“Oh, yaas,” her brother contributed in his affected accents, “he was nothing if not lusty. I did not think he had it in him, though she certainly knew he had it in her, Ha Ha!” he brayed like an ass, “a great red prong he had, as big as a cucumber, and she was panting and honking, all the while she stared at Blanche with eyes as big as saucers.”
“Anyway,” his sister took up the narrative again, “we cornered her that evening in my room, and set out to see how far we could take her. We pointed out, though she needed no telling, that it would mean, not only dismissal without notice or reference, if we were to tell Mama, but also separation from her inamorata, who would also, inevitably, be dismissed in disgrace. I’ll say this for the wretch, at least, she had more spunk in her than that injected by the Rev Vining. She didn’t burst into tears or whine, merely asked us to show mercy, and promising to make any recompense, if we would refrain from disgracing the tutor, or separating the lovers.”
Blanche made that slightly quizzical gesture with two upthrown hands that says, ‘what would you?’, and continued with her tale.
“It was the trap into which we had hoped to guide her, and now we had her fast. We stated our terms. If she came to my room after dinner that night, and took six strokes with my cane on her bared buttocks, followed by Theo’s pego in her bumhole, we would hold off from reporting it to Mama, when we went, as was our custom, to wish her good-night. ‘I will be there,’ she said, tilting up her chin, and she left the room.”
“And was she?” asked Mrs Eshton, all eager curiosity.
“Oh yes, she came, wearing just her robe … chambre and her slippers, as instructed. I made her remove all, then bend and grasp her ankles. Absolute silence, and no flinching, I warned her, or you will get extra. Then I took up the cane, and prepared to do her justice for her romps with the Rev Vining, and her distraction of Theo’s attention from my own person.”
It has always amazed me that the aristocracy are not only able to indulge with impunity in affaires that are adulterous, incestuous or otherwise unlawful, but that they can speak of them publicly without displaying the slightest embarrassment or remorse. It is as if they live beyond the laws promulgated for the regulation of lower orders. Blanche seemed almost to lick her lips in remembrance of the occasion.
“I told you she was well formed, and this was as true of her behind, as before. Her bosom was firm and shapely, each breast slightly heavy, but not to say drooping, the teats pointing ahead with soldierly precision, and her buttocks matched them in roundness and gravity, just waiting for the application of a rod, which I was in a mood to give her.”
If Blanche described her as so well formed she must, indeed, have been so, for it was obvious that jealousy played the major part in her harrying of the unfortunate Miss Wilson, whose charms had diverted her brother’s lustful gaze from her own body. Blanche continued with her tale of revenge.
“I had made her place her feet a little apart, to steady her under my onslaught, which I intended should be salutary, and to open up her thighs, so that we could see her split mound pouting back at us, fringed with little whisps of soft hair, as bright and golden as that on her head.
“The first cut sank into her just below the widest part of her buttock, the flesh depressing under the force I had put into it, so that it was almost buried for a moment, before springing back, leaving a red track in its wake, that darkened and swelled as we watched. She had gasped under the blow, I think she had grown unaccustomed to the pain since leaving the schoolroom and its disciplines some years before. I could hear her groan softly, and knew she was feeling that surging agony that flows in after the first sharp shock, together with the returning blood, that inflates the indented track into a welt, like purple rope, and keeps up its throbbing anguish long after the last blow has fallen.
“Three more times I thrashed that full pert bottom, working my way down the buttock to its base, where she cut like butter. The softest, whitest flesh lurked there, and it rose to the thickness of a finger, where each bite had been taken by my hungry cane. Up until now she had remained steady under each blow, but I watched her like a hawk. At this fourth stroke, her knees closed a little, and her hips swung a fraction to her right, as if shying away from the tips remorseless gnawing at her flank. I called her up sharply, accusing her of flinching, and awarding her an extra stroke. She groaned at this sentence, but took the stroke, and the remaining two, without further movement. After six, or rather, seven, she clasped her hands to her ravaged cheeks, squeezing and kneading them, as if trying to wring the agony out of them. I let her work them for a moment, then ordered them replaced on her ankles. ‘No one gave you permission to grasp your fat haunches,’ I remarked, and informed her that she would receive extra again for the offence. She was not keen to bend and bare again, but had no choice, and I cut her again, as low as I could, and still stay on buttock, rather than thigh. She made a small whining noise through her nose, but stayed down, and Theo here took over.”
“Oh, yaas, indeed,” he drawled. It seemed his only way of beginning speech, “took her from behind, dontcher know. Anointed the old prong with best butter, thumbed more into her breech, and rammed it in. She squealed, I can tell you, but I held her by the hips, and wasn’t about to be unseated. Drove the charge home, horse, foot and guns, and stuffed her to the gills. Rode her to kingdom come and back. Gad! She was glorious tight, and smooth as velvet all the way. It was a short ride, but a furious one, and my mare was lathered and sweating by the time I’d got her to the winning post.”
Blanche smiled indulgently at her brother’s enthusiasm, though she had been jealous enough of his attentions to the governess at the time.
“Oh, yes, Theo did his part in manly fashion,” she confirmed, “she knew she’d been stuffed when he’d done.”
The elder Eshton girl, who had been leaning against Theo’s knee during the conversation, sighed and looked up at her partner.
“Ah,” she sighed, with a slight shudder, whether of fear or delight I could not tell but, being a woman and knowing the foolishness of our kind, I would hazard both, “to think what it must be like, to bare oneself for the rod. Would you make me do that, Theo?”
“Which rod do you speak of?” he asked in mock query, and she blushed deep red and looked down.
“I thought you said, she quit the field?” Mrs Eshton exclaimed, “it seems to me that she held her position in more ways than one.”
“Ah ha,” Miss Ingram rejoined, “the first engagement, to be sure, but not the campaign. The next evening we sent for her again. She walked in, bold enough, and protested when we commanded her to strip again, for a repeat of the previous day’s exercise. ‘You promised you would say nothing to Lady Ingram, if I submitted,’ she objected, ‘and I did all you asked.’ Twas then we fired our broadside. Yes, we had given our word we would not speak to Mama that evening, nor had we, but this was another day and, if she wished her secret kept, she’d pay the same price tonight, and every night, so long as she wished to keep her place and her tutor.”
Blanche laughed as if it were the merriest thing imaginable, and the rest of the company joined in.
“Oh, you should have seen her face. Shock, horror, dismay, anger she dare not express. She bit her lip, then said, ‘I will be there,’ and left us hugging each other with glee. We had her now, and would not let go until we had broken her.”
“And how long did she hold out?” Amy Eshton had recovered her equilibrium, after her lubricious speculations about Theo’s purposes and person had covered her in confusion, and was eager to know the outcome.
“It became a contest,” Blanche said, “a race against time and pain, for the two of them had given in their notice, and hoped to leave in good odour, with proper references, to set up somewhere else, but a month’s notice was required, and it was a question whether she could last that long. For myself, I would have made sure she did not, it would have taken little artifice to encompass her downfall by some means or another, but, once it
became, as it were, a wager, Theo’s sense of honour would not allow him to depart from the terms agreed. Men are weak that way, but, since they rule us, we must bow to their wills.”
I could not see her bowing to anyone’s will, except, perhaps, Mr Rochester, but could believe that Theo would work some blackmail on her to gain his way, just as she had used it to coerce the unfortunate governess. I think it is highly probable that she had lent him the use of her rear entrance, just as Eliza Reed had given John free use of hers. In such families such intimacies between siblings were common enough, and nothing said, unless a belly began to swell, but most were sensible enough to confine themselves to that mode that kept the belly flat, even if the anus might be distorted and distended by vigorous use.
Whatever the reason, it seemed the duel was fought fairly from then on, Miss Wilson dragging her sore and aching buttocks to their door every evening to submit to six cuts of Blanches rod, as hard and hurting as her athletic arm could drive them, sometimes more if she should weaken enough for Blanche to claim an extra stroke for movement or outcry, then receive Theo’s anal rape, her swollen and distended sphincter, protesting painfully at the constant abuse.
She had everything to play for, to save herself and her lover, and fought the pain and degradation bravely, reporting every evening for the ordeal, but she became a shadow of her former self, slinking along the corridors, trying to avoid Blanche and Theo, shrinking from the sight of anything that could be thought of as a rod or stick. On the penultimate night, her strength, rather than her courage failed her.
She reported as usual, though very pale and drawn. Blanche knew the woman’s monthly flow was on her, having seen the evidence of where the towel had rubbed between her legs, when she had stripped and bent the previous evening. With only this night, and one more to go, she was determined to take advantage of her weakened state.
She drove the strokes in relentlessly, putting all her weight behind each. At the fifth, the girl could not hold her position. She did not rise, but swayed so far she overbalanced, and had to put a foot sideways to recover, her fingers leaving her ankle in the process. Blanche was quick to take advantage, and cut sharply with the extra stroke. The governess took it correctly, but the next, it should have been the last, she fell completely, lying on her side, too distraught to get up.
Blanche cried out in triumph, but Theo interrupted.
“She hasn’t risen,” he pointed out, reasonably, “you’ve knocked her down.”
Blanche tried to over rule him, but he would not be moved. As she said, “Theo is a man to whom scruples are something for the lower classes, except where gentlemen’s sports are concerned. He’ll rape a milkmaid, and bugger her brother, steal their cow and flog their mother, but you don’t shoot a fox, you don’t cheat at cards and you never welsh on a bet.”
When she protested further, he threatened to serve her as Miss Wilson had been served, with a cane to her arse and a prick to her bum, and she feared him enough to back away.
Meanwhile the unfortunate young woman had recovered slightly,and begged for another chance.
“I will return in the morning, before breakfast, and take my strokes, and Lord Ingram may use me behind, as before, then, in the evening, I will come again.”
Theo had declared this a “deuced sporting offer, dontcher know,” and Blanche had to admit defeat for the present, retiring to regroup her forces, determined she would break the woman in the morning.
But it was not to be. In the morning, Miss Wilson, white and strained, reported to Blanche’s room on time, and took her strokes, though she was obviously in agony now, scarcely able to walk, and kept her bent position, while Theo rammed her once again in her back passage, its angry looking anal ring swollen and distorted by the merciless buggery to which it had been subjected for so long. All now turned on the evening session.
She reported promptly her face ashen, her mouth white, but her head held high. She could see the winning post in sight now, and would endure anything rather than throw away all she had suffered in vain. On Blanche’s order she discarded her robe, her figure still exciting Theo’s lust, despite his constant use of her, the last time only hours before. She turned and with a visible effort, and patent soreness, bent her graceful frame, taking hold of her ankles. According to the footnotes that Theo contributed to Blanche’s account, her buttocks resembled ‘raw meat with aubergine and tomato’, a degree of poetic expression that I had thought beyond his somewhat bovine sensibilities, and indicative of the impression the unfortunate Miss Wilson had made on him.
In a last desperate effort, Blanche cut her across her thighs with six withering strokes, risking Theo’s wrath for ‘unsportsmanlike behaviour’ and possible sanctions to her own bottom and fundament, but, though he pointed out to her that she was straining matters somewhat, he let it pass, since her victim seemed to be able to cope. My own thought was that, crippling though thigh strokes were, as I knew only too well from painful experience, they would at least be on virgin flesh and, given Miss Wilson was described as being of a well found figure, she might have been no worse off taking them below the buttock, as on the ruined flesh above.
Be that as it may, she took her strokes, the hardest that Blanche could bring to bear on the unprotected thighs. At the end her legs would not support her. She fell to her knees, but kept her buttocks presented, crying out piteously, “I cannot stand, but I accept Lord Ingram’s rod, if he will but kneel behind me.”
“And so I did,” Theo confirmed, his otherwise inanimate features lighting up at the recollection, “Bravo I cried, and rammed her full. Finest piece of arse I ever had,” he declared, “not excepting your own, Sister dear.”
Blanche fixed on him a glance that would have felled an elephant in its tracks, though it bounced impotently off his impervious hide, and declared that she had had quite enough of governesses, and it was time for music, turning her charms on Mr Rochester, engaging him to accompany her in a duet for lovers, to entertain the company.
More Of Governesses
That conversation, the first evening in the drawing room at Thornfield, was not the end of the subject of governesses and Blanche’s poor view of them. The next day most of the house party had taken themselves off in carriages to view some ecclesiastic ruins some hours drive away, taking hampers with them, and intending to call on the local House to dine with cousins of Mrs Dent, before returning by moonlight, which the fine weather looked fair to provide.
Mr Rochester had stayed behind, pleading estate business. Blanche had stayed too, making no excuse, but clearly hoping for some time alone with my Master. The business took somewhat longer than she had bargained for, and it was not until evening that she was able to make good her design.
His estates people gone, Mr Rochester invited me to bring my sketchbook into the comfort of his study, where there was a fire, the other rooms not yet warmed in the absence of his guests, and there too, uninvited, Blanche drifted. While I stayed quiet in the window seat, their conversation turned to the previous evenings entertainment, and the strong and unfavourable opinions of governesses, held by the females of the party.
“Oh, I make no apology for the views I expressed on the subject of Governesses,” Miss Ingram declared, roundly. “By their spinelessness and pusillanimity they disqualify themselves from being thought of as members of any high order of humanity, and are fair game for those of a superior and more heroic nature.”
“I see that you must be included in those latter beings, but would you say Miss Eyre had no spine, no courage?”
“That milk-sop? Such a whey faced little thing, creeping round under ones feet. She should be whipped to teach her to keep from mixing with her betters, but that she’d faint at the first touch of a rod, and have to be carried hence. I’ll wager a mere school boy’s sixer, and she’d flee your employ.”
“Would you now?” mused my Master, “what stake would you suggest? Would you stake a like swishing on your own fair bottom, if she should prove to be st
ubborn?”
Miss Ingram looked momentarily taken aback, but recovered herself immediately.
“Why Sir, your reference to my posterior is a trifle indelicate, but I will overlook it on this occasion, since it comes about in the course of a discussion involving such anatomical parts. Yes, of course I would wager the same, since it is certain that I need never have to pay the forfeit, there being no possibility that she could endure the rod. However,” she continued, endeavouring, I think, to raise the stakes to the point where she could, indeed, be certain of winning without having to submit herself to the rod, “six would hardly be enough to provide any sport. Let us make it a dozen. Better still, a dozen and a half.”
Mr Rochester maintained his light air, and said it might as well be a dozen and a half, and the match would be won and lost, if I should scream, or rise before permission was granted. So all was set to the satisfaction of the parties, I still sitting quietly in the corner, quite unconsulted.
“Come here, Jane,” my Master called, acknowledging my presence for the first time. “Miss Ingram is of the opinion that you are too weak to bear the rod. You are to have a dozen and a half, to see if you can endure. Strip yourself and make ready.”
I would not give the woman the satisfaction of hearing me protest at this undeserved punishment, nor hear me beg for mercy. I put my fingers to my gown and, in a few minutes, stood in my stays, stockings and shoes, unbuttoning my drawers. I laid them on a chair with my other clothes, and reached for the string of my corset.
“That will be enough,” says she, seeing Mr Rochester’s eyes upon my figure, “we have no desire to see your dismal dugs. Your fat posterior will suffice.”
I swallowed the humiliation in silence and moved to the centre of the study, keeping my chin in the air, though I would have rather curled up into myself, and have the floor swallow me, but I could not, and would not, disgrace my Master.
Mr Rochester took up a modest cane from the collection in the holder behind his desk.
Jane and Her Master Page 5