Rectory of Correction (13 page)

A gloved hand grasped Charlotte's hair as her tormentor stepped forward. She found her nose no more than an inch from Prentice's dark pussy fur, and she could smell the pungent, exciting scent of female arousal in her nostrils.

‘Tell me, your ladyship,' the policewoman asked softly, ‘did they teach you to give tongue at your mansion?'

 

‘No, not you.' The Reverend Dawes raised his cane to block Gretchen's escape. Amelia and Bella limped bandy-legged out of the classroom after the maids, though Amelia turned at the door and shot Gretchen a resentful stare.

‘I have not quite finished with you yet, madam.'

Gretchen was still gagged, her hands still secured high behind her back. Quite helpless, she awaited her fate and tried to stop her abraded thighs from quivering.

‘Do you always stand with your legs akimbo, you shameless hussy?' His voice was amused.

Gretchen did not have a lot of choice in the matter. The bristle pig's legacy was that the insides of her thighs felt as if they had been scoured. Few novice riders could have been so saddle sore, she thought, glumly.

The Reverend looked thoughtfully at her stance and took a few steps around her as if considering something. As he moved around her left flank she caught a sudden blur of movement. There was a meaty
thwack
! and she doubled up in pain.

‘I believe I asked you a question, my dear. It is generally considered polite to reply to your tutor's enquiries.'

Polite or not, Gretchen could only give a muffled moan for a few seconds. Even when the pain subsided enough to let her speak there was not much she could say, given the gag.

‘Oh dear, this could be a long night,' the Reverend said with a sigh. ‘It might be better if you nod or shake your head.'

He had walked around to face her again. Gretchen hung her head, but her chin was lifted by the tip of his cane until their eyes met.

‘Well, are you a slut, Gretchen?'

Almost mesmerised by his cold grey eyes, Gretchen nodded her head. The cane went down, the tip tracing a path between her breasts, running over the white coutil of her little corset, and then stroking her gently rounded belly beneath the garment's busk. Gretchen watched the progress of the stick, scarcely breathing as it stroked its way down her body. Only when it reached the nest of golden pubic curls did it come to rest.

A muffled moan escaped her gagged mouth. Gretchen felt her knees begin to buckle and she swayed, but somehow kept her feet. She could not stop her pelvis from pressing forward, though, trying to retain the contact from the stick.

The Reverend's laughter was the last straw. Gretchen felt the tears well as she stood naked, writhing before him, unable even to beg him to relieve her. Her tormentor used his left hand to unbutton his fly. She watched, wide-eyed, as he took out a formidable erection.

‘Well woman, do you want it?' the Reverend Dawes said simply.

Gretchen blinked her tears of shame and fear away, and nodded slowly.

 

‘That's it, yes! You're not bad at this, you stuck-up little baggage.'

Charlotte licked with a fervour born of desperation. While her tongue was working, her poor blistered bottom was being spared. She gave a muffled squawk of pain. Constable Prentice was getting more and more excited, and she was holding Charlotte with a firm grasp on the ears. The woman was grinding herself into the girl's face, and Charlotte was having to breathe in hurried gulps when Prentice's violent thrusts gave her occasion. Luxuriant pubic curls, wet from saliva and cunt juice, were pressed hard onto her nose and mouth. Swollen sex flesh blotted out awareness of all else. Charlotte was lost, as if sucked into a universe of hot wet cunny.

‘Higher, higher! You know where, you little whore!'

Charlotte tried to obey the gasped instructions, searching for the groaning woman's clitoris. This was easier said than done, however, for Constable Prentice was squirming like fury. Every time Charlotte's tongue made contact with her swollen clit, the woman's pelvis would buck convulsively in response, pounding into the girl's face and rasping her lips and nose with wiry pubic hair.

‘Oh! Yes! God!' the woman shouted.

Charlotte winced as the grip on her ears became even tighter. The cunt that had become her world ground even harder on her mouth and nose. In a panic she realised she could no longer breathe at all.

‘Oooh... you
bitch
...'

Constable Prentice let out a shriek that echoed around the dungeon. Charlotte really thought her ears might be pulled off as the woman's climax made her grind her pelvis with complete abandon into her face. All she could do was pray the juddering crisis would not be too extended, for her nose was being squashed against a bucking pelvic bone and her mouth all but engulfed by the woman's dripping nether lips. She should never have defied the Reverend Dawes, Charlotte thought wildly, wondering if she would suffocate before the policewoman finished.

 

‘Mmmmpppfff...!' Gretchen tried to protest. This had not been what she had meant when she nodded.

It was true that she had wanted – or rather, needed – that cylinder of engorged flesh inside her. It was need, rather than fear of refusal, that had prompted her, blushing furiously, to assent to his enquiry.

She had not bargained for this, however, and now it was too late to rethink her decision. Dawes had grabbed her by the ear and pulled her round. Then, to her utter horror, the Reverend had begun to steer her towards a bristling stool.

‘Now, don't whinny, girl. I need to brace you against something, after all.' He chuckled jovially, releasing her ear only to push her forward by the taut laces joining her stays together.

The bristle pig was too high for her belly, so any protection the little waist-cincher might have offered was quite wasted. Gretchen flinched as the Reverend reached around her and took each of her nipples in a wicked grip, causing another muffled squeal as he used the tender nubs of flesh to hoist her breasts high while pushing her towards the thing with his belly. Gretchen felt herself fall forward and the bristles rasped her ribcage above the low-cut corset. It was when he released her breasts, however, that the gagged squeals really started.

It was excruciating. The flesh on the undercurves of her breasts was exquisitely sensitive at the best of times. The slightest movement against the bristle ridge rasped the skin unbearably. All she could do was to try to keep her upper body still and screw her eyes tight shut against the pain.

‘Heavens, what a noise. You sound like a parboiled piglet,' the Reverend said with evident amusement. ‘All I can say,' he gave her flank a friendly pat, ‘is thank goodness for that gag!'

Rough hands grasped the raw insides of her thighs, forcing her legs even further apart and pulling her breasts down even harder on to the pitiless bristles. Gretchen moaned again. Then she felt his cockhead slide inside her, and her muffled moans took on a different note altogether.

 

‘Well, now.' There was a bloom of perspiration on the policewoman's flawless skin. She wiped her brow with a small towel she seemed to have put by ready for the purpose. ‘Pleasant as that was, my girl, I suppose we should get on with our work.'

Charlotte was still gasping and gulping. She was not so distracted that she did not realise what the woman meant by her remark. Icy terror took hold of her vitals.

‘Please...' she sobbed, imploring the vision in black leather before her with anguished eyes.

‘Good Lord, girl.' Prentice cut her short with a laugh. ‘Look at your face! What have you been up to, sweetheart? You are as sticky as a well-chewed toffee. Slippy stuff, from your forehead to your chin.'

Charlotte's fear of the cords was not enough to still her sense of humiliation as her jaw was lifted by a gloved hand and the admixture of tears and slick vaginal juices that smeared her face was wiped away with crisp efficiency.

‘Can't have you looking like a cunny-sucking little slut, can we?' Prentice said as the rough towel rasped against Charlotte's tenderised lips and chin. ‘The men will be down soon, I expect, and what would they think?'

Charlotte gasped as her chin was released. Her head was reeling. Shame, outrage and fear vied within her soul for ascendancy.

Prentice bent, her leather corset creaking noisily in the otherwise silent dungeon, affording Charlotte a fine view of a magnificently rounded, naked rear. The woman picked up the whip and turned to her victim with a wink.

‘Oh, but then,' she said with an innocent smile, ‘I was forgetting. You feel it is indecent to show your charms to men.'

She gave the cords a contemplative swish through the air. The hissing sound alone was enough to make Charlotte's buttocks flinch convulsively.

‘A pity, because you won't get any more respite. Not without a visit from the gentlemen.'

Charlotte found her whole body was trembling. Blood seemed to be rushing in her ears.

‘Please, ma'am,' she heard a small voice say as the policewoman stepped out of sight behind her. ‘I-I've changed my mind. I d-don't mind if they-!'

A heartstopping hiss seethed through the still air. Charlotte's upper thighs exploded with pain and she could beg no longer, for she was shrieking.

 

‘Enjoying it, are you, Gretchen?' The Reverend's big cock rammed deep into her, withdrawing halfway only to be driven back again.

Still gagged, Gretchen could only give a muffled whimper in reply. This was perhaps a mercy, as she would not have known how to answer this with truth.

She was certainly not enjoying the way the bristles of the strange stool rasped the tender undersides of her breasts. As the Reverend fucked her ever harder from the rear, the force of his strokes rocked her whole body. However much she tried to keep her chest steady, some of this motion transferred itself to her upper body, forcing her breasts to move back and forth across their abrasive resting place. All Gretchen could do was clench her pinioned fists and blink the tears of pain from her brimming eyes.

Lower down, however, the sensations were of another order. Her hips moved, not simply from the violence of his thrusts, but of their own volition. His cock deep inside her felt strangely wonderful. Pain and fear seemed, strangely, to have aroused her far beyond fever pitch. She needed him to continue. She needed the feeling of his hardness reaming her. But she needed something else, too. As she sensed his climax building, Gretchen tried to cry out in appeal, but all that emerged from the gag was a strange muffled wail.

‘Getting hot, eh, madam?' the Reverend laughed between pants. He grabbed her hair in one hand and wrenched her head back painfully as he thrust his manhood deep inside her once again. ‘You know, I have special plans for you, my dunce. I don't intend to keep you with the others. You are a particularly worthless, hardened slut, and you don't deserve to be kept with human beings.'

This talk terrified the now frantic woman, but that fear did nothing to dampen her feverish arousal. When she felt his hand reach around her capacious hip to brush her clitoris, her tears might have been from gratitude as much as from the bristly caress of the stool.

The Reverend chuckled as she bucked in response to his groping. ‘You see, treating you like a girl is giving you more dignity than you deserve.'

His cock slid home again, his fingers cupping her clitoris as her pelvis jerked in helpless response. A muffled gurgle escaped from behind Gretchen's gag.

‘I would not wish you to miss the delights of cross county or gym,' he continued, seeming to speak with increasing difficulty. ‘But otherwise, you are going to spend your time in the dog house like the bitch you are!'

At that point he seemed to lose the ability for conversation, which was as well, for being called a bitch seemed to have triggered something in the depths of Gretchen's soul. Oblivious now to the pain in her breasts, she writhed like a thing possessed in her unyielding bonds.

A slow explosion of ecstasy erupted in her loins, spreading out in waves to engulf her whole body and annihilate her mind. Echoes of pain against a background of overwhelming pleasure were all that Gretchen Mortimer knew, or cared about.

 

‘Aaaaaaaooooooooooo...!' Charlotte was hoarse from shrieking, but the twelfth stroke was so seethingly vicious that she screamed from the bottom of her lungs, her cries echoing around the cellar.

The pain was impossible, as though her bottom and thighs had been set on fire. She had not known, could not have guessed, that agony like this even existed. The intensity was, quite simply, too much to endure.

‘There now,' Prentice said smugly, ‘one dozen done. See, that was not too bad, was it, my dear?'

Charlotte had to blink away tears before she could even see the woman.

‘Please...' she heard herself croak, ‘it hurts too much...'

The policewoman stood in front of the weeping girl, legs wide astride, gloved fists resting on her leather-encased hips. Charlotte, strangely enthralled for all her pain and desperate terror, risked a glance up at her tormentor. Prentice was smiling, her eyes shining with excitement.