Portrait of a Disciplinarian

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘… silk combinations,’ he was saying, ‘and don’t they cover your little sit-upon ever so nice and tight. That’s the way, my dear, nice and slow with the buttons …’

  He continued to relish every detail of Hermione’s striptease and ignore Stephanie, to her immense chagrin. It was bad enough to be made to suck his penis, without him ignoring her in favour of her little sister, and the sound of his lascivious drawl made it impossible to imagine that it was Freddie’s cock in her mouth. She began to try some of the techniques he’d taught her, licking at the underside of his foreskin and sucking his helmet between her lips, determined to make him pay attention, which he finally did, but not quite in the way she had anticipated.

  ‘Quite the darling, your sister,’ he said, addressing Hermione. ‘Best cocksucker this side of Exeter, I wouldn’t be surprised. Now, how about a peep of cunt?’

  Hermione was clearly nude, a thought that gave Stephanie a sudden twinge of shame. She’d made her little sister strip for a dirty old man and show her quim; perhaps even now her bottom was stuck out so that the soft, sweetly bulging lips pouted between her thighs, which would mean her bottom hole was showing too. A lump had begun to grow in Stephanie’s throat, yet still she sucked, eager to make him come and end her sister’s humiliation.

  Remembering how he liked it, she tried to take him deeper, but the moment the bulbous helmet pushed into her throat she began to choke. He groaned in ecstasy and put his hand on top of her hat, pushing her head down once more. Stephanie struggled to take it, gagging on his cock as it was forced down her throat. Again he groaned, his cock jerked, spunk erupted against the back of her throat, her stomach gave a single, violent lurch, and her mouth was full not only of cock, spunk and saliva but regurgitated plum duff with clotted cream.

  Though a novice in the art of fellatio, she was certain that it would be considered the height of bad manners to be sick over a man’s cock, so she swallowed bravely. Her face screwed up in a revulsion that was anything but feigned as the contents of her mouth slithered back down her throat, and it took all her will power to keep them there. When she finally managed to open her eyes it was to find Lias looking down at his dirty, slippery cock in disapproval.

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t do that,’ he chided. ‘Now be a dear and suck me clean.’

  Stephanie made a face, but she was in the same state of helpless acquiescence as after a good spanking, and leant meekly forward to take his cock in her mouth once more, drawing back with her lips pursed to leave his shaft merely wet. From behind her Hermione gave a nervous and disgusted giggle.

  ‘Yuck, Stiffy! Are you finished then, Mr Snell?’

  ‘Quite finished, thank you, my dear,’ he answered, ‘and very nice too, if I may say so, especially when you went down on all fours like that, ever so pretty that was.’

  Stephanie turned around, to find Hermione still on all fours, stark naked, her knees apart and her bottom lifted to provide not just the requested peep of her quim but a full show, including the wrinkled pink pit of her anus.

  ‘You dirty girl!’ Stephanie exclaimed. ‘You’re showing everything!’

  ‘The human body is beautiful,’ Hermione responded, ‘and we should not be ashamed to show what God gave us, and besides, as I said, the pose was demanded by artistic verisimilitude.’

  ‘Who told you all that?’ Stephanie demanded. ‘No, never mind. I’ll talk to you later. Mr Snell, are we in agreement?’

  ‘Call me Lias,’ he answered as she finished buttoning his fly. ‘I think you could say we’re in agreement, yes, so long as you’re willing to give me some more of the same before we steal the pig, and after.’

  ‘If we must, we must,’ Stephanie answered. ‘Please listen carefully while I explain what we want you to do.’

  Lias had kept his pipe in his mouth for most of the time Stephanie had been sucking his cock, removing it only briefly when he came, and he continued to puff, filling the air with evil-smelling smoke as Stephanie talked.

  ‘Sir Murgatroyd Drake lives at Combebow, but his pig is kept in a sty next to the cottage where his pigman lives, on the main road. Nobody else lives close, but the pigman, Jan Wonnacott, needs to be out of the way …’

  ‘Give him a suck,’ Lias suggested, ‘and after, he can help me get his pig on to my dray.’

  ‘That is not a practical suggestion,’ Stephanie said in her coldest voice. ‘Mr Wonnacott knows us, for one thing, and also while I am prepared to accept your dirty habits out of necessity –’

  ‘Jan Wonnacott’s brother to Cyril, who lives at Bidlake, ain’t he?’ Lias interrupted.

  ‘Yes,’ said Stephanie.

  ‘I knew you weren’t Myrtle whatever-the-name-was,’ he went on. ‘You’re Sir Richard Truscott’s granddaughters, or I’m a monkey’s uncle.’

  ‘Yes,’ Stephanie admitted, making a face.

  ‘Thought so, the way you couldn’t remember your own sister’s name,’ he continued. ‘Best be open, if we’re to be stealing pigs together.’

  ‘I’m Miss Stephanie Truscott,’ Stephanie said, ‘and this is my sister, Hermione.’

  ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sure,’ he responded, ‘and don’t worry, I won’t be telling anyone, not even my Anne. Least of all my Anne, as it goes.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Stephanie responded. ‘Now, this pig. We can’t pinch him –’

  ‘Boar pig, is it?’ Lias interrupted.

  ‘Yes, and we can’t pinch him while Jan Wonnacott is drinking, because people might be passing on the road, so we must wait until the early hours of the morning. What we have decided to do, so as not to risk awakening Jan Wonnacott, is to put Singularis Porcus in a muzzle and lure him down the road with ripe apples, as far as the gate into Sir Murgatroyd’s water meadows, where you will be parked with your dray, Mr Snell … Lias. All you need then do is help us get him on to the dray and drive here, which frankly seems very little for what you are demanding in return.’

  ‘Not when it’s a stolen pig,’ Lias retorted. ‘For a stolen pig, Miss Truscott, I’ll be wanting to see you down on your sister’s cunt.’

  Four

  THE FOLLOWING DAY they returned to the woods in order to assess their suitability as temporary accommodation for stolen pigs. It was a part of the operation they had meant to perform the day before, but, given Lias Snell’s propensity for demanding that his cock be attended to as soon as his balls were recharged, Stephanie had made her excuses, left and returned to Driscoll’s. She had also been uncomfortably moist between her thighs, and had gone straight to her room to masturbate, only to find Vera Clapshott changing the flowers Stephanie had ordered placed on her bedside table. After a few not too subtle hints Stephanie had quickly found herself back across the maid’s lap, her bare bottom pushed up as her quim was skilfully manipulated. Her climax had been rather nice, although Stephanie was unsure whether the insertion of a daffodil into her anus had been strictly necessary.

  It was hard to fault the wood for the purpose. The ancient gate could be opened without too much difficulty and there was room for Lias to back his dray against it, while the wall was high enough and the wood thick enough to ensure that there was little chance of Singularis Porcus being seen from the road. An investigation of a tumbledown shack where some long-disappeared gamekeeper had once kept the tools of his trade, and more recently the sisters had played together, showed that it would make an adequate pigsty.

  ‘How shall we feed him enough?’ Hermione queried as they continued on up the river bank. ‘If he’s anything like the Emperor he eats an awful lot.’

  ‘Once I’ve got my car back it shouldn’t be too difficult to bring over the occasional sack of apples or something,’ Stephanie responded. ‘Meanwhile, he can grub for roots and acorns and things. It will do him good to diet for a while, and with any luck the Emperor will overtake him.’

  ‘He certainly won’t starve,’ Hermione admitted.

  They had reached the border of the wood, where the river Lyd
entered the trees at the end of a steep valley which opened to the sunlit beauty of Dartmoor, the horizon made up of a line of tors, grey against the blue of the sky. For a while they walked in silence, enjoying the sunshine and solitude. There was no house and no other human being in sight, and the only sounds were the gentle murmur of water and the occasional snatch of birdsong. As they turned back towards Driscoll’s, a question that had been nagging at the back of Stephanie’s mind since the day before suddenly thrust itself to the front.

  ‘Yesterday,’ she said, ‘you gave quite a performance in front of Mr Snell, didn’t you?’

  ‘I had to,’ Hermione answered.

  ‘Oh, no, you didn’t,’ Stephanie pointed out, ‘not going down on all fours like that.’

  Hermione merely shrugged.

  ‘What have you been up to, H.?’ Stephanie demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ Hermione answered, rather too quickly.

  ‘Oh, yes, you have, you rude little beast,’ Stephanie insisted. ‘What’s all this about tableaux, and not being ashamed to show what God gave us, and showing your bottom off for the sake of artistic verisimilitude?’

  Hermione made a face.

  ‘Tell me,’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ Hermione replied.

  ‘Tell me, H.,’ Stephanie insisted.

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘I want to know.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Stephanie fell silent, wondering if she should threaten to spank the truth out of her sister and then remembering that she’d promised not to, at least after a fashion. They continued to walk, now across a piece of open common that bordered the moor, while Stephanie’s curiosity grew ever stronger. They came to a stile set in a wall, the lower step a convenient height for sitting on.

  ‘Please tell me,’ Stephanie said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please, H.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me, I shall be cross.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘You will if I have to spank it out of you.’

  Hermione didn’t answer, but threw Stephanie a worried look. Stephanie allowed her mouth to curve up into a small, satisfied style.

  ‘Tell me, H., or I will spank you. I mean it.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do. Now tell me or I’m going to take you across my knee and have that fat little bottom bare and smack it, right here.’

  ‘But you said you wouldn’t,’ Hermione answered, her sulky tone starting to give way to panic, ‘not any more.’

  ‘I said I wouldn’t when the aunts pass you around,’ Stephanie said. ‘This is different. Now come here.’

  She reached out as she spoke and caught her sister by the wrist. Hermione tried to pull away but Stephanie held on, hauling her now pleading victim forward towards the stile.

  ‘You can stop this any time you like, little sister,’ Stephanie said as her calves bumped against the hard wood of the stile. ‘Just tell my why you’ve suddenly gone all arty.’

  ‘Please, Stephanie!’ Hermione begged, now close to tears.

  ‘Well, if you’re going to be obstinate,’ Stephanie replied.

  She pulled, intending to haul her sister down across her knee and sit down at the same time, but Hermione pulled back.

  ‘Get over my knee, you little beast!’ Stephanie snapped.

  ‘You’re the beast!’ Hermione yelled back.

  Again Stephanie pulled. Still she couldn’t get her sister off balance, and Hermione had begun to smile. With a horrible sinking feeling Stephanie realised that she was no longer the stronger of the two. Her cruelty turned to fear as she realised that Hermione not only wasn’t trying to get away but was intent on turning the tables.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ she spat, determined to exert her authority.

  The two of them closed, grappling at each other’s bodies, tearing at clothes and pulling hair, each determined to get the other down across her lap. Stephanie fought with the strength of her rising panic, determined not to suffer the unbearable indignity of a spanking from her baby sister. It did her no good. Hermione was heavier, stronger and just as determined.

  An awful sick feeling welled up in Stephanie’s throat as she realised she was going to lose, and she made a final desperate effort to throw Hermione down over the stile. It nearly worked; both of them were off balance for a moment, but Hermione managed to twist round and land with her bottom on the step of the stile, pulling her sister down with her. Hermione had a good grip and Stephanie was hauled slowly down in a flurry of wildly kicking feet and flailing arms, her brain seething with consternation as she was placed into spanking position across her little sister’s knee, still yelling threats but begging at the same time.

  ‘No, you beast! I’ll get you back, Hermione! Let me go, you pig … you horrid fat pig, let me go! Please, H., I beg you … please, no, not this … please … you horrid little witch, you … I’ll have Vera hold you down and I’ll use my hairbrush on you, I will! Oh, you beast! Beast! Beast! Beast!’

  Her dress had been hauled up in the middle of her tirade, exposing her bare thighs and the seat of her union suit to the cool moorland air. The field they were in was visible to the entire western face of Dartmoor, so that anyone out walking would get a prime view of her spanking, even if they were too far away to see exactly who was getting her bottom attended to. There was also a good chance of somebody coming along the path, and then there would be no doubt at all, at which thought her struggles redoubled and her protests turned to wordless shrieks.

  ‘Do stop making that awful noise,’ Hermione said calmly as she tightened her grip. ‘Do you want somebody to see you getting it?’

  ‘No!’ Stephanie squealed. ‘But they’re bound to, if –’

  ‘Then be quiet,’ Hermione interrupted. ‘I can’t see anybody at all. Now do try not to be such a baby. It’s only a spanking.’

  ‘A spanking from you!’ Stephanie gasped.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I spank you?’ Hermione asked. ‘You spank me.’

  ‘Not for ages!’

  ‘That’s hardly the point, is it?’

  ‘I’m older than you!’ Stephanie howled. ‘I had to spank you, sometimes.’

  ‘And today I have to spank you,’ Hermione told her, ‘so at least try and take it like a lady.’

  Stephanie scowled as she remembered all the times she’d used exactly the same phrase to her sister. She’d stopped struggling, exhausted and knowing it was useless, but she hadn’t given up completely.

  ‘I was only pretending, H.,’ Stephanie lied. ‘I wasn’t really going to do you, I promise.’

  ‘What utter nonsense!’ Hermione said with a laugh. ‘And just for being such a liar, I shall do you bare.’

  ‘As if you wouldn’t anyway,’ Stephanie said sulkily. ‘Come on, H., please let me up. You’ve proved you can do it, this is ever so much more humiliating for me than it would be for you, and …’

  ‘I have my hairbrush in my bag,’ Hermione said, ‘and if you don’t shut up I shall use it. The more fuss you make, the longer this is going to take.’

  It was another of her favourite phrases, inherited from her Great-aunt Victoria. Stephanie shut up. She grimaced in horror as her union suit was opened, deliberately slowly, so that she could experience every moment of her exposure. As the recipient of so many spankings herself, Hermione knew exactly what to do to play upon her victim’s feelings. She started at the top. Stephanie felt the air on her skin as the button over the small of her back was opened to reveal no more than a small diamond of flesh, down to where the next button closed the suit at the top of her bottom crease. That too came open and she had a little slit showing; then the next, and soon her cheeks were almost entirely on view as her union suit fell open.

  ‘Properly bare, of course,’ Hermione said complacently, and her hand burrowed between her sister’s thighs.

  As the button over her quim was tweaked open Stephanie
let out a weak sob. She was now showing from the small of her back downwards, with only the flaps of her union suit to preserve a last scrap of modesty, which she knew was about to be stripped away. Sure enough, Hermione’s thumbs dug into the split of the union suit, stayed as they were for a long moment to allow Stephanie to appreciate her exposure, and hauled wide.

  Fully unveiled, Stephanie felt huge behind, her bottom a fat ball of girlflesh thrust out to the moor in a taut circle of white silk and lacy trim. Worse still, the tension of her open suit had made her cheeks part, adding to her woes the exposure of her bottom hole, while her quim was also on full, vulgar display. Hermione gave a low chuckle at the sight and settled one hand on to Stephanie’s bottom, gently.

  ‘It is an absolute disgrace, the frequency with which you require spanking, Stephanie,’ Hermione lectured in a near-perfect imitation of their great-aunt’s voice, ‘but what must be done must be done.’

  As she spoke she began to spank, applying a single, firm swat across the meat of her sister’s cheeks. Stephanie gave a broken wail as Hermione’s hand landed, not at the pain but at the raw emotion of having her bottom smacked by her own baby sister. A second smack followed, a third, and any hope of pretending it hadn’t happened was gone. She hadn’t just been smacked on the bottom, she was being spanked properly, held down over the knee, with her sister’s palm applied to her naked cheeks as punishment.

  She gave in, defeated, but as her bottom began to bounce and wobble under the slaps she couldn’t help reflecting that had she not attempted to do exactly the same to Hermione, she would never have ended up in this undignified position. Her mouth set in a sulky pout, broken only occasionally when a harder slap made her squeak, or a low shot sent a jolt to her quim and pushed an involuntary sob from between her lips.