Shamed

by Theresa Taylor

  “Swallow.” he encouraged as if it were the most natural thing in the world. So she did.

  “Ship ahoy!” Came a loud shout from one of the pirates. “Navy cutter approaching, south east!”

  There was consternation amongst the pirates. Captain Bartram hurriedly buttoned his breeches and began calling out orders.

  “Back to our ship! Back to our ship! Take what you can and let’s get moving!” he yelled out.

  A desperate chaos ensued as stores and goods were loaded from the Elvira to the pirate ship. Finally the last of the pirates clambered over the side and boarded his vessel. The pirate Captain called out orders as Prudence watched on, arrogantly stood with hands on hips on the sterncastle deck and finally the pirate ship moved away from the Elvira and broke out quickly into the open sea. They seemed to have forgotten all about Prudence; leaving her there as she was, tied to the chest, naked, exhausted. She could feel the deposits of her pirate assailants seeping from between her legs, spilling out of her with a steady patter upon the now quietened and lonely deck.

  For a moment there was silence. She tried to free her hands but the bindings held tight. She was suddenly panicked by the thought of being found like this by the rescuing navy sailors that were approaching. Then there was the screech of a door opening and soft footsteps drew near unseen. Prudence twisted to see who it was and gasped with relief when she saw Maud slowly approach, a terrified and appalled look on her face.

  “Ma’am? Oh, by the lord I thought they had slit your throat.”

  “No, Maud.” Prudence sighed with relief. “I’m unharmed. But the Navy approaches and you must help free me quickly.” Thank God she thought. They had forgotten Maud too.

  Maud looked strained, in shock almost at the sight of her mistress. But she quickly untied her and they rushed to the cabin and Prudence dressed just as they heard calls from the approaching Navy boat.

  They found the Elvira’s crew bound in the hold and bar a few superficial wounds, all safe and well. Prudence and Elvira were taken aboard the navy ship and treated as guests of the Captain. They sailed on to their destination and by nightfall were back at the estate with Prudence’s parents. Other than a reluctance to sit down and an awkward moment in the company of the navy captain as she explained the events of the day and she felt a leaking dribble running down the inside of her thighs, Prudence was in good spirit. She explained that she had simply been forced to cook for the rogues and feed them, but otherwise their behaviour had been tolerable.

  She had sworn Maud to secrecy over the events on the Elvira. They would however talk often about what happened, late at night in hushed tones in the privacy of Prudence’s room. The troubled servant finally coming to terms with Prudence’s assurances that, despite everything, she had secretly enjoyed the experience. She found Maud eventually wanting to learn more and more of how they had done it and how it had felt. Prudence would play out her fallen woman fantasies again, but this time with Maud as a companion, taking the place of the unsavoury gentleman customers, pleasing her mistress with a hairbrush handle.

  The House Cleaner

  The kids were running around like lunatics and getting under her feet and Chris was trying to rein them in and make sure they had all their school stuff together before he bundled them into the car so he could drop them off on his way to work. She finished the sandwich boxes and pushed them into the backpacks on top of the random assortment of books and sports kit and handed them to Chris. He gave her a quick peck and called to the kids to get into the car.

  “I’ll get finished as soon as I can at work, but I’m going to be late back whatever happens.” He apologised.

  Nicole gave him an understanding smile as she brushed a strand of loose hair from her face. Like everyone else she knew times were hard, money was short. But they got by better than some she knew. The overtime Chris got at the factory came in handy and she worked when the kids were at school, as a domestic cleaner.

  Once she had watched Chris and the kids disappear out of sight around the corner she closed the front door and did a quick round up of stray clothing and toys, washed the breakfast plates and cups and headed up for a shower. Freshened and make-up applied she dressed and packed her hold-all with the days requirements for her job.

  By ten o’clock she was at her first call in Farleigh Crescent and in elbow length rubber gloves, was scrubbing the toilet and bringing a sheen to the bathroom. Bathroom first - that was the way Mrs. Smart liked it done. She always paid by cheque which was a nuisance and never quite found the time to drag herself away from the television to utter more than a “thanks love” when Nicole had finished her chores.

  Due to the late arrival of the bus she was ten minutes late to the Hindhurst Road house but it didn’t matter. The two men who shared the place were both at work and she let herself in with the key they had entrusted her with. Though it was never spoken aloud, she knew they were a gay couple and she often wondered just why they wasted their money on employing a cleaner three days of the week. They kept the place spotless themselves and her tasks amounted to little more than a quick vacuum around, dust a few surfaces and take out the rubbish on a Wednesday. Finishing early as she usually did she spent the last thirty five minutes sat out on the patio smoking a cigarette while she flicked through a magazine. On her way out she collected the cash that was always left on the hallway table and locked up.

  She normally caught the bus to Mr. Jordan’s, her last call of the day. But as the weather was pleasant today she decided to walk. No sooner had turned into the tree lined avenue of Spring Grove than she felt the butterflies begin in her stomach. The large houses sat back from the road had pristine gardens and looked altogether grander and far removed from the houses in the street where she lived. Passing number 42, her favourite, she allowed herself a few seconds of daydreaming before the butterflies returned again and Mr. Jordan's home at number 88 came into view. She felt her breathing deepen and feeling herself blush she lowered her face and watched her feet as she walked the last few yards even though there was no-one around to bear witness. Finally she reached the gate and walked up the long path to the front door. As per the arrangement, she rang the doorbell twice then entered the house. Placing her hold-all in the oak panelled hallway she immediately climbed the staircase. At the top she made her way straight to the bathroom and, leaving the door ajar, stripped off her cleaning attire and stepped into the shower. She showered long enough to feel refreshed and to quickly ensure she was well shaved. On the heated rail was a lush towel already warmed and once she had dried herself she stopped for a moment to look at herself in the large mirror.

  She never felt that she looked anything special. Certainly not model standards anyway but her figure was ok and with her hair done she felt passable. Chris was always reassuring her about her looks but it was Mr. Jordan who made her feel differently about herself in a whole new way. A way that she couldn’t explain. She couldn’t even explain how she had ended up where she was. She had responded to the advert in the local paper for a domestic cleaner, got the job after a brief, formal, interview in Mr. Jordan’s study and for the first three weeks everything had been normal. Then he had started to make suggestions. Subtle at first, how her hair would look nicer in a certain style. How her make-up would look better with a certain shade of lipstick, eye-liner done a certain way. She wasn’t sure why she had taken any notice really, but she did and after each change, normally just for her visits to Mr. Jordan’s, she found a bonus in her pay packet at the end of the week.

  Nicole put the towel into the wash basket and gathered up her carrier bag. She walked naked across the landing to a room at the end and went inside. Here, she sat before the dressing table in the small bedroom and did her hair and make-up just the way Mr. Jordan liked it. Satisfied she stood and felt the nerves jangling through her body as she looked over her shoulder at herself again in the mirror. A breast, just visible as she twisted, small, a handful just about as Chris would say, her waist nipped in just eno
ugh to get away with and then her bottom, rounded but firm. She turned then to face the mirror, her nipples prominent, stiffened with anticipation, the bare flesh of her groin. That had earned her a good bonus. Mr. Jordan had asked “how do you dress below”. After some confusion she finally realised what he was asking about. Hugely embarrassed she never the less found herself compelled to answer him. He suggested that he would appreciate it much more if she was cleanly shaven. It took longer for her to take action that time, she hadn’t looked that way since she was a young girl and couldn’t imagine reverting. Finally she had done it and although hideously shamed when providing the proof the bonus in her pay pack had been the biggest yet. It seemed strange that Chris did not even question her sudden change from “furry beaver” to “shaven haven”. He liked it too so she had kept it that way and she was pleased that Chris’ didn’t ask as she had no idea how she would answer him convincingly.

  Then Mr. Jordan’s requests became more extreme and Nicole found herself thinking that she should leave. But the money was too good and, no matter how ashamed she felt afterwards, the increased money in her wage packet each time always seemed to outweigh the feelings of guilt and wrong that knotted her inside as she went home to her family. She was torn between feelings of being something akin to a prostitute and yet she was unable to give up on the money that so helped the family. But it wasn’t just the money. She also felt a strange need to return each week – something calling her more than the money. Something that made her feel ashamed and exhilarated at the same time in a way she could not understand or explain. Neither could she explain how she allowed Mr. Jordan to persuade her to behave in this way. All she knew was that now, she would do whatever Mr. Jordan asked of her, no matter how humiliated she felt at the time, no matter how subversive she thought his suggestions to be. She felt nothing for him. She was not afraid of him, yet she was compelled to follow his each and every suggestion, she didn’t know why or how. It had started with exposing her breasts to him, then to touching herself for him, then after having suggested she select a sex toy from a catalogue, the following week he presented it to her and asked her use it. From there things had gone on beyond what Nicole could possibly have imagined in her previous naiveté.

  Nicole caught herself deep in thought and realised she needed to prepare. She reached beneath the dressing table and retrieved a pair of high heel shoes which she stepped into. In a drawer she found the leather collar with a ‘D’ ring that she wore around her neck, as always at Mr. Jordan’s behest. On her wrists she fastened the leather cuffs that also had a ‘D’ ring on each. Finally around her ankles she placed the leather ankle cuffs with ‘D’ rings. She always felt as if it was like a suit with no clothes. Just the collar and cuffs. Drawing a deep breath she opened the door and walked edgily to the top of the stairs, the shoes pulling her calves taught and straightening her posture. Then slowly she descended the stairs taking care because of the tall slender heels. Reaching the hallway she heard the click of the heels increase on the polished wooden floor and, passing several others, she approached the door to the summer room. She knocked once and waited for Mr. Jordan to bid her to enter. She found his ways unusual, weird even, but put it down to his class and upbringing. At the sound of his voice she opened the door and with her heart racing stepped into the room.

  Mr Jordan was seated in his wheelchair at the patio windows looking out into the garden, a hand lazily stroking his beard. Nicole closed the door behind her and stepped into the centre of the room, the shoes quietened now by the deep pile of the rug. He was, she thought, about sixty - maybe sixty five - and gave the impression of belonging to a different world, one that was fast fading into the past.

  “Good morning Nicole.” He said without looking at her. “How are you today?”

  “I’m very well Mr Jordan.” She replied, an almost imperceptible tremble in her voice. She stood as straight as possible with her hands by her sides, the palms pressed against her thighs.

  “The tits are very playful in the garden today.” He remarked. “I’ve been watching them for an hour or more. Such delightful creatures.” Nicole did not answer.

  He manoeuvred the wheelchair around to face her and for a moment just sat and stared at her.

  “And you Nicole, are you feeling playful today?”

  “I am Mr Jordan.”

  “Did you come on the bus?”

  “Um, no. Today I decided to walk.”

  “That’s disappointing to hear Nicole. You know how I like you to ride the bus.”

  “I do. I’m sorry. It was a nice day....”

  “I like you to ride the bus on the back seat with your hand inside your clothing Nicole.” He interrupted her, his voice a little sterner. “I like to know that you have done that before arriving here.”

  “I know Mr Jordan.” Nicole hung her head “I am sorry.”

  He let out a deep sigh and wheeled the chair closer to her on the rug.

  “I hadn’t intended punishing you today, but I’m disappointed. You have disappointed me Nicole. Do you understand?”

  Nicole nodded her head keeping her eyes focused on the rug. She could feel his eyes wandering over her body but resisted the desire to cover herself with her hands. She kept them pressed by her side.

  He told her to go to the study and fetch the stool. She gave no response but turned and walked erect, as he liked her to, determined not to let him see the slight tremble that had taken hold of her hands. The heels clicked as she walked naked through the house to the study, collected the stool and carried it back to the summer room.

  She placed the stool in the middle of the rug. She knew the routine from here. She crossed silently to a cupboard and took out a cane. Then she stopped at the bureau and from a small draw at the front she collected a small velvet pouch. Nicole carried the items over to Mr Jordan and handed him the cane. Then she stood before the stool, opened the velvet pouch and tipped its contents into her hand. Mr Jordan positioned himself closer to the stool so that he had a clearer view.

  “You may roll it now.” He said. In Nicole’s palm was a dice. But it was no ordinary dice. Rather than the usual 1 to 6 it was numbered in increments of five up to thirty. Nervously she rolled the dice around in her sweating palms, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth, her mind willing as any gamblers might do for a sympathetic number to be revealed as she threw. Please, she thought please be low.

  Noticing Mr Jordan’s impatience growing, she finally let the dice fall onto the top of the stool. It spun on its edge for a few moments, tantalising, until finally settling.

  15. Nicole groaned. Fifteen! Neither good nor bad. Mr Jordan tapped her on the bottom with the tip of the cane. “If you are ready.” He said. Nicole buried her face in her hands for a moment, before shaking her mind free of her nerves and with gritted teeth bent forward and placed her palms on the stool. The cane tapped at the inside of her calves, Mr Jordan reminding her that her legs needed to be spread wide apart. This made it harder. She had to manoeuvre her feet carefully so that she didn’t turn an ankle in the high heels and equally, being that much taller in them she had to bend down further until her upper body was pressed down on top of her hands on the stool. Her knees began to shake almost immediately.

  “Fifteen then.” Mr Jordon announced, she could hear the change of tone in his voice to one of barely suppressed glee. “Fifteen! I’m sure you’ll enjoy it Nicole”.

  She could feel how exposed she was, imagining the view that Mr Jordan must have from behind her. Indeed, he seemed to delay some time before she heard the swish of a practice stroke. He adjusted his wheelchair, another swish as he swung another practice stroke – even so she flinched involuntarily. Then she heard him suck in his breath and she knew that the next one was for real. She too sucked in her breath and waited for what seemed an age before she heard the descent of the cane cutting through the air and almost before it had registered in her brain the first stinging strike as it whipped across her buttocks. By the eighth stroke N
icole could feel the tears running down her face. Mr Jordan was being particularly brutal this time. Her fingers clawed at the wooden stool and her knees began to sag, but that only served to make her stance more uncomfortable and spread her buttocks more, making each strike more painful. With renewed determination she tried to brace herself and her straighten her legs. Mr Jordan seemed to ease up on the next five strokes, perhaps flagging a little himself. By now though, Nicole was trembling from head to toe. Her backside felt as if it was on fire and she was openly sobbing. Still though, she stood her ground, driven now by a new resilience, determined to see this through and losing herself in thought in the brief moments somewhere between the strokes. Mr Jordan seemed to pause for a few moments before administering the final two strokes. But when he delivered them, they came with renewed venom and Nicole cried out aloud as they bit home.

  “There.” Mr Jordan said breathlessly. “Well done Nicole. Now get cleaned up and we’ll continue with today’s session.”

  She had to summon the strength to stop herself falling to her knees. She could clearly see the old man’s erection tenting his trousers. Nicole placed the dice back in its pouch, took the cane from Mr Jordan and put them away. Then she carried the stool back to the study, her buttocks smarting with each step, before going upstairs to the bathroom and splashing cold water on her face. She returned to the small room and carefully retouched her make-up and studied her striped and glowing bottom in the mirror. She would have to keep clear of Chris for a few a days to ensure he didn’t see the marks on her. That wouldn’t be too hard with him working long shifts thankfully. Finally she returned downstairs to the summer room.

  As she entered she saw that Mr Jordan was sat at the bureau and was just replacing the telephone receiver. “Ah, wonderful! You look good as new.” He chirped. “Now if I may I think I’ll have a brandy, if you’d be so kind.” Nicole nodded and went to the cabinet and poured the drink as requested. She handed it to the old man, all too aware with each step of the continued burning sensation left by the caning. As she handed it to him the doorbell chimed. Nicole froze; she had never known Mr Jordan to have visitors. Not at least during the day while she was “attending to his house”. Mr Jordan, saw the look of anguish on her face and raised a hand to calm her. “Nothing to be worried about Nicole. Just a visitor.” He said softly. “Now go and let them in and bring them through to the summer room.”