The Instruction of Olivia

by Geoffrey Allen

  Immediately Olivia ceased and looked up, her face horror-stricken. 'I didn't realise I was doing it,' she gasped.

  Her task between Sappho's legs was complete and she recoiled away from the spread legs, and in particular the cock.

  'You had it up your bottom, so why worry about holding it?'

  'I had it because you made me. I don't have to hold it of my own free will.'

  'But you said yourself it gave you pleasure. That place in your bottom that made your cheeks go all red and sweaty. Don't come the innocent. I saw it with my own eyes.'

  'Every woman has some part of her that gets excited now and then,' Olivia retorted. 'It's only natural.'

  'It's natural to have it in your cunt, but so far you've been remarkably clever in avoiding that. But not for much longer, I can assure you.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Sooner or later that ring will be sawed off you, and when it has been you'll be fucked from here into next week, and the week after that. So much that you'll walk about here bow-legged.'

  'Never!'

  Sappho stood up and untied the cock, and with Olivia still kneeling in front of her she rubbed the head of the plum up and down her cheek and around her lips. Olivia's mouth opened slightly and Sappho stuffed it into her mouth.

  'We had a girl here before you who ran away, and do you know what her punishment was?' Olivia shook her head. 'She was trussed up like a chicken and had this very cock stuffed into her mouth for a week. That made her think twice. Effie, however, has something else in mind for you. Hark, here she comes.'

  'Have you finished with her?' Effie asked, standing over Olivia and eyeing her darkly.

  'She's yours,' Sappho said dully, as if Olivia were little more than an old rag.

  'Put the chains back on her and bring her into the kitchen,' Effie said bluntly.

  Sappho refitted the chains, but not nearly as expertly as Effie had done. She slid the longest length through the ring, padlocked it and fastened it to the shackles around Olivia's wrists. These she fastened in turn to the ring at the front of her collar. Her ankles were left free. Olivia could not move her hands away from her chest without either pulling on the collar or the ring in her labia. But it was a relief not to have the chains biting into her bottom crease or shackling her legs.

  'What's going to happen to me now?' she asked as she trotted alongside Sappho towards the kitchen.

  Sappho made no reply, but led her through the door into the stifling heat. In the grate a fire blazed like a furnace, and every so often Dora increased the heat by pumping on a pair of bellows.

  'Position her against the wall,' Effie said. 'Tightly if you please.'

  Olivia was placed flat against the brickwork while Sappho took a set of ropes from a cupboard and passed them around Olivia's waist and thighs. These she tied to two hooks apparently placed at just the right height. Effie stepped up behind her and patted her bottom, remarking on its beauty and saying that it was such a shame to mark it.

  Behind her, Olivia heard the rush of air from the bellows and a sudden roar of flame. Even though she was on the other side of the room the heat warmed her back. She caught a clanking of metal and a muffled stirring of the coals. Suddenly she started to wriggle and pull at the ropes.

  'Not that!' she shrieked, tearing her body away from the wall.

  Effie picked up a cane and lashed the small of her back. 'Be still!' she shouted.

  Olivia froze. Over her shoulder the bellows were breathing like a monster in a cave. The heat in the room rose to tropical proportions. Sweat gathered on her skin and started to trickle downwards in rivulets.

  'T'will all be over before you know it,' said Effie, again patting her bottom. She looked at Rita who was sitting beside the fire smoking, apparently oblivious to the goings-on.

  'Open her cheeks,' she said, giving Rita an encouraging slap on the face.

  Rita arose sluggishly and drifted to where Olivia was standing. She placed her hands on Olivia's bottom, her fingertips well into the crease, and then prised them open. Someone, Olivia couldn't see who, was stirring the fire, and then came a cascade of hot ashes tumbling onto the hearth.

  'Oh, please no!' Olivia begged with a sob.

  Then came a hiss of flame and the smell of scorching flesh. As if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning Olivia writhed and screamed, and all the while Sappho counted the seconds. It seemed as if the hot iron was burning Olivia to the bone, she was sure it had remained there for an hour.

  'Four... five... six...' counted Sappho triumphantly.

  An unseen hand took away the iron, leaving in its wake a pattern two inches long and half that in width. The mark slowly turned a dark brown colour and a finger traced its outline. The indentation between Olivia's buttocks was a quarter of an inch deep.

  'Now you belong to me,' Effie said flatly.

  She stood back to admire the scorching imprint, and as Rita took away her fingers, Olivia's buttocks wobbled back into place.

  'I'm not sure about that,' Effie mused. 'The brand is not quite as clear as I'd hoped. We shall have to give her another, where it stands out much more clearly. I'm sorry Olivia; I seem to have made a mistake. Please accept my sincerest apologies.'

  And the iron was placed back into the coals to the sound of the creaking bellows.

  Olivia clenched her teeth and waited.

  'On her bottom this time. Her left cheek.'

  Effie patted the exact place where Olivia was to be burned for the second time, in the centre of her buttock where the flesh was fattest and at its most full.

  'Ten seconds should burn her well,' Effie remarked, as the iron was judged sufficiently hot enough to leave its mark.

  Another hiss of hot iron on flesh abruptly followed, and Olivia shrieked so loud that the cups on the dresser rattled in their saucers. Again Sappho counted, but Olivia never heard anything past six. She hung against the wall like one dead, and as the iron was taken away and the ropes loosed she crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap.

  On her cheek was emblazoned the imprint of an erect phallus, burned deep into her flesh; the mark of a whore to be used and abused as any man saw fit; a symbol of her calling that would remain with her until her dying day.

  Chapter Fourteen

  'There is a woman to see you, sir,' Helena curtsied.

  Walter Holland looked up from his desk, his face still grief stricken. In front of him lay the album open at the photograph of Olivia's mother.

  'A woman?' he asked absently.

  'Says she wishes to speak with a Miss Olivia.'

  Walter's eyes lit up. 'Show her in!'

  The woman dropped a half-hearted curtsey, and as she did so he could not help but admire her voluptuous frame and high, rounded breasts that blossomed above her dress. As she righted herself the acrid odour of unwashed flesh wafted into his nostrils.

  'Who are you, and what do you want with my niece?'

  The woman appeared shocked at this intelligence, and for a moment or two glanced warily around the room, obviously intimidated by its sumptuous surroundings.

  'My name is Flora,' she began, brushing her dirty hair from her brow. 'I have been in London for a month with no hope of a position, save that of a vagrant. I know no one here, and am at my wit's end with not a soul to turn to. Indeed, I thought of ending it all.' She wiped a tear from her eye and fiddled with the trimming around her cleavage.

  Seeing that the gentleman was unmoved, she continued. 'I would have thrown myself under a carriage that very night, but then I saw Olivia and knew I would be saved.'

  'You presume much,' he replied sadly. 'She is not here, but I fear has been abducted into the place from whence she came.'

  Flora's hand flew to her mouth. 'The House of Correction?'

  His head shook speculatively and motioned her to a chair. 'Tell me what you know of her.'

  Flora recounted her life and that of Olivia when they had been inmates, and how she herself had been released and walked to London and had ev
er since been a beggar.

  Throughout her delivery, Walter studied her closely. The woman was still in good condition, even if somewhat ragged and starved; nothing that a hot bath and a good meal wouldn't cure.

  'Take off your clothes,' he said, when her babbling came to an end.

  'What for?' she asked, intrigued at such an odd request.

  'Because if I am satisfied with what I see, you shall help to retrieve Olivia, and in so doing also save yourself.'

  None the wiser, but sensing something greatly to her own advantage, Flora stripped off her rags and stood naked before him, hands clasped over her pubic mound and head bowed as she had done many times before when men chose to inspect her.

  'Splendid,' he remarked, running his eyes up and down her sturdy legs and hips. 'Effie will find you irresistible.'

  'Who's Effie?'

  'I shall reveal that after you have been washed,' and he summoned Helena, giving instructions that Flora was to be taken to his bathroom and scrubbed clean.

  The bath was as big as a rowing boat; a shining enamel affair with brass taps at one end and a dozen more at the other, all in a line progressing up the wall and sporting levers on either side. Helena turned one of the brass taps and a gurgling started up in the pipes. It got louder and louder and then suddenly a torrent of scalding water cascaded into the bath. In no time at all the room filled with steam so dense that Flora could hardly see the maid turning the other tap. Cold water rushed from the spout and Helena swirled it round and round until the tub was almost full.

  'Get in,' she said, standing aside.

  Flora clambered over the rim and lowered herself into the water. It was so deep that her body floated on the surface. When she let herself sink it lapped around the curves of her breasts, exaggerating their size and shape. The maid ignored the erect nipples that peeped up at her and tossed Flora a bar of soap. Then she left as silent as a ghost.

  Flora played the soap around her cleavage, lifting each breast in turn and lathering them until the skin shone. She let the soap drift to the bottom of the tub and began teasing her nipples, letting them slip between her fingers, squeezing and pinching until they tingled. She lifted her left leg out of the water and rested her foot on the end of the bath, admiring the sheen of her thigh and calf. Her hand smoothed the side of her flank and then idly strayed to the join of her legs. It reminded her of the laundry where the inmates had made love to each other, feeling their secret places, rubbing themselves tightly together, making each other climax. She wondered if Olivia would remember her when they met. But then, how could she have forgotten?

  Flora felt her heart jump at the remembrance of Olivia chained in the mill, flogged raw, her body twisting to and fro as the whip slashed her back, belly and bottom. Grateful for the help that was coming her way, she would gladly submit herself to any flogging that Olivia cared to deliver.

  She stroked her clitoris, closing her eyes to concentrate on its arousal; the way the bud swelled and poked from its protective petals, hardened and became unbearable to the touch. Would Olivia dare suck her there? She hoped, drifting into a preorgasmic daze.

  'Dear God, the girl's swooned!'

  Flora sat up with a start, whipping her hand away from her fork. Walter and his maid had come into the bathroom and were standing over her, regarding as they might a specimen under a microscope.

  'I'm sorry,' she apologised, crashing her leg back into the water and splashing their clothes.

  'Now I'm all wet,' Helena complained, and began undoing her uniform.

  In the clearing steam Flora watched aghast as she stripped herself completely naked, seemingly not troubled by the presence of her master. When her stockings had been peeled from her thin legs she went to where the taps protruded from the wall and stared rudely at Flora's bare and gleaming breasts. Flora covered them with her arms.

  'The task I have in mind will require great fortitude on your part,' Walter said, seating himself on the edge of the tub and gently taking away her hands. 'Are you adverse to a beating on your bare bottom?'

  'I don't understand,' Flora replied, feeling her flesh goose bump beneath the water.

  'Olivia is being held prisoner, I am sure of it, and your task will be to rescue her. Do you think you can manage that?'

  'Held where?' Flora asked, shifting uneasily.

  'In a brothel,' Helena interjected.

  'A brothel? How on earth...?'

  'Never mind that,' Walter blurted. 'The point is that you have to get yourself in there, find out where Olivia is being held, and bring her to me. A very dangerous task, I know, but are you up to it? Can you stand being whipped and more than likely taken by men?'

  Flora swallowed hard. 'I'm not frightened of either,' she boasted. 'But it depends what's in it for me.'

  'A good rogering and a sound thrashing,' Walter assured her.

  'No, I meant after that, when I bring her back.'

  'A place in my own household, a regular wage and all the food you can eat, as well as my own company, which you will find most rewarding.'

  'For that I don't care how much cock or cane I have.'

  'Listen to her,' Helena exclaimed. 'How so bold she is.'

  'We shall have to put your boldness to the test, young madam,' replied Walter, getting off the tub and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  'Stand up in your tub and reach for those taps,' Helena said, as if she were mistress of the household.

  Flora heaved herself out of the water and stood upright, her body running and dripping from every curve and crevice. Walter eyed her erect nipples lasciviously and couldn't resist thumbing them. Flora shivered, shaking her breasts and fleshy thighs. When she stepped forward, Walter gave her bottom a slap, not particularly hard but enough to echo around the room and leave a faint, tingling imprint.

  Flora bent over and put her hands on top of the taps, crooking her fingers around the spindles and clutching them tightly.

  'Bind her wrists,' Walter said to Helena.

  'I don't need binding,' Flora protested with a hint of a sneer.

  'Nevertheless, bound you shall be. And we'll see if your bottom is as bold as your mouth.'

  Helena used a length of sash cord to tie Flora's wrists to the taps. She wrapped it around the brass shaft and then around the outstretched wrists, tying them with great skill, knotting them so securely that Flora was held fast. Then she went off to fetch a cane from the hallway, the one her master used on her and took with him on long walks through the park.

  Flora gulped when she saw it. Not an ordinary cane, it seemed, but a stout Malacca, as thick as her middle finger, springy as a whip and well polished from regular use. The first stroke would be enough to cut her.

  'First we need to soak it,' said Walter, immersing it in the water.

  'It hurts much more when it's wet,' Helena grinned, patting Flora's bottom. 'And it cuts,' she added gleefully.

  Walter let the cane soak for a full ten minutes while he contented himself to run his hands all over Flora's body, kneading her flesh and testing the prowess of her muscles.

  'Built like an Amazon,' he complimented. 'Shall we say at least two dozen strokes?'

  'Oh, make it three,' Helena added.

  Flora blushed. 'Why not make it four?' she said sarcastically, her hair tumbling into her eyes as she jerked from Walter's probing fingers.

  'Then four it shall be,' he said, lifting the cane from the water.

  'I didn't mean it!' she cried.

  'Then you should not have opened your mouth so readily, madam.'

  'She has got a big mouth,' Helena observed.

  'And equally as generous under her arse,' Walter replied, touching the tip of the cane into Flora's dripping tuft.

  He took the cane away and raised it high above his head. Flora heard it whistle through the air and land on her bare rump with a sickening smack.

  'Aaaaaoow!' she howled, jolting her body forward and bumping her head on the tiles.

  Helena had been right about the w
etted cane. It hurt much more than if it were dry and warm. A hot, searing pain shot through Flora's buttocks that left her trembling and shaking her head in despair.

  'What price your pride now?' she heard Walter say, as he lifted the cane again.

  Flora knew that however hard she was whipped, her mouth had been her own undoing. She would have to endure it, even if only to save face, especially against the maid, whom she was beginning to dislike intensely. When the time came she would show her what a real caning was.

  The second stroke cut upward under the fat of her buttocks; a much louder smack than the first, and far more furious in its delivery. Helena laughed when the force of the blow lifted Flora from the floor of the tub. Her wrists pulled on the cords and her breasts wobbled, slapping into each other.

  Hardly had they settled back into place when the third stroke caught her square across her bottom, welting the cheeks with a savage hiss. This stroke did cut her and the welt turned a livid red, threatening to bleed. Another half dozen descended in quick succession on the backs of her thighs, and the pain was so acute and unexpected that poor Flora howled all the louder.

  'Not so easy as you thought, eh, girl?' Walter chuckled, dropping the cane back into the tub.

  Flora was mouthing silent obscenities. In her desperation not to scream she had clenched her teeth and could only breath through flaring nostrils, which snorted and grunted at every stroke. When the maid took hold of Flora's hair and lifted her head, it was to see a face begrimed with snot, slime and dribble.

  'Throw some water over her,' Walter said, in return to her exclamation of disgust.

  Helena willingly complied and fetched a pail from the storeroom, which she deliberately filled from one of the taps at the other end of the bath. Flora shrieked when a wall of freezing water hit her full in the face. She shivered from the shock, shaking her head and shoulders, muttering obscenities much more profane than the last.

  'Your language is revolting in the extreme,' said Walter, genuinely taken aback.

  'She called me a treacherous cunt,' rejoined Helena.

  'Filthy trollop,' remarked Walter, slicing the cane into Flora's bottom.