had then been issued with the usual frilly knickers but Amelia had had to endure even worse.