Portrait of a Disciplinarian

by Aishling Morgan

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Also by Aishling Morgan

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Stephanie ‘Stiffy’ Truscott has a talent for trouble, and no less than six aunts – every one of whom believes the best place for an unruly young lady is over the knee. They object to her driving, her dancing, but most of all to her choice of fiancé, and as she attempts to evade their all too eager hands, she only digs herself in even deeper.

  After stealing her prospective father-in-law’s prize-winning pig and being tricked into joining the local fascists, Stephanie can expect to have her bare bottom severely caned in front of an appreciative audience, but still she tries to wriggle free.

  Also by Aishling Morgan

  BEASTLY BEHAVIOUR

  CONCEIT AND CONSEQUENCE

  CREAM TEASE

  CRUEL SHADOW

  DEMONIC CONGRESS

  INNOCENT

  MOST BUXOM

  NATURAL DESIRE, STRANGE DESIGN

  PRINCESS

  SIN’S APPRENTICE

  STRIP GIRL

  TEMPTING THE GODDESS

  THE OLD PERVERSITY SHOP

  UNIFORM DOLLS

  VELVET SKIN

  WENCHES, WITCHES & STRUMPETS

  WHIPPING GIRL

  One

  ‘I SAY, STIFFY,’ Freddie Drake remarked.

  ‘Don’t be vulgar,’ Stephanie Truscott replied, knowing full well that his remark was occasioned by the shape her bottom made under her dress as she leant out of the window. ‘Just pass me the boathook. I think I can get one.’

  ‘Right ho,’ Freddie answered and, as Stephanie’s hand reached back, something long and hard was pressed into her palm. ‘Ah, one day, Stiffy …’

  ‘Do be quiet, Freddie,’ she told him. ‘I’m trying to concentrate.’

  A policeman was almost directly below her, a stoutish individual with three stripes on his sleeve indicating that he was no normal specimen but of sergeant’s rank. His helmet would be a prize indeed, and would put Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe firmly in her place. A careful insertion of the boathook into his chinstrap, a quick jerk, a hasty retreat through the Dove to where her two-seater stood ready, and it would be done.

  Unfortunately neither the Oxford nor the Cambridge crew were assisting. The two boats were so close together that the crowd were watching with rapt attention, either cheering for one side or the other or, like the police sergeant, watching with their mouths open in excitement. In most cases this would have been beneficial, as their attention was diverted from her careful manipulation of the boathook, but with the sergeant it meant that the chinstrap of his helmet had become wedged between his second and third chins, making easy removal an impossibility. Yet a small gap remained where one reddish ear and a bulging cheek held the strap clear of his skin for a space of perhaps an inch.

  Stephanie braced her feet apart and pursed her lips in concentration, moving the boathook gradually forward towards her target – only for the sergeant to step forward a pace as the man in front of him moved away. He had also closed his mouth, now apathetic as Oxford got into a tangle with their oars and began to lose way. The strap now dangled a good inch clear of his chin, yet he was no longer within reach of the boathook, and leaning any further out of the window risked a drop of some twelve feet on to granite cobbles.

  ‘Hold on to me, Freddie,’ she instructed.

  ‘Rather,’ he replied, full of enthusiasm for the task.

  His hands closed on her hips, holding her firmly in place, but he had also moved directly behind her, in such a way that he was pressed firmly against her bottom. Something suspiciously long and hard was nudging between her cheeks, causing her eyes to widen and her mouth to open in a little O of shock and surprise before she managed to collect herself.

  ‘Freddie!’ she protested.

  ‘Too tight?’ he enquired politely.

  ‘No, but …’ she began, and trailed off, unsure how to point out to him, without resorting to improper language that it was the height of bad manners to wedge his erect penis between the cheeks of her bottom.

  ‘Just stop it!’ she hissed, a poor choice of words, as he immediately let go.

  For one awful moment she felt her body begin to topple forward, only for his grip to tighten once again.

  ‘Better hold on, don’t you think?’ he suggested. ‘Yes!’ she answered. ‘But could you … will you … just behave yourself, Freddie Drake!’

  ‘Right ho,’ he answered, and immediately pressed himself to her bottom, exactly as before.

  Stephanie said a word she had once heard used by her grandfather’s pigman when he had inadvertently rolled a cart laden with several hundredweight of mangel-wurzels over his foot, but she said it under her breath. The boats were now well past, and much of the crowd had moved on up river, reducing the noise level so that it was possible that the police sergeant might hear her. Although he appeared to have fallen into a reverie as he looked out across the river, there was every chance he would turn round. The deed had to be done without delay. Inching the boathook forward, she braced herself for the adroit flick that would secure her prize. Just then, Freddie began kneading her buttocks with his thumbs.

  ‘Will you stop that!’ she demanded in a fierce whisper, twisting round as she spoke.

  ‘Be a sport, Stiffy old thing,’ he answered, pressing closer still to her body. ‘You have such a darling little bottom and, I mean to say, what’s a chap supposed to do?’

  ‘Freddie!’ Stephanie hissed, urgent now as he began to rub himself between her cheeks. ‘Must you be so beastly!’

  Freddie’s answer was a low moan, then to lower the window on to her back, carefully, so as not to hurt her, but leaving her unable to move.

  ‘Freddie!’ she repeated, in rising consternation as the rubbing grew faster.

  He didn’t reply, and she began to wriggle, but only succeeded in rubbing her bottom against him, which he took for a sign of encouragement. Not daring to call out, for fear of alerting the policeman to her intentions, she could only stay as she was, pinned helpless by the waist as he amused himself with her bottom, now fondling her cheeks as he rubbed himself in her crease with rising excitement.

  ‘Oh, do hurry up then, if you really must!’ she snapped. ‘But you really are an utter beast!’

  She was not at all sure he could hear her, but in any case the remark was made more to soothe her own ruffled feelings than for him, as he clearly had no intention of stopping until he had finished his business. Tucking the boathook between her tummy and the window ledge, she braced her hands against the brick-work. Her tiny mouth set in a petulant grimace, then slackened as she realised that he would be unable to see her disapproval. Besides, what he was doing to her felt both deliciously naughty and deliciously nice.

  But when he suddenly began to tug up her dress she did react, wriggling frantically in a vain effort to escape, terrified that she was about to have her virginity taken, maybe even be left pregnant, or perhaps have his cock inserted up her bottom instead of between her cheeks. He disregarded her struggles and quickly jerked up her dress, exposing the seat of the American union suit that was all she had on beneath. Both her consternation and her struggles grew fiercer still as she was unbuttoned behind, leaving her bare bottom sticking out of the hole in her union suit.

  She felt his cock, naked and hot, as he once more pre
ssed it between her cheeks, not against either of the vulnerable little holes between, but upright as before. He squeezed her cheeks together, folding the meaty little hemispheres around his burning erection, then again began to rut in her slit, now fast and urgent. Stephanie opened her mouth wide, unable to control her feelings, half wishing the thick cock between her cheeks were inside her instead, whatever the consequences. The other half of her wanted him suspended by his feet and dipped into the Thames for an extended period, head first, but she had no choice in the matter and could do no more than gasp out her feelings and clutch the rough bricks of the wall as her bottom was abused. Her body had begun to rock back and forth to his thrusts, rolling the shaft of the boathook between her tummy and the window ledge, faster and faster still, until he gave one last hard shove.

  Stephanie Truscott felt something warm and wet splash on to the small of her back, just in the V where her cheeks opened out. She cried out in disgust as she realised what he’d done, and jerked round. The boathook shot free of the window ledge, to fall in a slow arc that terminated on the helmet of the policeman below. Stephanie tried to pull back, but the window held her firmly in place, and Freddie was too busy wiping his own helmet on her bottom to notice as the sergeant turned around.

  ‘A five-pound fine or seven days in the jug,’ Stephanie admitted.

  Her mother drew a sigh.

  ‘Really, Stephanie, the day will come when I will leave you to spend a week in gaol. Perhaps that would teach you a lesson?’

  Stephanie hung her head, biting her lip and fidgeting as she stared at the toes of her shoes and waited for the inevitable summons.

  ‘Meanwhile,’ Lady Truscott went on, not unkindly, ‘you had better come here and we’ll have that naughty bottom of yours smacked, shall we?’

  Stephanie walked forward, not even thinking of resistance or protest, despite the presence of a parlour-maid in one corner of the room, industriously polishing a walnut table from which every blemish had already been removed. The maid continued to work as Stephanie draped herself across her mother’s lap, but she moved to the far side of the table to make sure she got the best possible view of the spanking.

  Resigned to her ignominious fate, Stephanie lifted her hips to allow her dress to be pulled up, then settled herself across her mother’s knees, her bottom now the highest part of her body. Her union suit was a little small, stretching between the buttons to leave slender ovals of milky white flesh visible, and the silk was both taut and thin, offering little or no protection to her bottom. That did not prevent her mother from unfastening the garment, undoing the buttons from the lowest up to the small of Stephanie’s back, to leave her small, rounded cheeks sticking out between the open sides of the union suit.

  Stephanie grimaced, thinking of the show she was making of herself both to her mother and, more importantly, to the parlour-maid, her bottom quite bare and the lips of her quim showing between her thighs as well. Not that it was the first time, by a very long way, but it was still horribly embarrassing to have it done, and a thousand times worse when it was in front of the servants.

  She pursed her lips as her mother began to spank, determined not to make more of an exhibition of herself than was necessary. Fortunately her mother believed in chastisement for its own sake and didn’t spank particularly hard, allowing Stephanie to retain at least some of her modesty. She still wriggled a little when the slaps caught her thighs or made her cheeks open to provide peeks of her bottom hole to the ever-attentive parlour-maid, but she managed to stop herself throwing a tantrum or even crying, save for a single tear that drew a long black line of mascara down her cheek.

  Finally she was allowed to stand up. She turned to face her mother.

  ‘Go to the corner,’ Lady Truscott ordered, ‘and you can think about your behaviour for a while.’

  Stephanie went, holding her dress up, because she knew only too well that when she was told to go to the corner she was to stand with her nose pressed into the angle of the walls and her bare red bottom showing to the room. She even adjusted her union suit to make sure she showed properly from behind, hoping that her mother would mistake the gesture for contrition, but Lady Truscott had picked up the novel she’d been reading and took no notice. Only the parlour-maid was watching, with a nasty little smirk on her face. After a moment Stephanie plucked up the courage to stick out her tongue.

  Turning back into the corner, she hung her head, feeling every bit as rueful as her mother might have hoped, but far from repentant. Her principal emotion was irritation, because it was all so grossly unfair. It wasn’t her fault at all, but she was sure that the beastly Freddie Drake wouldn’t be standing in his living room with a hot red bottom on show to the world. Admittedly, once he’d realised what was happening he had done his best to help her escape, and it wasn’t his fault that the alley he’d suggested she nip down had had two constables coming along it the other way in response to their sergeant’s whistle. That had just been bad luck, and it had also been bad luck that the inspector at the police station had recognised her from the time before.

  So she’d been pinched, and Freddie had not only got away but had the immortal crust to come to the magistrates’ court and pay her fine, passing a few choice remarks about delinquency in the modern girl to the very sergeant he’d so narrowly avoided in the alleys of Hammersmith. He hadn’t even been particularly sympathetic, giving her the briefest of hugs before making an unpardonably rude joke about what she’d have to do to pay him back the five pounds, and going on to describe how Cambridge had won the boat race by ten lengths to secure their fifth victory in succession.

  At the memory of his behaviour her lips moulded into the same petulant expression she had worn while having his penis rubbed between her bottom cheeks. Then they softened again. Despite her very genuine resentment at his cavalier treatment, it was impossible not to feel a thrill, a deliciously naughty, thoroughly improper thrill. They had misbehaved, in a way that would have utterly scandalised their friends and relatives, and that felt wonderful. So, she was forced to admit to herself, had his cock, as he rubbed it so energetically up and down in her bottom slit.

  Besides all that, she seemed to have earned the worst fate of all: being sent down to the country, where she would be unable to prevent Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe either from securing the coveted position of club secretary for Gaspers or from forcing her beastly attentions upon Freddie. He, Stephanie was certain, would be unable to resist, as among Myrtle’s numerous faults were a dark, slumberous beauty and a nasty habit of appearing coy yet mysterious whenever men were around. Then, too, Myrtle didn’t get spanked and never had been, which had always provoked a sharp sense of inferiority in Stephanie. If the committee at Gaspers found out that Stephanie not only still got spanked but did so frequently, her chances would become slimmer still. It was essential to be in London.

  ‘That’s long enough, I think,’ Lady Truscott stated, closing her novel with a snap. ‘You may come out of the corner now, Stephanie, and first thing tomorrow morning you will go down to Devon, where you will stay until further notice.’

  Stephanie’s first move on being given permission to come out of the corner had been to reach for the buttons of her union suit, intending to put her bottom away first so that she could hide it from the attention of the parlour-maid, which was suspiciously intense. At her mother’s words she froze, then opened her mouth wide in protest.

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘I’ll have no nonsense,’ Lady Truscott replied, suddenly stern.

  ‘Yes, but Mother –,’ Stephanie blustered.

  ‘Stephanie Amelia!’ Lady Truscott snapped.

  Stephanie winced, painfully aware of the implication of having both her Christian names used. Another word and the parlour-maid was likely to be told to fetch a cane, and maybe even to hold Stephanie while she was beaten, a prospect far more painful and humiliating than a simple spanking. She made a face, but remained silent as her mother went on.

  ‘You will go to
Devon, and remain there until further notice, as I have said. To Driscoll’s, I think.’

  ‘Driscoll’s?’ Stephanie echoed. ‘But Mother, please …’

  ‘To Driscoll’s,’ Lady Truscott said firmly.

  ‘Why not Stukely Hall?’ Stephanie demanded.

  ‘Your great-grandmother is ninety-five,’ Lady Truscott explained patiently, ‘and your grandmother has requested absolute calm, something that seems to be an impossibility with you about. You are going to Driscoll’s.’

  ‘How many of my aunts are there?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘Only two,’ her mother replied. ‘Three if you count your Great-aunt Victoria. Lavinia, Edith and Rosalie are at Beare.’

  After a moment of calculation Stephanie winced again. Three aunts could mean only one thing: more spankings. Possibly the cane, too.

  ‘I want you well away from bad influences,’ Lady Truscott went on, ‘and that dreadful club of yours. I suppose you were with that awful flapper Myrtle and Roberta Drake?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Stephanie replied. ‘I was escorted by Mr Frederick Drake.’

  Her mother gave a cluck that indicated as low an opinion of one Drake as of the other.

  ‘Your sister is at Driscoll’s, of course,’ she continued, ‘so I will be sending Vera to keep an eye on you.’

  Stephanie’s face grew sulkier still and she cast a dirty look at the parlour-maid, who now looked the picture of dutiful service as she curtsied to Lady Truscott.

  ‘May I at least take the two-seater?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘I suppose so,’ her mother answered. ‘It’s only getting in the way here.’

  ‘I don’t mind doing without a maid,’ Stephanie volunteered, made bold by her mother’s acquiescence.

  ‘Vera will go with you,’ Lady Truscott said firmly. ‘And Vera, if Miss Stephanie doesn’t behave herself, I think you know what to do.’

  ‘Mother!’ Stephanie exclaimed in horror.

  ‘Yes, Lady Truscott,’ Vera supplied, her voice thoroughly smug. Stephanie wondered if there was to be any female member of the household who was not allowed access to her bottom.