SALVATION
A dark and sadistic tale set in Victorian England

BY DICKINS
dickins22@hotmail.com

This story is a work of erotic fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used here ficticously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidently.

[ part 15 ]

Cruel Lessons

Alice strolled across the courtyard, deep in thought, her recent tour of the facilities fresh on her mind. Having Herbert to take care of all the paperwork had freed her to entertain her many distinguished visitors and to be able to indulge herself in her greatest passion, the abuse, punishment and torture of her young charges.

Jim Cosgrove appeared from the side entrance, three young girls in front of him, all with that special glow and look to their faces that spoke of a secret knowledge, a special knowing of what was in store for them.

“Miss Marchant, how good to see you again!” he called, telling the girls to hurry along to the stables and to report to Miss Sharp the riding mistress for their lessons. “I thought I'd make use of your excellent facilities,” he told her.

“Perhaps you'd care to join me? I hear that you also enjoy watching young girls being taught to ride,” he said, grinning disarmingly.

“Yes I do, you are very kind,” she told him.

Alice took his arm to let him lead her into the stables where, within, the three girls stood, bright eyed and glowing, their eyes darting around, unsettled by all the apparatus that waited for them.

“All three together?” Jim asked.

“Oh, I think so Mr Cosgrove. It will be so delicious to see how their young bodies glow as they watch each other being taught to ride,” she explained, her eyes sliding slowly over each of the girls who looked so very attractive dressed in their little sailor uniforms.

He had chosen well, she thought.

Miss Valerie Sharp, the cruel lesbian Riding Mistress with a real passion for young girls, now had three students who were slender and tall, just perfect for the many horses and saddles that were at her disposal.

They were also longhaired, so their hair could be used as reigns, and they had little fat on their bodies to absorb the flick of her whip or crop.

“All right then, my little jockeys. Remove your uniforms and be smart about it. The last one to stand naked, thighs apart and hands on her head will be whipped!"

Alice and Jim both grinned as they watched them hurriedly undress; each girl intent on trying to outpace the others.

In just a few moments, all three were naked, their breasts rising and falling with their efforts, hands on heads waiting obediently with their thighs parted, their hairless pudendum on display, with their labia parted to reveal the long sleeves of their clitorises.

“You were the last,” Miss Sharp said, smiling at the tallest of the three girls, the one with the largest areole, with the burnished pink circlets sitting daintily on the curve of her delicious breasts.

“Over the bail!” she chuckled.

Looking at the display of instruments available to her, Miss Sharp was unaware that Miss Marchant had passed her to inspect the girl, following the child over to where the straw bail stood.

While Miss Sharp tested the various whips by swinging them through the air and listening to their whistle, Alice helped the girl bend, dip her back and then spread her thighs to the correct distance, all ensuring that her bottom was perfectly presented, her puckered anus on show and her full lipped cunt fully available.

“You're perfect,” Alice murmured to the panting girl, deftly stroking her to bring a glow to her skin and part the pink oyster of her cunt to let it gleam at the patron.

Satisfied, she stepped back and nodded.

Miss Smart chose a fine instrument made by the famous whip makers Gerard & Son's of Bromley. It was well balanced and not too heavy, the braided leather tapered nicely into six short strands of thin hemp that had been stiffened.

They would make a pretty pattern on her lovely bottom and could also be used to tickle under her, bringing her to her toes for yet another sharp cut. Chuckling with enjoyment, Miss Smart took up her position behind and slightly to the left of the trembling girl and flexed her arm in preparation.

Her audience; Alice and Mr Cosgrove smiled as the other two young girls looked on in awe of their strict mistress, tears starting to show for the first time on their pretty young faces.

Without warning, she swept the whip down to deliver the first sharp cut to the girl's bottom and grinned with satisfaction as it brought a quick intake of breath, a jerk forward and newly brightening lines across her soft bottom cheeks.

“Come on girl, that's only one,” she grinned. The girl groaned and drew her self down again, her thighs quivering as she steeled herself for the next vicious cut across her lovely bottom.

The stiffened strands of hemp tickled her inner thighs as Miss Smart twisted the crop around, and then flicked it across the purse of the girl’s gaping cunt.

The shock sensation made her gasp and rise on her toes, the sharp pleasure shooting deep into her to merge with the awful heat that insinuated from her bottom.

She pushed her crotch out, welcoming the touch, and instead, felt the second landing of the whip across her bottom, a second sharp scoring of her cheeks that, this time, made her cry out and surge forward.

Her hairless pubis touched sharp pieces of straw but rather than draw away, she welcomed the sharp sensations, the feel of it preferred to the terrible invasion of itching heat flooding her bottom.

Alice and Jim watched the child do battle with herself, listening to her pant and watching her rub herself fiercely against the edge of the straw bail while her bottom tensed, many lines now crossing those young pale cheeks.

“That's enough now,” Miss Sharp called.

“Get over with you,” she told the child.

With a sob, she meekly obeyed, unwillingly offering up her bottom once more and shaking as she waited for the pain.

Grinning, Miss Sharp applied the little tips to her inner thighs again, then to her vulva, her grin broadening as she watched her fight the sensations, then give into them and, with loud sobs of pleasure, push her sore bottom out towards her.

She gleamed with her want as Miss Smart swept the whip down again and delivering the hardest stroke yet. Even the other two girl’s jumped as the girl squealed with the pain, her slender body now knowingly sweeping forward to allow her pubis to meet the straw. She wriggled like a little mad thing, working hard to reduce the feelings coursing through her bottom.

While she wriggled and squirmed, pushing her crotch almost painfully to the harsh straw, Miss Smart turned to a saddle that rested on a wooden trestle on the other side of the stable and wheeled it into the centre, caressing its fine hand crafted leather.

Young thighs would slide against its flanks, pressing inwards in an attempt to stop them from fully sitting on it, and then perspiration would coat the leather and scent would rise.

Un-waxed, their spending would seep into the leather, keeping it supple and fragrant, a scent to excite the boys who would later be bent over it, their faces held close to the leather, as their bottoms were whipped and their cocks roughly masturbated.

Humming to herself, Miss Smart changed the stirrups for another set, one with a corrugated base that would hurt anyone putting too much weight on them.

Then, into one of the small screw slots set in the saddle, she fitted a small leather horn, which would press hard against the apex of the girl’s cunt, exciting her even more as her whipping continued.

The two waiting girls had moved their attention from their panting, jerking friend to Miss Smart. Licking their lips as they watched her prepare the special saddle, their pale faces slowly beginning to glow as they started to realise the purpose of the horn.

“There’s no pleasure without pain!” Miss Smart murmured to them as she stopped in front of them.

“No Miss,” they chorused. This was one of the very first lessons the children were taught at St Saviour’s.

She caressed their nubile breasts and watched their nipples quickly respond. She turned them around and ran her nails down their backs, smiling as the muscles moved under their skin as they arched, her nails descending to their bottoms.

Easing a finger between their cheeks, she felt their dry little anuses, then the moist portals to their delicious cunts. She smiled knowingly, delighting in the feel of the warm slippery wetness, the proof of their secret pleasure in having watched their friend being whipped.

The girl working herself on the straw cried out as she overcame her pain to sprinkle her dew on the straw, held on by her toes to the bail's edge as her orgasm swept through her, tightening the curved spheres of her bruised bottom.

“So, which one do you think should be next Miss Sharp?” Jim asked, turning his attention away from the spent child.

“This one Mr Cosgrove,” she suggested.

She had choosing the less lubricated of the two remaining girls and smiled when the other one looked disappointed.

“Your chance will come my dear,” she murmured, patting her little bottom while Jim escorted the other, suddenly panting girl, towards the waiting saddle.

Jim Cosgrove was a large man and he had no difficulty in lifting the twelve year old into the saddle. Her naked feet slid easily into the stirrups, and flinched from pressing down onto their base.

Then, walking to the front, he took her wrists and tied them to the front of the frame, pulling her upper body forward and forcing her to sit towards the front of the saddle, the leather horn pressing into her young pubis.

Miss Smart exchanged the whip for a neatly wrapped bunch of birch twigs that had been soaked in brine. She grinned from ear to ear as she took up position behind the nervous looking rider, the fleeting looks she gave her mistress, betraying her knowledge of what was to come.

The twigs swept down across her bottom and the darling child squealed and jerked forward, her tender cunt hitting the leather horn to bring a new and completely different sensation racing up her body.

Attempting to ease the pain she tried rising in the saddle, only to cry out as the tender arch of her naked feet were pushed into the rough surface of the stirrups.

With little else to do, she pushed back, her bound hands forcing her to lean further forward and thus, before she knew what was happening, further parting her bottom for another sweep of the twigs.

Miss Sharp laughed and sent the twigs sweeping across her marvellous little bottom, loving the dozen or so scratches that appeared on her flesh as it swept over her skin.

Then, once again, came the lovely sight of the girl jerking forward only to cry out in shock as she her tender cunt rubbed up against the hard and unforgiving leather horn.

Learning from her pain, she didn't try rising on the stirrups this time, but squirmed upwards, her thighs pushing together against the saddle in an effort to raise her.

It worked for a short time, the effort making her pant and shake while her belly flattened as her whole lower body tightened in an effort to support herself. Her bottom, one moment round and girlish, became lean and tight, almost boyish but for the lovely smoothness of her skin.

Grinning evilly, Miss Sharp pushed the harsh twigs between her bottom cheeks and was rewarded by a loud squeal as the tips scoured against her sensitive cunt and anus.

She jerked forward, lost her balance and landed on the hard leather horn. With a fresh cry she squirmed and panted, ending up with her bottom once more thrust out, her little breasts poised in front of her and the apex of her cunt pressed totally to the leather saddle.

It was what the designers had intended and as the sensations beat inwards, her senses reeled and her ability to think diminished.

Pain and pleasure mingled as the session took on a rhythm into which she unwittingly fell; pushing back to have her bottom scoured, then bending her knees outwards so she could press the tender apex of her cunt into the smooth leather of the horn.

She slid forward as the sting of the wicked twigs surged into her, until her pubis met the hard horn again, impaling her poor cunt lips on its girth.

Relief came in a hot wave as she squirmed on the horn for that moment before the sensations became too intense and forced her to slide back again, letting the smooth leather calm her cunt before the twigs once more scoured her bruised bottom.

The girl hardly seemed to know where she was any longer, panting and sobbing, hardly conscious of anything but the sensations swarming over her.

The session wasn't over.

Miss Sharp was already putting one of the harnesses on the last child, straightening the straps so that they enhanced the slight outward growth of her breasts and perfectly set off the milky whiteness of her bottom and practically hairless cunt.

Turning the girl she roughly thrust an extended finger into her bottom. The child gasped, then shook as her mistress judged the elasticity of her colon. As a result, she got down the third tail from the row of five.

The girl saw the end that would fit into her bottom and whimpered at the sight of the flared bulge.

Miss Sharp smiled and pushed her forward.

“Hands on your knees,” she ordered, spanking the girl’s sore bottom when she hesitated. The eleven year old did as she was told and Miss Sharp calmly eased her pert little bottom apart to fully expose the bright pink ring waiting for her with twinges of anxiety.

Without spit or ointment, she eased the slender and smooth tip into the child's anus, playing to her audience as much to the weeping child's nervousness.

Hot anxious breath turned to a whimper and then a growing whine as the tails tip broadened and pushed her little anus apart. The long smooth surge inwards, until the stretched sphincter met the steep flare of the bulge.

There, Miss Sharp eased it slightly in and out, Alice and Jim both being close enough to watch the pink ring being flexed by the smooth object.

When the girl's panting breath told Miss Sharp the time was right, she pushed harshly inwards. The girl cried out, but the tail was now firmly lodged within her, looking delightful as it curved away from her before falling in a rich cascade of horsehair.

“Isn't she pretty?” Miss Sharp asked, helping the child to stand up straight and proud.

“Lovely,” they both nodded in agreement.

“Parade for us,” the riding mistress urged.

The girl panted and moved, her face becoming flushed as, every step she took moved the thing in her bottom. The sometimes slow, sometimes sudden move and pulling of it sent sharp sensations straight to her aching cunt.

The two adults watched as her nipples lengthened and her chest grew flushed. Her belly muscles rippled and the tail began to toss as she learnt what moves caused the greater pleasure and the least pain.

“A little hussy, this one,” Miss Marchant remarked.

Alice laughed as the girl stopped to gasp for a moment, sprinkling her pleasure and bringing a gleam to her inner thighs. Then she was moving again, now a little unsteady on her feet as the wealth of her pleasures started to weaken her.

Miss Smart squeezed the bottoms of the girls in turn and wormed her fingers into their moist holes, bringing them quickly to their own peaks so that they'd welcome a repeat of the game, suffering the pain to gain the pleasure.

“Would you like the chance to earn the badge of honour?” Alice asked her as she was brought her to orgasm yet again by Miss Sharp.

“Oh, yes Miss Marchant!” the young girl answered, unaware of the many tortures that would be involved in earning the badge, but very aware of the evil looks that she was getting from the other girls, who also sought this privilege.

“Then go to my room and wait for me there,” she murmured softly.

“I hope you enjoyed your riding lessons,” Miss Sharp asked.

“Yes, Miss Sharp they chorused!” exhausted but pleasantly sated.

Alice then followed her latest little tart from the stable, thanking Miss Sharp for the entertainment and left Mr Cosgrove to enjoy the remainder of the riding lesson.

******

It was a cold and blustery Tuesday morning and Judge John Blackstone was preparing to sit in judgment at the juvenile assizes in Newbury, just west of Oxford. Outside, horse drawn carriages trundled up and down the cobbled street towards the market square while, over on East Lane, workmen were busy building the new railway, a spur off of the London to Oxford Great Northern.

Looking out of his office window, he watched the public enter the small court building, an inner sixth sense telling him who were the witnesses, who were the parents, and who were just there to witness the punishments he would sentence the guilty children too.

Over the years Judge Blackstone had built up quite a reputation for taking a tough line with the juvenile criminals brought before him, and the often-devised cruel and unusual ways of teaching them a lesson.

Miss Marchant had always thought him a scoundrel but never refused any children sent to her by him. A fully paid up patron he was just as entitled to his lusts as any of the other rouges she knew. There was a knock on the door and his secretary popped his head round the door.

“All’s ready Sir!” the young man told him.

The nephew of a good friend, Judge Blackstone had agreed to take the young man on and now regretted his moment of kindness. He nodded and then picked up his robes before making for the door.

It was held open for him while another junior held the main office door open. He strode past and rapidly descended the stairs, nodding politely but hurriedly to those he past, before finally reaching the basement where those who were to appear in court that day were held.

The small cells that filled the large basement held youngsters up to the age of sixteen, after which they were judged mature enough to pay for the full measure of their sins.

Looking formidable with his robes on, Judge Blackstone strode down the main isle, glancing at each child and grunting.

“What are you here for boy?” he asked, taken by the boy’s handsome appearance.

“I stole a loaf of bread Sir,” the boy told the Judge nervously.

John nodded to himself. He'd have to make an example of this one he thought. A long and hard caning in front of witnesses would soon mend his ways. The idea warmed him slightly and he nodded to himself.

He thought of Mrs Hudson and the pleasure she'd get from watching him caned and then attending to him in private afterwards.

The Judge’s smile grew along with his cock as he thought of upturning the woman's skirts and giving her a hard fucking, while she enjoyed soothing the poor boy’s bruised bottom, thighs and genitals.

The sound of soft sobbing came from one of the side rooms and he made his way over to look inside, surprised to see two pretty young girls, both smartly dressed, one in her early teens and the other yet to blossom, hence clearly younger than twelve.

“Why are your here?” he asked them curtly, his eyes roving over their pretty young bodies. “Please sir, there's been a mistake,” the elder child told him, her eyes begging him to listen and believe her.

He was privately inclined to believe her and any other Judge might have asked to see their case files, but not Judge John Blackstone.

He looked again at the older girl, seeing her clear complexion, her well-groomed hair and slender form, his mind working feverishly as he thought of ravishing her.

“Are you suggesting the Constables made a mistake young lady?” he asked, his voice deepening in mock anger.

“Oh Sir, I didn't mean that. Oh, please don't be angry kind sir!” she begged, her manner perfect for one brought up in a good family.

The younger girl had stopped her sobbing and clung to the side of her elder sister, large blue eyes watching him behind a pale and round face.

“Constable!” John called, and kept watching the two children while the uniformed man hurried over from his duty desk. “What's the story on these two?” he asked, stepping away so that the children wouldn't hear their conversation.

“Karen and Deborah Mellor, Sir. They were found standing outside Mr Hay's grocery store immediately after two pennies had gone missing from the till Sir. They claimed to have seen no one, but each had a penny on their person Sir," the Constable said.

“Mr Hay has since come forward to say he's found his coins, but they can't be released until the court says so,” the Constable told him.

“Have their parents claim them yet?” he asked.

“Yes Sir. Their waiting in the gallery Sir.”

“Do they know their children will be freed?” he asked.

“Oh no Sir. We can't presume to say what the court will decide,” The constable answered.

“Good, and quite proper, quite proper. Go bring them to my office,” John told him, and hurried back up the stairs.

******

Peter Mellor sat beside his wife Anne, his free hand patting those of his wife as she clung to him, staring in horror at everything around her.

Neither of them had ever been in a courthouse before and the type of people who moved about the place, many in rags and dirty clothes, their faces and hands filthy horrified both of them.

Once more, the realisation that his two young daughters would soon be appearing in the dock for theft struck him and his face would grow pale, his mind turning to the horrors of the penal system.

Beside him, his wife Anne wept, pulled herself together, and then began weeping afresh, often clinging to him, begging him to get her babies realised from this place.

A Constable came forward and Anne tensed, her eyes staring at the man in terror. “Mr Mellor, Mrs Mellor, his lordship, Judge Blackstone would like a word with you both before the assizes begin.

“If you'd come this way please,” he told them.

“What do you think he wants Peter?” she asked him in a whisper loud enough for all to hear. “Will he let our babies go?” she asked him eagerly, pulling urgently at his sleeve.

“We won't know until we speak with him Anne, but I'm sure he's a fair man who'll see through the mistake that's been made,” he told her, patting her hand once more and calming her as they made their way up the broad marble stairs to the upper floor.

They were led down a long corridor before entering the Judge's suite of offices, nodding to those they passed until they found themselves in a large corner room. A polished wooden floor had been overlaid with a rich Stilton rug, while a Lincoln sofa and armchair stood at one end of the room, a large desk at the other.

Judge John Blackstone stood and smiled, offering his hand from the depths of his Judge's gown then offering them both a chair and a cup of tea. The couple accepted, letting themselves be drawn along in the desperate hope that the Judge was a sensible man and sure to see the mistake that had been made.

Finally, when the tea had been served, and the discussion concerning the weather and the new railway had finished, the Judge cleared his throat and looked seriously towards them.

“I've called you here because I'm concerned about the case against your daughters.” he told them. “Theft is on the increase. We've been asked to make examples of the culprits!” he told them firmly, as he watched their reaction and was pleased with the way they paled and clung to each other.

“But, but, they didn't do it!” Anne pleaded, hot tears escaping her eyes.

“My dear lady, I wish I could be so certain. I have to tell you, if the case reaches Court, it's almost certain they'll be found guilty,” he told them, adding a sigh of theatrical remorse.

Peter Mellor grew alert at the word “if”, and looked more closely at the Judge, his heart pounding excitedly at the thought that there may be an avenue of escape.

“There is an alternative then?” he asked excitedly. “Well, I don't often do this,” he confided. “But sometimes I'm just too big hearted to be a judge, and on this occasion I feel I need to go with my heart, and not my brain,” he explained.

“Sometimes, if I feel the child or children in this case are accused wrongfully or there are other mitigating circumstances, then I offer them an alternative.”

“What does that mean?” Anne Mellor asked eagerly.

“Well, it means you sign a consent form placing them under my care for a period of one week. During that week their will stay at Ashdown Manor, where there’ll be expected to undertake some simple household duties and that will constitute their punishment,” he explained.

“They'd be staying with you at Ashdown Manor?” Anne mumbled.

“Yes Mrs Mellor. I have a housekeeper, a few maids, a cook and a gardener. They'd have their own rooms, its all quite proper, I do assure you,” he smiled.

“Could we visit?” she begged.

“I'm afraid not,” John sighed.

“Remember, this is meant to be a punishment for them. I'll have them cleaning out the stables no doubt,” he chuckled. He wondered what the girl’s would look like in jodhpurs and quickly moved away from such thoughts lest his complexion would give away his arousal.

“Staying at the Manor will be no hardship for the children,” Peter explained to his worried wife. “We really have no choice Anne,” he told his wife softly, urging her to accept what appeared to be much better terms for their children.

The Judge smiled and reached into his desk for the appropriate form, passing it over with a pen so that the stupid man could sign over custody of his two young and innocent daughters, so that he could do as he pleased with them.

A week would allow him four days of complete freedom followed by three for their recovery. He could lessen that to two if he really wished; it wouldn't matter that much if the children returned with the odd mark upon them, especially seeing that neither would be able to explain how it got there.

What a marvellous lady his housekeeper was, he thought, watching the signature appear on the form while thinking of the special drink that James Jones the cook’s son from St Saviours would provide, ensuring that the children remembered nothing of their painful ordeals.

“I will have your daughters brought here so you can say goodbye to them,” he said quickly, leaving the room to walk the short journey to the courthouse, his cock so aroused that it was in danger of giving the game away.

Mr Mellor nodded and wondered why he didn't feel as relieved as he thought he should have done.

Had he missed anything?

******

Judge John Blackstone brought the gravel down hard on the oak base and stared insolently at the defendant and his brief.

“You are guilty as charged,” he told the handsome youth, watching with interest as a lock of the boy’s hair fell before one of his eyes.

The boy looked back nervously with dark brown eyes. There was little doubt in the Judge’s mind that the boy was of gypsy descent, which would mean that his young cock would be well endowed for his age.

“This community is tired of seeing their hard won valuables stolen by the likes of you,” he intoned.

“Therefore, I intend to make an example of you, that others will be cautioned away from such misdeeds. This afternoon, you will be taken to the courtyard, bound and given three dozen strokes of the cane!”

The boy swayed and seemed to go paler still. The small gathering of watchers groaned, women putting their little handkerchiefs to their mouths to mask the flush that had risen to their faces.

Judge Blackstone again knocked the gravel onto his desk.

“Everyone found guilty will be gathered to watch your punishment, so they will know what they will receive if ever caught by this district again!” he announced, hitting the gravel on the desk again and waving his arm for the boy to be dragged away.

As soon as the session was over he called his secretary in hurriedly writing a note. “I want you to take this to Mrs Hudson, the widower who lives along the old Roman Road,” he told the young man, putting into the note the barest details before folding and sealing it.

“And be quick about it!” he added, his heart pounding with the very thought of the afternoon's entertainment.

As midday approached, John called a halt to the proceedings so he could enjoy his lunch, and went over to the coaching house where a room had been set-aside for him. The kitchen staff brought in his lunch and placed it on the sideboard for him to choose at his leisure while the landlord himself poured his finest French wine into one of the few crystal stemmed glasses that he owned.

As they backed out, curtsying and bowing, John began pushing aside lids to peer into them. To start with there was Leak and Game soup, a lovely thick broth with plenty of pieces of meat. He poured himself a healthy amount into a large bowl and wolfed it down with bread rolls still warm from the oven and butter churned freshly from a nearby farm.

The main course was one of his favourites; parcels of pigeon filled with a stuffing of pheasant pate, port and pears. Her served himself two, with small roasted potatoes and parsnips.

For his desert, the cook had made him a Treacle Tart served with fresh cream and again, he gave himself two servings before sitting back and sighing with pleasure. His belly satisfied, his thoughts turned to the other pleasures in life still awaiting him.

That afternoon a young boy would be caned, his pale young form made to dance as the cane created hot lines across his bottom and thighs and he'd have access to the boy afterwards, after the doctor had seen him.

Marsha Hudson would no doubt accompany him.

Then later, at home, there would be the two young Mellor girls. The younger one was as cute as a button and no doubt totally innocent. The elder one though, the budding girl, she might know something of what was happening.

His pocket watch played a little tune, alerting him to the time, and he rose to use the commode in the corner when the door opened and young Alice, the chamber maid popped her head round the door.

“I’ve come to clear the dishes Sir,” the fifteen year old told him, stepping into the room and curtsying prettily. John smiled and chuckled, remembering the girl when she was younger.

He had often been asked by her distraught mother to help by turning her over his knee for a hard spanking. The woman probably knew about him feeling between her legs too, casting a blind eye in favour of having the Judge as a friend.

He had soon found the young girl, only eleven back then, quick to grow hot and wet. Almost as accommodating as her mother in fact, he reflected, remembering well how pleasant it had been to mount the middle aged lady and pound away at her cunt.

“You can help me with something else first,” he chortled, grinning at her as he worked the buttons on the front of his breeches free. Alice grinned and tied the door-latch down before stepping across to the waiting Judge.

There were many fine gentlemen that needed a licking and a handling to bring them off before continuing their coach journey. Her mother had told her it would do her no harm but add to her purse, and so she had found.

She knelt, licking her lips in preparation and reaching out for the Judge's cock, no stranger to the short but thick member he sported under the overhang of his belly.

He was only half hard she noted, holding him about the base before drawing her mouth forward to cover the glands and lick the strong flavour from his flesh.

Hands gripped the back of her head, as men often liked to do, and she relaxed her throat the way her mother and the doctor had shown her, willing herself to allow the cock to push into her gullet.

John Blackstone had other ideas though and sighed with relief as he relaxed his bladder and began to urinate. The hot liquid spurted in a stream from his cock and Alice's eyes widened in shock as she felt it course down her throat, burning down into her belly.

She squealed around the flesh in her mouth, her hands waving in the air as she shook between pushing herself away and earning herself the displeasure of the most powerful man in town, or suffering the steady flow of hot pee down into her belly.

The more she accepted, the more she realised it wasn't as bad as she had thought it might be, and hence the less she fought against it.

His eyes turned up in relief, John noticed nothing of Alice's internal struggles. He had enjoyed the little tightening of her mouth and lips around him as he had begun to pee, and found the rippling of her gullet pleasant. He withdrew and offered her the tip for one final lick before putting himself away.

It had been a pleasant experience, and one he decided, that he should do more often. Alice waited patiently for the Judge to leave, then hurried to the table to swallow the little bit of wine that was left in the glass, sighing with relief as it rid her of the strong flavour of his pee. Then, mindful of the cook and her long wooden spoon, she hurried set about clearing the room.

******

A weak wintry sun hung low over the hills to the West of Newbury as John watched the police finish preparing the yard for the afternoon's judicial punishment. There were two wooden posts that stood a couple of yards from the back of the building. Between these, there had been fastened a stout wooden plank, about the height of the child’s belly.

The other delinquents that had been tried that day were brought out to witness the punishment, all looking pale and miserable, their eyes drawn in morbid fascination to the waiting plank and the large beefy policeman who stood to one side sweeping a cane through the air as he loosened his shoulder and arms in readiness.

There were a series of barred windows looking out onto the yard at that point, and invited guests peered out in interest, some drinking from hip flasks as they waited patiently for the punishment to begin, others talking animatedly about previous punishments, comparing one event with another as they looked forward to the one yet to occur and a couple of young spades placed bets on how the boy would fare.

In another office, one that overlooked the courtyard and where he entertained his guests Judge Blackstone was preparing two glasses of sherry when there was a knock on his door and his secretary came in, announcing the arrival of Mrs Hudson.

She swept into the room with a warm smile for John. A tall woman, as tall as John himself, she was an elegant woman in her thirties, her hair nicely done in curls and ringlets while a pale blue dress showed ample bosom and a well controlled waist.

“How good of you to think of me,” she told him, leaning forward to kiss him warmly on the cheek and clouding him in her perfume.

“I would be a poor servant if I didn't welcome you for such events,” he rejoined as he past her a glass of sherry, directed her towards the large sash window overlooking the courtyard. The door closed behind the departing secretary and Marsha laughed.

“What a dullard!” she remarked.

“You know; family and friends,” John explained with a shrug.

“But what of the entertainment John? You never mentioned an age you know, you naughty man!” she scolded, albeit playfully.

John chuckled, enjoying it when he managed to tease her.

“He says he’s thirteen, is probably older, but in his rags looks half that,” he told her.

“Oh, how delightful!” Marsha gasped.

There was a call from below and Mrs Hudson hurried over to the window to gaze down avidly as the young boy was brought from his cell.

Her breath caught as she saw the boy being pushed forward by two policemen, their height making him look even smaller. All but his breeches had been removed and Marsha's eyes glowed as she surveyed his lean but hard muscled torso.

John swallowed his sherry in one gulp and went to stand behind the woman, watching over her shoulder as the escort around the boy stopped. Their words were feint from their distance, but both knew from experience that the boy was being told to empty his bladder first.

They had stopped by a storm grate, and one of the police pointed to it with his truncheon. The boy, no doubt used to peeing in public, stepped up to it and pulling the front of his breeches down, brought out a good sized cock that sprung from a base of light brown curls.

“Oh, he is definitely fourteen or fifteen,” Marsha, breathed, staring at the young cock and quivering with the thought of soon being closer to it.

“He’s well endowed for his age,” John remarked, his hands steeling to the lady's waist to feel the softness of her flesh beneath the fine material, pleased to find there was no corset or stays.

Down in the yard the boy pissed into the drain with everyone watching the bright water arcing from his shrunken cock. Then, the last dying spurt having been made, he was dragged forward, his breeches roughly removed to leave him standing naked.

Marsha groaned softly, her body beginning to tingle with excitement as she got her first view of the boy’s handsome young bottom. John reached up and felt the weight of Marsha's full breasts through the material of her dress. He could feel the hardness of her nipples and stroked them while watching the struggling boy being tied between the posts.

Mindful of the money certain members of the public would donate to their benevolent fund, the policemen ensured that the boy’s thighs were pulled well apart, before tying them by rope to the posts.

The young boy's cock and balls hung between his widely spread thighs, his ball sack too shrunken for his balls to swing. His wrists were taken and tied by more lengths of rope, these attached to iron rings set in the wall of the building. In this way the policeman pulled on his upper body, forcing him forward against the plank and making an easy target of his defenceless bottom.

The burly policeman with the long bamboo cane stepped forward, still swinging it through the air as he now surveyed the bottom he was to strike. Off to one side, the doctor nodded his head, consenting to the boy receiving the full measure of his punishment.

Up in the office, Marsha moved to the edge of the window where she could use the wall to help support her, and the curtain to hide the liberties the Judge had begun taking with her person. Her mouth was constantly dry with her excitement and she licked her lips and swallowed repeatedly, her eyes fastened on the view in the yard.

The first strike landed; a long whistling stroke that ended with a sharp crack, then the boy's gasp. Marsh shook with unholy passion as she saw the boy quiver and the line of the cane rising vividly across his bottom.

Hands squeezed and caressed her through her tight dress and her breath quickened. The policeman drew back for another strike and it whistled through the air before landing again.

Marsha sobbed as the boy's head shot up, her eyes and mouth wide in pain. Her eyes slid past his face and slender chest and spied his cock, shrunken with pain into the mass of curls at the base. She swallowed around the thought of having it in her mouth, tasting the remnants of his urine before feeling his cock begin to grow.

John watched the fourth and fifth stroke land, both across the top of the boy’s thighs. Then, sensing the moment was right, his hands slid from caressing Marsha's torso and bust and descended to her skirts, pushing the material inwards so he could trace the curve of her lower belly and the firm prominence of her pubis.

“Oh John, you naughty man!” Marsha breathed, parting her legs to help him while clutching at the curtains, using it to help support her as another stroke landed loudly across the young boy’s bottom.

He yelped and yet another line decorated his naked body.

“He’s taking it well,” John remarked, a hand on the woman's behind, both hands rubbing her through her clothes.

Like her, his eyes seldom strayed from the scene below and watched with interest as another stroke brought a squeal from the boy before the vivid mark appeared across his slender bottom.

“Ten,” someone called.

The lad had begun to cry, each further stroke bringing his head up for him to utter a beseeching wail of pain.

Bright lines crossed his bottom while more ran across the back of his thighs.

Another was added to them, directly below the swell of his young bottom and Marsha gasped as it broke the skin and began to slowly bleed.

“So quickly!” she marvelled, used to children receiving twice that number before their skin was broken and the sheen of blood began to decorate their slender young bodies.

“Well deserved!” John breathed, his hands now gathering the long lengths of her skirts behind her, tirelessly working to uncover legs that quivered and opened in expectation.

“Quickly,” she urged him, blindly reaching back to grasp his cock through his breeches, fondling it avidly while never taking her eyes off of the sport below.

Ah, such luxury, she thought, to be impaled upon the hot stout cock of the Judge while a young boy no older than her young nephew was savagely caned right in front of her.

She squeezed the hard rod she could feel under his breeches and shook as, down in the yard; another crack of the cane was preceded by a thin wail from the young boy. Her keen eyes saw his blood seep from the raw wound, swelling outwards while he raggedly sobbed.

Baring the lovely and pale globes of her bottom, John reached under their weighty swell and shoved the tip of two fingers inwards, making sure she was ready for him.

“Yes, hurry!” she demanded.

His fingers rudely spread her, letting her wetness run freely over her sex. The boy received another stroke and someone called twenty, just as the Judge's hot lance probed urgently up between her legs, then launched itself into her cunt by the sudden stretching of his legs.

“Yes, yes!” Marsha gasped, her eyes momentarily dimming as pleasure soared within her. Firm, manly hands gripped her torso, holding her skirt up and keeping her steady as their owner began urgent short thrusts into her hot and clinging cunt.

John gasped and panted, sweat worrying his brow as he worked hard to try forcing more of his cock between her legs and up, into her wet and hot cunt. His eyes seldom left the scene in the yard, watching excitedly as over-crossing cuts on the boy's bottom brought blood springing from the new wound.

The boy slumped but the punishment went on, each cut bringing still further bright lines to his young flesh. The last stroke landed and John thrust hard into the woman before him, a sharp cry resounding off the walls as he abruptly came. In front of him, Marsha sobbed and clung to the curtain, her eyes rolling up with the impact of her glorious orgasm.

******

Judge Blackstone and his guest Mrs Hudson, well known for her kindly works towards the poor and bereaved, looked calm but concerned as they made their way down into the basement a half hour later.

Members of the public doffed their caps in respect as they past.

“It must weigh so heavily upon them, that they must brutally punish misdemeanours,” one young lady said to her partner after they had past. He nodded gravely. “I've heard rumours that he interceded on behalf of the Mellor girls,” he said proudly. Everyone in the town could be proud of having such a fine Judge as he.

John guided Marsha down the last flight of stairs and along the now empty cells to the Doctor's office. He was drying his hands when they entered and the boy was laid out on his front along a bench, his wounds now cleaned, but still very fresh and raw. “I've given him some opiates,” the doctor said. I consider him well enough abused that you shouldn't need any muscle relaxant,” he added, picking up his bag.

“Very good doctor,” the Judge told him, his cheeks burning with the thought of the man knowing what they planned for the boy. John hated anyone knowing of his true diversions.

“You can return in twenty minutes or so,” he vouched.

Marsha looked already flushed as she stared at the young boy's lacerated bottom and thighs.

With a last nod the doctor made his departure and John hastily tied the latch into place. As quick as he'd been, Marsha was faster, her dress already falling to the floor for her to step out of it, and up to the doped young boy.

“Oh, you little darling,” she sighed, so easily imagining the young boy as her nephew.

She reached out and stroked some of the deeper lacerations, her breath quickening as she admired how the skin had swollen and the blood drawn to the surface through the pores of the skin.

She touched him again; breathless with desire as she ran a finger along one vivid line, stopping where it crossed, where the skin had broken and blood had flowed. With a groan she bent forward to kiss the mark, inhaling the alcohol the doctor had used to clean the cuts.

John dragged his breeches off, ignoring his socks to rush up behind Marsha as she bent over the boy. Her cunt hairs still had remnants of his seed from the last fucking and her inner thighs gleamed with it, yet still he ploughed into her hot dell, gasping as she enclosed him, flexing warmly about him, accommodating him like a finger in a fine leather glove.

“Ah yes John, long, long strokes,” she breathed, her mouth opening to kiss the wounded flesh.

Gripping her haunches and watching her lick and kiss the boy's tight bottom, John drove his fat cock as far as his belly and her bottom would allow, then drew out to repeat the process, her wetness growing until she was an open canal he and two others could have sped along.

Marsha seemed not to care, breathlessly parting the boy's thighs so her mouth could reach the underside of his buttocks and her hand slide under him to grasp his soft cock. She reached for his thighs and licked the swollen lines of the cane, rocked by the Judge's hard thrusts.

“I'm ready!” John panted. His cock was dripping with Marsha's wetness and her cunt no longer gave him the friction he needed.

“Quickly then!” she gasped breathlessly.

“Let me see, let me see!” he urged. Marsha was urged to help him drag the boy's body down the bench until his thighs hung over the end and his bottom hung at a perfect height for him to be ravished.

Marsha rested her head on the boy's bottom and dragged the cheeks apart. John held his cock and applied it to the little dark rosette she had uncovered, grunting as he levered his weight forward.

Smoothly, without too much resistance, his cock slid into the boy and was gripped by his colon.

“Ah, such delight!” John gasped.

The boy groaned in his drugged sleep and moved slightly. Neither of them minded or cared. Marsha took a fresh grip, the better to watch the short fat cock slide to and fro inside the boy's bottom, and John held the boy's flanks more tightly, pushing himself as hard as he could into the resilient back passage.

“Yes, yes!” Marsha intoned with each of the Judge's hard thrust into the boy's sore bottom.

Her excitement was running away with her, and her hand left his tight little bottom to slide round and feel his smooth cock and balls.

“Ah, what pleasure!” she gasped, roughly handling his balls only to hear the boy sob. Her hand slid to his smooth cock and bent it over till she heard his whimper again, then to his little balls again to repeat her rough handling.

As she continued tormenting his cock and balls, she turned her mouth into the firm cheek of the boy's nearest bottom cheek and bit heavily into one of the cuts. The boy cried out in his drugged sleep and she thrust her hand between her thighs stabbing her fingers deep into her cunt.

Tasting the sweet taste of the boy's blood, hearing his cry, she came upon her stabbing fingers, wailing into the meat in her mouth as she quivered uncontrollably.

John thrust twice more before his own crisis was upon him, and then it was as fierce as his first bout, driving him onto his toes to impale the boy one last time, pumping his seed as deeply as possible into his delicious bottom.

“Ah, what a delight!” he pronounced, pulling his shrivelling cock away from the boy's tight anal ring to wipe himself on one of the doctor's gowns.

The boy groaned as if in accent which made them both laugh.

Mrs Hudson grinned and recovered her dress; sliding into it and turning her back to the Judge to have him do up the last of the fastenings.

“You will find another soon I trust?” she asked eagerly.

Her passion was still up and she idly wished the doctor were still present to complete her pleasure. The walk home would cool her blood, not at all what she wished for.

Yet once at home, there was a short whip she could swing around her body to bring smarting blows to her own bottom. There were leather-covered poles of wood too, some to force into her bottom, another to push and pull between her thighs. Ah, what pleasure she would have that evening, brightening her bottom with the whip before impaling herself on one of the poles.

John Blackstone could only think of Karen and Deborah Mellor who were on their way to Ashdown Manor, and the many pleasures they were going to bring him over the next week.