Ruled by the Rod (2 page)

With her
drawers off, the effect of this whipping could be clearly seen. Her
buttocks were a mass of overlapping bruises, some blackened from
her fustigation two days since. Others were fresh, the whole
extending over the lower half of her hinds, from their fullest part
down to the tops of her thighs, and blending into a mass on the
underside of the right buttock. There were even angry welts on the
tops of her thighs, and I could not avoid speculating whether it
had been these unexpected and painful cuts that had driven the
screams we had heard. I did not distress my poor sister further by
enquiring into the matter at that time.

Kneeling on
the bed as she was, head on her pillow, thrusting her broad but
firm buttocks upwards and spreading them so that the dark divide
between was opened to the viewer, I could see not only her feminine
parts, but also that small wrinkled dimple adjacent. To my
surprise, it was no longer small nor dimpled. It was swollen to
several times its normal size, protruding distinctly above the
surrounding flesh of the secret valley, and looking very red and
inflamed. It would seem that it was not only the soreness of her
thighs that caused her to walk so awkwardly, as if trying not to
let those rear cheeks rub on the angry bud in between. Moreover,
this pouting mouth, where her dimple had been, seemed to be
slightly agape, and a thin trickle of some sticky substance
descended from it onto the inside of one thigh. I did not like to
mention this metamorphosis of her erstwhile rose, but let the warm
cloth I was using to wash her buttocks slip into the cleft and
cleanse her as gently as I could, but not without causing her to
wince.

When we had
made her as comfortable as we might, and she would allow, for she
still felt it disloyal not to suffer the full consequences of her
correction, she kissed us and thanked us for our kindness, but bade
us finish up quickly and be sure to call her at first light, so
that we could institute the new ablutional routine.

A raw and
chilly dawn found us huddled in our wrappers, padding barefoot into
the stable yard. Shivering already, we cast off our slight
coverings and looked at each other, not sure of how to proceed. As
usual Marion took the lead, as she had done since we were
children.

'Charlotte,
you pump vigorously and I will stand under the spout until I am
quite washed all over, then Annabel shall pump for you, and I for
her.'

Charlotte,
naked, worked the long lever with a will, glad I think to be active
in that bitter air, the water gushing from the spout in time with
the rise and fall of her arms, and the swaying of her breasts.
Marion loosed her long dark hair and stepped under the icy jet,
turning and twisting, running her hands over her body, lifting her
breasts to the chilly kiss, and parting her legs as she bent, so
that the cleansing torrent reached every intimate spot. When she
had doused and rubbed every part under the icy waterfall she
stepped out, snatching a towel, and called for me to take over the
pumping, and for Charlotte to submit herself to the arctic
caress.

I too, was
glad to work my shivering body while Charlotte ducked into the
spouting water, squealing at the coldness of it on her bare skin,
and dancing round like a heathen dervish. But Marion admonished
her.

'Hush,
Charlotte,' she exclaimed, 'do not make such a fuss. You are meant
to be submitting your sinful body to this stimulating stream, which
will help cleanse you of both your corporal foulness and the
spiritual filth of sloth, for that is how papa expressed it to me,
and you should attempt to endure it with the solemnity the purpose
calls for.'

When Charlotte
had completed her excruciating ablutions Marion dropped her towel,
and came to take over the work of pumping from me. It could be seen
that the cold and the icy water had brought up the marks of her
corrections, so that they flamed on her white skin. Charlotte, too,
showed some tracks, for she had attended papa's study two days
before Marion's previous visit, but I suspected that my own hinds
were comparatively lightly marked. Papa did not like us to be
without an outward and visible reminder of our imperfection, but I
had last bared my buttocks for his disciplinary rod some six days
ago, and the tracks were fading, helped by the fact that it had
been one of his more lenient nights and I had only received eight
strokes, none of which had broken the skin, except one tip which
had dug into my right flank, but only in one small spot, lost among
the collection of small silver scars from more testing
thrashings.

Gasping and
hissing I stepped under the freezing jet, trying to emulate
Marion's stoic behaviour, but unable to prevent some shocked cries
from escaping. I washed all over, running my hands over my breasts
as their nipples hardened in the icy flood, and bending low so that
the jet found my rear crack and surged between my thighs, washing
that part of a female body that papa, and the churchmen he never
wearies of quoting, held to be the most injurious to men.

Then it was
over and we all towelled ourselves vigorously to both dry ourselves
and restore some circulation to our frozen limbs. As I did so, I
looked up to see papa watching us from an upstairs window. He had
said that it would be scandalous for a male to see us at our
ablutions, but presumably he was referring to the groom and the
gardener. In his case, obviously, it was his duty to check that his
instruction to his erring daughters, for their better management
and spiritual health, were being properly executed.

We hurried
indoors to dress and open up the house, setting about the usual
business of lighting fires and preparing papa's breakfast. The
morning passed without incident, but when Charlotte collected
papa's luncheon tray she wore a puzzled expression, and bore a
large white envelope in her hand.

'Papa says we
must all put on clean drawers, and then go with the groom, in the
trap, to the saddler in Sexton Hinds. He will, apparently, know
what papa's requirements are from the contents of this
envelope.'

Needless to
say, we obeyed at once, going upstairs to our rooms and changing
our drawers for fresh ones in clean white cotton, which was how
papa had decreed all our underwear should be.

Downstairs
again we mounted into the trap, a close fit for four of us, since
George the groom was a middle aged man of broad build, and my
sisters and I all well-formed young women, with adult hips.

Somehow we all
fitted in, though I found it somewhat disturbing to be pressed so
close to George's muscular thigh. It was nearly half-an-hour's
drive to the town, and as our thighs rubbed together I became aware
that George kept throwing me appraising glances which were most
inappropriate to an employee. Moreover, I could not but be aware of
a certain tumescence that had arisen in his breeches. I tried to
withdraw, but there was no room, and my angry glances at the groom
only seemed to arouse both his admiration and erection to greater
heights. I bit my lip and tried to act as if unconcerned, though
such was far from the case.

On arrival at
Sexton Hinds George handed me down with quite unnecessary
attention, contriving in the course of it to press his rampant
member against my thigh, and I could feel the pulsing length of it
quite clearly through the several layers of material that, happily,
separated us. I was glad when he released me, but knew it would be
useless to complain to papa about George's conduct. He would reply,
quite rightly, that it was the female who aroused the male and, if
there was anything animal or improper in it, then the woman was the
guilty party, and should be punished for so debasing the man. I
wondered if I was obliged to go to papa's study on our return, and
ask him if I merited correction for affecting George so.

In the
saddlers we were seen by Mr Foxis himself, who, after reading and
then carefully rereading papa's letter, invited us to accompany him
into a private room at the rear of his establishment. There, each
of us in turn was made to sit on a bench and, utmost mortification,
pull up our skirts to above the knee, exposing the bottoms of the
drawers we had so recently put on. We were all most grateful to
papa for his thoughtfulness in ensuring we would be spared the
embarrassment of underwear in anything but pristine condition.

Mr Foxis then
proceeded to take a series of careful measurements, above and below
the knee, the length from knee to ankle, the girth of the ankle,
and our foot sizes, our waist and wrist sizes, the circumference of
our necks, the dimensions of our heads, both over the crown and
around at ear level, and embarrassingly, around our bosoms and our
buttocks. Finally, when all that could be measured appeared to have
been so, I was asked to stand with one foot on the bench and draw
my skirts up onto my thigh. Blushing, I did so, then almost fell as
Mr Foxis placed one end of his tape-measure on the ankle of the leg
I was standing on, and slid the hand holding the other end up the
length of my thigh until it pressed against my private purse, only
prevented from actually making contact with my so intimate flesh by
one thickness of thin cotton cloth. My blushes redoubled, as did my
gratitude to papa for ensuring that that cloth was sweet and dry,
though I was surprised to find, upon returning home, that somehow
the gusset had become quite moist with my secretions.

After my
inside leg length had been established to Mr Foxis' satisfaction,
first Charlotte and then Marion submitted to the same intimate
examination and mensuration, and we ascended the trap for the
journey home.

I considered
asking one of the others to change places with me, so as to be
spared the too intimate contact with a male limb, not to speak of
the awareness of the straining member beneath the cord britches,
but felt it would be selfish to avoid this embarrassment by
inflicting it upon my sisters, so I steeled myself to endure
George's admiring gaze and organ for the thirty minute drive
home.

That evening
what I had been dreading for days came to pass. I knew it was
inevitable that papa would send for me soon, as he was far too
considerate a guardian to neglect my discipline for long, knowing
full well that the good book warns against sparing the rod and
spoiling the child, and that, in this respect at least, women are
in more need of correction than the most wayward child, and the
most easily spoilt of God's creatures, if neglected.

I repaired to
my room after supper to put on yet another pair of clean drawers, a
golden rule of papa's for a daughter expecting correction, and it
was then that I found the surprising fact of the wetness of the
gusset. Glad that I had not neglected my duty to put on clean
apparel, thereby sparing myself further embarrassment, I went with
quickening pulse and quaking belly to attend my stern superior. I
was fully conscious that, if he had sent for me, I must be worthy
of some punishment, or at the very least, reminder of my own
frailty. But used though I was to these meetings, I still feared
them and wished they were past. I sometimes wondered if I should
not confess this fault to papa so that he might attempt to correct
it, and make me not wish to escape my just deserts, just as Marion
was inclined to refuse aid and comfort after her fustigations, on
the ground that it detracted from the full benefit of the
correction to the sinner.

I could feel
my nipples rubbing on the coarse fabric that papa ordained for our
bodices, for they had become inexplicably hard and sensitive. I
believe it was fear that caused this habitual condition just prior
to punishment, and despised myself for my cowardice. I resolved to
show exemplary fortitude tonight, to make amends. But despite my
resolution, my hand still trembled as I knocked on that forbidding
panel of oak.

On receiving
permission I entered, and stood before my guardian.

He was a large, red-faced and vigorous man, at that time no
more than fifty one or two, in the full flush of manhood, his
florid countenance and rather heavy jowls only serving to add to
his
gravitas
. He
regarded me from behind his desk as I stood before it, eyes cast
down, wrists crossed demurely on my belly.

'Now, miss,'
he addressed me, 'it seems to me that you are, perhaps, overdue for
chastisement. Would you not agree?'

What could I
say but yes? To answer otherwise would not only contradict my
superior, but seem to claim that I was quite free of guilt or sin
these last eight days, a patent absurdity in one of my sex, and
amounting to the sin of pride and arrogance in itself.

'Indeed, sir,'
I said. 'It is now eight days since you helped me to overcome my
failings by chastising my person.'

'And you feel
that such chastisement is overdue, is that it? I seem to recall
that you only received eight strokes of the cane. Would you,
perhaps, consider that I was unduly lenient?'

'Sir,' I
replied, 'I would not be so presumptuous. I know you have only my
true interest at heart, in fustigating my weak body, and, if indeed
you were a little lenient, you must have had some good reason of
your own, perhaps to test my behaviour resulting from your apparent
act of grace.'

'Hmm! That's
as may be, child, but if I have been too easy with you, it can be
corrected tonight.'

My stomach
turned over, and I despised myself for failing my own resolution so
soon.

'Marion will
have informed you,' he continued, 'about my concern for the malign
feminine influences I feel in this house, and that I intend to
start a new and more strict regime to counter their ill effects.
Would you say that you have any part in these deleterious
emanations?'

I hesitated a
moment, trying to give as honest an answer as I could to this
difficult and perplexing question of the baleful effects of the
female person on the male sex.