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From: Pentland <pentland@electronic-businesses.org>
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Subject: RULED BY THE ROD Part 3
Date: Fri, 07 Sep 2007 02:25:11 -0700
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===================
Chapter 10 THE DIGNITY OF LABOUR.
It was about this time that we received another visitor. At dinner one
night, we were surprised to find not three gentlemen, but four, our
Guardians having been joined by a large gentleman of florid
appearance. His manner was abrupt, as if brooking of no opposition,
and he radiated an aura of power and ruthlessness that caused us
females to quiver internally, and to treat him with even greater
respect than due in any case to a member of his sex.
"This is Mr Brangwyn," the Judge informed us, by way of
introduction. "He will be staying a day or two. Kindly lay an extra
place and see that there is a room made up for him."
Naturally we hastened to comply, then served the meal, each
kneeling, as usual, beside her particular Guardian, to receive from
their plates and glasses, such sustenance and refreshment as they
chose to allow us.
Mr Brangwyn seemed much impressed by the procedure, though, in
truth, we found it now the most natural thing in the world, and he
commented freely on how well we had been trained, and the high degree
of submission that our Guardians had induced in us.
"I only wish," he said, "that the idle bitches who work for me were
half as docile."
His speech, it must be admitted, was rather on the coarse side,
compared with the educated and enlightened conversation of the others,
but we put that down to too long exposure to the uneducated and brutal
labourers whom he employed, for Mr Brangwyn was the proprietor of
several collieries in the Forest of Dean, on the English-Welsh border.
After dinner, it was time for the regular disciplinary exercises. It
would have normally been Charlotte's turn to account for her sins and
service the gentlemen's needs but, in honour of our guest, we were
each required to strip to the usual degree and mount the chair for our
buttocks to be scourged and our souls purged, before easing the
executioner of our penance, by the actions of our nether orifices
clenching around their inflamed members.
We were a little taken aback, at first, to find Mr Brangwyn
accompanying us to the study, where the process was to be carried out,
but it was made clear to us that Industry was to join Religion,
Medicine and the Law in our Governance, in accordance with the most
modern thinking, and we forbore to argue with our betters on the
matter.
Thus it was that, after I had received a particularly severe
whipping from the Bishop, who seemed to have abrogated the usual
formula for their calculation and thrashed me so sorely that I could
not hold back my tears, not only he, but our new Guardian, entered me
from behind, squeezing my sore nether cheeks with hard male hands,
while their iron-hard rods reamed my tender back passage. I was more
than ready for my bed that night, and some tears stained my pillow,
even as my sheets below my waist were stained with the shaming
effusions from my ravaged anus.
The coal magnate stayed with us three days, with three nights of
exceptional soreness, as we demonstrated how far the limits of our
endurance stretched. He seemed to rejoice in our restraints, as being
so beneficial to womankind, and would often come at first light to see
us cavort naked under the icy pump, apparently greatly approving of
this means to hygiene of body and soul.
Thereafter he became a regular visitor, and we were always in a
state of particular apprehension when one of these visits was
announced, for we knew that our discipline would acquire an extra
dimension of strictness and depth, while he was with us.
On one such occasion, we were warned in advance that he was coming
to take us back with him to Monmouthshire. Since we might be away for
some weeks, we thought the gentlemen might have refused his request,
for we had, in our arrogant female pride, come to feel we were
essential to their health and comfort, but they assured us they would
make shift without our services, and had already made suitable
arrangements to cover our absence.
It was for our own good we were being sent, they assured us, to
learn the dignity of labour, and the benefits of toil, and they would
make the best of things while we were absent, so that we might not
miss the opportunity offered.
We travelled in the gentleman's own carriage, staying the first
night in Salisbury, where I was deputed to visit his room to remove
the harmful accretions occasioned by his close proximity to us in the
coach, then arrived very late in Bath the following evening, where we
stopped the night, Charlotte being his choice of remedy for the
excessive pressure visible in his britches. We saw nothing of the City
that might once have been our home, to the great danger of our moral
health.
The next day we crossed to Chepstowe on the ferry and proceeded to
the Hall, set in parkland, where Mr Brangwyn resided. It came as
somewhat of a surprise that, during those last few miles, when we were
in country where he was the local Squire, and well known, the folk
along the way greeted the carriage with sullen looks and muttered
curses. We were moved to comment on this to our host, but he dismissed
it, saying the local people were a surly breed, and to ignore them.
Marion extracted his malign juices that night, and in the morning we
were to have our first experience of industrial labour. We speculated
among ourselves what form it might take, for Mr Brangwyn had given us
no inkling of what he intended for us.
We left the house before dawn, for we understood work started early.
As the carriage passed along the street of mean houses where the
workers lived, there were many of them along the way. They shouted and
shook their fists at us, the women worst of all, screaming insults,
calling us whores and scabs, though we had little understanding of
what they were about. Again our host advised us to take no notice.
"These are idle folk, who will not work," he said, "nor listen to
the wisdom of their betters, both by rank and gender."
We felt sorrow that women could so demean our sex, and determined
that we, at least, would do nothing to disgrace womankind.
We were taken to the mine adit, a shed with a windlass worked by
patient horses, that lowered wheeled tubs down into the pit, to fetch
the coal, and hoisted them out after, when filled.
It appeared that the workers, as well as the coals, travelled this
route, and there was just room in the cage for the three of us to
stand together. Mr Brangwyn addressed us before the windlass was
released.
"There is no room for me to accompany you further," he said, "but
the overseer will be waiting at the pit bottom. You are to obey him,
as myself, and not to question anything he orders, however surprising.
Everything that is done is for the safety of the mine, and the health
of the workers. It is a pity that the idle women, whose place you are
taking, do not understand this. I look to you to show a better sense
of a woman's duty and place."
With that, he signalled to the man at the windlass, who let the
brake loosen, and the swaying platform on which we stood fell below
our feet, dropping us into the shaft.
The motion was so sudden, unexpected and swift, we screamed as one
woman. In pitch darkness we plunged into the depths, shrieking like
lost souls. Indeed, at the time, we thought ourselves just that,
doomed and on our way to hell. Nor were we altogether wrong in our
assessment, though it was a hell quite beyond any of our imaginings.
After what seemed an age, the cage began to slow, as the winchman
applied the brake, and our feet pressed as strongly against the floor
as they had lightened as we fell. The motion almost ceased, and we
became aware of a faint light, as we dangled on the thread of rope
that was all that held us from being dashed to the ground below. As
the cage steadied and came to a halt, we found ourselves at an opening
in the side of the rock lined shaft, lit by flickering lamps on either
side, whose light seemed only to make more black the cavern, grimed as
it was with coal dust, which lay everywhere and entered everything.
Standing in the entrance to this fearful tunnel was the overseer.
He was short but broad, very powerful, his coarse features ingrained
with coal, dressed in thick woollen trousers, heavy boots, and a dirty
collar-less shirt. His head was wound about with a cloth, over which
he wore a flat cap, presumably as some protection for impact with the
roof of the workings, for the tunnel, after the relatively wide space
at the pit bottom, for handling of tubs and workers, shrank to no more
than a yard high, by two wide, just enough for the tubs to pass on
their way to and from the coal face.
He peered at us in the dim light of the lamps, and an evil grin came
onto his face.
"So you're the scabs he promised! Well, what's keeping you? Off with
them."
We must have looked totally bemused by this, for he went on.
"Women don't work clothed down here," he told us. "Too hot, and
their skirts get in the way. Besides, you'd never get all clean again,
with so much petticoats and such. Come now, quick. Get all that gear
off and hurry up about it."
We looked at each other in shock, then removed our outer clothing,
our dresses, our under slips, our petticoats. When we stood in a state
of almost total undress, merely stays, stockings and shoes (in
accordance with our long standing custom we wore no drawers of any
kind), we instinctively paused, feeling that this must be enough. The
overseer, seeing us stopped, said nothing but unbuckled the heavy
leather strap from around his waist. Still without a word, he lashed
it across Marion's thighs, then Charlotte's, finally my own.
"Are you deaf or daft?" he exclaimed. "When I say stripped, I mean
as nature made you. Every last thing off, and as bare as a slug in the
rain. That's how the women work here. Let's have no more delay, or
you'll get more than just a touch of my belt."
In no doubts now of what he required, and the desirability of
meeting his requirements, we tore off the last of our clothing and
stood before him in the state he demanded.
"That's better," he conceded, and proceeded to buckle a wide strap
about each of our waists, for all the world like the girths used on
dray horses, pulling up hard on the twin buckles until they were tight
about our hips.
He led us over to where some empty tubs waited at the bottom of the
shaft.
"Kneel," he said, and we dropped to our knees before him. From the
front of each belt, a length of heavy chain fell, with a hook at its
end. He thrust Marion's head down, until she went on all fours, and
reached between her legs from behind to grasp the hook, pulling the
chain through her parted thighs and dropping the hook into a ring on
the front of one of the wheeled tubs. He treated Charlotte and me in
the same way. I could not help cringing from the feel of his coal-
grimed hairy wrist brushing against my vulva, as he reached between my
thighs, and he laughed evilly.
"Touched your private purse, did I, my little darling? I'll do more
than touch one of these days."
When we were all hooked up to tubs, he ordered Marion to crawl on
her hands and knees into the entrance of the narrow tunnel, then
Charlotte and I were formed into line behind her.
"Crawl down the passage, and keep right on going, until you reach
lights," he ordered. "Keep to the left hand side, in case there are
men or tubs coming the other way. You'll find men working and loaded
tubs where the lights are. The men will unhook your chains from the
empty tubs and fasten them to full ones, which you will pull back
here. You go on doing that until someone tells you to stop. Off you
go!" He brought the strap down heavily across Marion's rump.
She started forward, came up short as the chain tensioned, then
threw herself against the weight to get the clumsy vehicle moving on
its crude wheels. As she entered the narrow darkness of the tunnel,
the overseer brought the strap down on Charlotte's bottom in silent
command and she gasped and threw her weight against her own tub. No
sooner had she started to move after Marion's disappearing form, than
the cruel strap lashed into my own bent buttocks, and I suppressed a
cry to hurl myself against the belt and get my tub moving before he
thought I might need more 'encouragement'.
Though the tub was crude and clumsy, it was empty and the tunnel ran
downhill, so, at the beginning at least, the task was not overwhelming
and, in fact, there were times when the tub would overrun one,
catching one's ankles painfully. The floor of the tunnel was
relatively smooth, from the continuous polishing by countless female
knees and palms, but hard, with the occasional fragment of coal to
torment one's knee-caps or soft hands. We ploughed on in pitch
darkness, once we had left the pit bottom a few yards behind, kept in
touch by the rumbling of the trucks in front or behind.
It was hot and airless in the tunnel and we were soon sweating like
the draught animals we were. We crawled painfully on for what seemed
hours before we caught the first loom of light beyond where the tunnel
curved a little in front, then came to another slightly wider portion,
with two lamps burning, and a number of near-naked men working the
coal with picks. At first they seemed oblivious to our presence,
merely cursing us for not getting there earlier, saying the tubs were
full long ago and they were losing time, then they looked more closely
and began to exchange remarks.
"Not the usual lasses, then," one commented.
"Nay," his companion agreed, "these look as if they've been washed
not long ago," though how they could tell, since the coal dust had
clung to every part of our sweat-soaked bodies, I could not imagine at
the time. The women they usually saw down there must have been
blackened indeed. It was not long before I found out in my own person,
just how much blacker one could get.
The men dropped their picks and hurried over to unhitch the empty
trucks and fasten us to new, taking advantage of their tasks to pass
callused coal-blackened hands over our pubes and our dangling breasts,
where they hung below us like udders, making no pretence of anything
but lust as an excuse for their actions. One of them evidently admired
large breasts on a woman, for he fondled Marion's generous endowment
at length.
"Dugs on this one like a milker," he told his mates. "Make a nice
place for a man to rest his head, eh Dai?"
"These are the pillows for me," Dai answered, slapping me none too
gently on the buttocks. "There's a tight little seam I wouldn't mind
working."
"Mind what you're about," another warned him. "Get them too swollen
to work and you'll find Evan Overseer after you."
"Oh, there's more ways of skinning a cat than filling its belly with
kittens," Dai laughed. "There's a little pit here just waiting to be
mined, and no babies squawling at the bottom, either," and I squealed
and jerked forward as a rough finger invaded my tender anus.
"No time for that sort of play," their leader said. "We've got a
stint to complete. And you bitches, get that coal to the shaft and be
quick about it. We'll be needing empty tubs again before you're back
unless you hurry."
Marion threw herself against her belt again, but the truck was full
now, and reluctant to move. She grunted as she thrust again and again,
but it scarcely stirred. The leader drew his belt and lashed at her
bent buttocks and she cried out with the sudden pain, but her
convulsive jerk got the heavy tub moving, and she kept it going as she
crawled into the tunnel mouth again. First Charlotte, then I,
followed, each smarting from a dozen blows of the strap which left our
bottoms burning, but had at least given us sufficient impetus to move
the trucks.
The return journey was a very different task to that which had
brought us to the coal face. Now we had to throw our full weight
against the belts just to keep them going. The chains tensioned and
pulled up into our forks, the rough and dirty links digging painfully
into the soft woman flesh between our legs, while our breasts swung
uncomfortably beneath us as our bodies moved violently from side to
side with the awkward all-fours progress. The sweat ran even more
freely in the stiflingly hot passage, dripping from faces and chins,
forming drops on the dependent teats, running into the tight creases
of our buttocks to sting and smart in their tender depths.
The coal dust not only smarted in our eyes, but got into all our
orifices, causing havoc in the soft wet membranes of our female
sheaths, the narrow creases at elbow and thigh, even causing our
scalps to itch and burn. By the time the lights of the shaft bottom
reappeared, we were exhausted and sore all over.
The overseer was not pleased to see us.
"You should have been here long ago," he shouted, as we emerged into
the comparative ease of the pit bottom. "There's a quota to fill, and
we'll never meet it if you're going to idle like this all day," he
told us, as he hooked us to fresh tubs for the return journey. "If
you're not back before the gang have filled the tubs you left, they'll
have your hides. And what they don't take, I'll skin off you, if you
don't get back here to meet the cage," he promised darkly, and sent us
on our way with more vicious cracks of his solid leather belt.
We stumbled back down the track as fast as we could go, the pale
moon-like buttocks of Charlotte in front of me rapidly disappearing
into the darkness, only to slowly rematerialise as we reached the
work-
place again.
Once more the men cursed us for our lateness in holding them up for
lack of tubs. When they had unhooked the empties, they fastened our
wrists to wedges driven into the coal face. It was not high enough to
stand, but they made us kneel, then laid lengths of the timbers they
used to prop the roof, across the backs of our calves, so that we
could not move, and lashed our poor aching backs with their belts.
They were tough hardy men, used to swinging picks in kneeling
attitude, and their blows were as hard as any I endured. We all had
tear streaks in the black grime on our faces when they finally
released us, only to fasten us to full tubs and drive us out of the
heading with more blows of their belts to our buttocks.
Evan cursed us for slowness when we returned to the shaft, but took
no action. I think he could see from the state of our backs that the
men had been there before him. We were hooked to new tubs, and crawled
off painfully once more.
This time, when we reached the workface, the men were having their
'snap', drinking beer from bottles and eating out of kerchiefs on
their knees. They offered us a share, which we accepted gratefully,
but we had to pay for it, as all else down that pit. As we knelt
again, for them to fasten our hooks to the full tubs for return to the
shaft, other shafts came into play.
I felt a movement behind me and hands, not between my thighs to
grasp the chain and, perhaps, give a rough caress to breast or vulva
by the by, but on my buttock cheeks, prising them apart. I heard the
noise of someone spitting into his hand, and something wet and sticky
was applied to my cringing anus. Before I could protest, both hands
were back in place but, more disturbingly, something blunt and hard
nuzzled my anointed dimple. I resigned myself to the inevitable. After
all, these were men in close proximity to naked women, and their
juices must be boiling. We must do our duty and relieve them of the
same, before it became injurious to their health.
I sighed, for, despite our long experience of this duty, it was
always sore, and we had grime and grit enough in our tender places to
ensure it might be especially so on this occasion. Nor was I wrong.
The man was brutally direct, thrusting home in one movement, though he
was mercifully swift, roaring his relief in no more than a minute, his
flaccid member sliding out, leaving a sticky trail behind. With belts
and curses they drove us back into the darkness of the tunnel, and we
threw ourselves against the belts, the soreness in our bottoms adding
to our distress, for the semen mixed with our sweat, and the black
grains of the all-pervading coal, to form an abrasive paste between
the metal links and our soft tissues, rubbing them raw in the process.
We were sobbing with exhaustion and pain when we emerged into the
light again, desperately dragging our protesting bodies along, to try
and avoid further punishment, this time at the hands of the overseer.
The rest of that first day is but a confused blur of pain and
desperation in my mind. We toiled despairingly to keep up with the
men's output, forcing our poor weak bodies to drag the heavy tubs up
the incline to the shaft, lashed at either end by the stinging belts
of the miners and the overseer, until our bodies were blotched and
inflamed all over beneath the overlying coat of grime that covered our
sweat soaked torsos. Every part of us was sore and aching, from our
poor skinned knees to our abused anuses, and abraded vulvas, where the
chains had rubbed them raw.
The heat in the workings was intense and humid, and long before the
day was over we could smell both ourselves and our sisters from yards
away, rank and sour. When at last we were told we had pulled our last
tubs for the day, we collapsed on the floor at the foot of the shaft,
until the overseer's belt drove us to our knees again, to crawl into
the cage, and mount to the surface, the leather girths still tightly
fastened round our waists. In the shed at the top, we helped each
other remove them, wincing as the leather had to be drawn out of our
flesh, so deeply had it been driven in by the frantic pulling to move
the recalcitrant trucks of coal. Each of us carried a red ring of fire
about her waist, the edges raw and bleeding.
There we remembered our clothes, which we had been made to discard
at the foot of the shaft, but, when we enquired of the overseer, he
informed us that, as we would have no need of them while we worked in
the haulage way, dragging coals, they had been collected and taken to
the Hall for safe keeping. Meanwhile we might eat the food provided,
and would sleep here, with the horses that worked the windlass,
sharing their straw. Later we learned the object was to protect and
conceal us from the women strikers but, at the time, it seemed
appropriate to us to share accommodation with the horses, since we
were just as much draught animals as they. Before he left us, locking
us in for the night, the overseer claimed Charlotte's bottom, needing
to relieve his own pressures, but clearly heedful to his own advice to
the miners, that we were not to risk swollen bellies. Again, it came
as a great relief to know that this would be so.
We looked to clean ourselves, but found only cold water from the
pump. We were used to such ablutions, of course, they had been our
daily lot for more than a year, but we could obtain no soap or other
aid to removing the black grime on our skins and, though we were
refreshed, and our bodies no longer stank, as they had done in the
heat of the mine, we could scarcely pass as clean.
We were woken before dawn the next day by the overseer's shouts, and
smart kicks to our tender rumps, and given porridge, coarse bread and
small beer for our breakfast, adequate for the hard labour we were
doomed to, but scarcely appetising. Knowing what awaited us down the
mine, we searched about for something to protect our knees in the
pitiless stone haulage ways and came across some mouldy sacking that
had held corn for the horses' feed, and tore this into strips which,
together with a packing of straw, gave us some protection where we had
had to scrape the skin off our knees until they bled.
With this aid, and our bodies becoming used to the work, we made
better progress day by day, satisfying our gang's need for tubs to
take away their winnings from the coal face. For the next four weeks
we toiled every day in the mine. We had no clothing, and our shelter
remained the stable. The food was adequate, though plain, with enough
at supper and breakfast to sustain us, but nothing provided for a mid-
day meal, in the middle of our twelve hour stint, and we had to join
the colliers in their break if we wanted to eat, sharing their 'snap',
but paying for it with the only currency we possessed. Thankfully the
men were in sufficient awe of the overseer to leave our virginities
intact, our greatest fear, and to only use those sore rear orifices we
had become used to making available for the purpose, for many months
now, in our Guardians' service.
It was a hellish time, but our bodies hardened and we came to terms
with the life, bearing all for the concept of the dignity of labour,
and our determination to show that women were not all idle creatures,
loath to be put to work in dirt and discomfort.
Eventually the women who had abandoned their allotted task saw the
error of their ways, and we were told, at the end of our stint, that
they would be returning to work the next day, so we were dismissed. To
our request for clothing or transport we received only shrugs, and the
information that there had been no instructions given as to our
disposal. The overseer opined that, since Mr Brangwyn had been
responsible for our recruitment, we should make our way to the Hall
and look to him for help. There being no other choice before us, we
set off, naked and dirty as we were, to find our way thither.
No sooner had we left the shelter of the windlass house than there
was a blood chilling ululation from a crowd of ragged women waiting
outside. They rushed upon us, screaming curses and foul language,
calling us sluts and scabs, bosses' bitches and the like, and seized
us, despite our protestations that we had merely been doing our duty
as women, as we saw it, besides exploring the healthful experience of
labour.
"Tar and feather!" went up the cry. "Whip the whores until they
bleed."
Angry hands seized us and dragged us to the smithy, where a pot of
tar stood ready always, to treat split hooves and such. The women
threw us on our backs, ignoring our cries, dragged our legs open and
slapped the tar brush, scalding hot, onto our poor tender vulvas,
already raw from our long service in the mine, where the unfeeling
chains had gnawed and worried at our female parts, hour after hour.
As we shrieked and writhed, they pulled out our arms like starfish
and thrust the still steaming brush under our armpits, then turned us
on our stomachs and filled our hair with the sticky black matter.
Battered and burnt, I thought they had done their worst with us then,
but some harpy screamed, "Butter their arses," and the hands pulled
open our buttock cheeks, and thrust the hot brush between, drawing new
screams from us as the hot tar touched the tender dimples in the cleft
and left them sealed, as if for posting, but with black wax, not red.
Someone produced a feather pillow, ripping open the end, so that the
fluffy contents fluttered down all over us, clinging to every part as
they rolled us this way and that, until we were coated. Now they
dragged us to our feet, and set our faces down the village street.
"The Hall is that way," one shouted. "Run to your master, you
Jezebels. Go and collect your blood money, Scabs."
We were only too anxious to obey but, before we could reach safety
there was one last hazard. The women lined up along both sides of the
narrow street, leaving just room for us to pass between. They were
armed with long willow switches, lengths of rope, knotted cruelly at
the end, leather belts and slats of flat wood. We had to run the
gauntlet of these viragos, their blows and cuts landing on every part.
Instinctively we would put our hands to a particularly sore hurt and,
whatever motion we made, it was bound to open up another part to cruel
blows.
A vicious cut to my hinds had me reach behind to grab the stinging
cheeks, exposing my breast, which a screaming Amazon caught with a
knotted rope. Eventually all three of us found the only way we could
cope was to wrap our arms around our breasts to protect them, and run,
with heads bowed, as best we could. Our backs and buttocks suffered
terribly, and those who had armed themselves with ropes, as seemed to
be a majority, for they gave the impression of having played this
devilish game before, swung them up at us, on our approach, and also
as we passed, trying, and too often succeeding, to send the rope's end
between our thighs and catch our poor abused vulvas. By the time we
reached the sanctuary of the lodge gates, we were all three in tears
and some distress, bruised, battered and striped all over, and
scarcely able to stand.
Instinctively we made our way to the kitchen entrance, not wishing
to present ourselves at the front door, the entrance to which our
station in life would normally entitle us. There we were met by a
large female person in cap and apron who belaboured us with a broom,
crying out to us to go away, she'd have no scarecrow harlots in her
kitchen. Just as we were about to admit defeat and slink away, a male
person appeared at her shoulder and quieted her.
"It's all right, Mrs Batser," said he. "Return to your duties. I
will deal with this."
The woman retreated, still muttering curses and waving her broom at
us, as if it were a weapon. The butler turned his attention to our
three tar stained trembling forms.
"The Master mentioned that three female persons might be expected,"
he said to the air above our heads, "and that their condition might
not be sanitary."
He paused to sniff at our disgusting nakedness, and bruised bodies,
as if to convey that he had not expected us to be quite so unsanitary.
"He gave instructions that you were to be sent to the stables for
the grooms to clean up, and that you should stay there until your
condition had improved sufficiently for you to be admitted to the
house. You will find the stables where the drive continues behind the
trees."
We turned and limped away to follow the cruel gravel of the
driveway, that felt to our bare feet as if walking on nails, and came
upon the stable yard a little way from the house itself. Here we found
a number of grooms and stable boys who greeted our appearance with
hoots and cries of the most insulting and obscene nature, calling
attention to our state.
"Never seen shit as black as this before," ventured one.
"That's not shit," his friend countered, "they've been screwing the
Devil himself. Old Nick's spunk is black and sticky."
"I can believe it," contributed a third, "but how come it's in their
hair? Buggered arses and fucked cunts are two a penny round these
parts, but it's their mouths get used, not their scalps, usually."
They had much amusement at our expense, but we cared not by then,
for they fetched turpentine and linseed oil, and set to work to clean
us up as well as might be done for a first effort. The turpentine
stung our tender female parts, where it penetrated into our inner
membranes, burning and causing us to writhe and squeal, but we
submitted gratefully to their attentions.
They were not without their own motives for working on us so
vigorously. For this service we had to pay in the usual currency and,
since there were a dozen of them, and but three of us, the price was
high, and harder still to bear, since our poor bums had been scorched
by the hot tar.
We stayed in the stables a week before our state was such that we
could approach the Hall again and seek admission. The men had been in
no hurry to make us fit to depart, keeping our bodies or, at least,
our nether openings, for their use as long as they dared. Not a night
passed but we had to accept a line of four a-piece. I could not make
up my mind which was the worst ordeal, the grooms, with hardened hands
and lusty pricks, or the humiliation of having to bend and accept one
of the stable-boys, children almost and many years my junior. At least
they were not so rough with us, and their adolescent pricks seemed not
to distress our stretched anuses as much as the stallion sized cocks
the men deployed, but to be taken there by a boy caused my soul to
cringe.
At last the day came when we could persuade them to send a message
to the house that we were fit to enter. The Butler himself came out to
inspect us and, although disparaging about the grime ingrained beneath
our skins, and the traces of tar he still purported to detect in our
pubic hairs, he grudgingly admitted we might just pass muster and that
he would send out our clothes to us. We almost cried when a smirking
maidservant arrived with a large basket containing the garments we had
been made to discard at the shaft foot five weeks before. We had not
worn a stitch of clothing since that time, exposed naked to man, woman
and child, if one includes the stable lads, for all that time. We got
our clothes, but for a price again, taking all the stable hands one
last time, before we were permitted to cover ourselves at last.
Mr Brangwyn greeted us in an off-hand manner, as if we were guests
who he couldn't refuse, but could spare little time for. He advised us
that we would be found beds for that night and then, tomorrow early,
we would take carriage back to our own home.
A surprise awaited us at the Judge's home. Far from being neglected
in our absence, the gentlemen had installed three girls to take care
of those noxious effusions that, it seemed, so continuously troubled
them. It was only natural, I suppose, that they should take measures
to ensure their health, and we were very wicked to resent their
presence, but they were brash and loud, and treated the gentlemen with
much less than that deference to which they were entitled.
Moreover, we found that we were expected to wait on these rather
ill-
bred creatures with all the attention we paid our Guardians, cleaning
their rooms, doing their washing of the most intimate sort, and
constantly at their beck and call, in addition to our normal duties,
and the stern disciplinary exercises to which we three sisters were
subject.
Our evening disciplinary sessions were resumed, but the new girls
not only were exempt, it seemed, from these inquisitions and the
subsequent fustigations, but were actually invited to comment on our
behaviour, and, most shaming of all, to use the rod on our backsides
and even witness the use made of our private nether places
subsequently.
I did remark on this to the Judge, who informed me in stern tones
that they, being of less fine clay than ourselves, were less
vulnerable to female woes, and hence in less need of such disciplines.
He also pointed out, quite legitimately, that my questioning of the
arrangements made for the household smacked of impertinence, and I was
awarded extra strokes at the evening chastisement, and put into the
most cutting of crotch straps for three days without respite, emerging
with a vulva near sliced in half, but my conscience cleared, and my
ignorance enlightened.
Chapter 11 IMPREGNATION & TRANSPORTATION
And now a new and irrevocable change was thrust upon us. At dinner we
were told to prepare ourselves with especial care for the evening's
session in the study. Our persons were to be meticulously clean and
neat, our female parts to be attended to and the hair about them
trimmed of stray ends, our vaginas washed with soap and water, and to
be sweet and scented. This was so far a departure from the usual
austerity of our care that we could not help speculating among
ourselves as to what it portended, but were still at a loss when we
reported as required.
We found the gentlemen, as usual, accompanied by their new friends,
drinking brandy and in rare good spirits. The Judge called all to
order and the session commenced. It began conventionally enough,
though the number of our faults and the penalties awarded seemed much
more than usual. I was made to mount the arms of the dread chair and
take fifteen strokes from the Bishop, and then stay on my painful
perch while the young interloper, who was the Bishop's favourite,
lashed me with a further ten, keeping them all on my thighs, the most
painful spot of all.
They did not however require us, as had been the custom, to remain
with stretched forks on the chair at the end of each of our
fustigations, while they discharged their copious accumulations of
harmful juices in our rectums. Instead, we were sent out into the
corridor, then called in, one by one.
Marion went first, as was usual. From outside the heavy closed door,
we two who remained could hear but little, a murmur of voices, some
loud laughter and inaudible remarks from the girls, and a sharp cry
from Marion. The process of satisfying the Judge's wants seemed to
take rather longer than we were used to, but eventually Marion
reappeared, her face covered in tears. She would not meet our eyes, or
answer our urgent whispered queries, shaking her head, and almost
running towards her room.
Pale with apprehension, Charlotte went in to do her turn, and I
waited, my belly now quaking, to listen to a repeat of the previous
pattern, including some barracking, by its sound, followed by a shrill
cry from Charlotte. There was a cheer from the girls, as if some deed
of significance had been accomplished, then only vague noises for a
minute or so. Some minutes later, Charlotte appeared. Like Marion
before her, she would not face me, but fled to her room, as if
forbidden to communicate.
I entered the study on legs of jelly. Previous experience had taught
me that all change was usually for the worse, and likely to lead to
pain, humiliation or both.
I made to strip my body, preparatory to mounting the chair, when the
Judge indicated he had something to say.
"Your other Guardians and I have been giving careful thought as to
your best management and future course. We have come to a number of
conclusions, which will be made known to you when the time is right.
In respect of one of those decisions, that time is now."
I trembled, wondering what this could mean; what dire experience had
left my stoic sisters so distraught.
"It has been represented to us by your fellow females" - the Judge
indicated the three young women who had so lately joined the household
- "that your virgin state is a source of unhealthy pride to you, and a
perpetual affront to them. Tonight, you will be relieved of that
maidenhead, and your pride humbled, the affront wiped out."
I must have paled, for faintness overcame me and I nearly swooned.
So this was what my poor sisters had suffered, their maidenheads
ripped so untimely from them. No wonder they had passed without
speaking. Even if they had not been forbidden to say anything, shame
would have kept them silent.
"Mount the chair," the Justice ordered. "Since you have been the
Reverend Bishop's special care, he will do you the honour of taking
your flower."
For a moment I stood open mouthed, struck dumb with horror, trying
to form words of protest and supplication, but it was in vain. In any
case my words would not have been heard, for the horrid girls struck
up a chant of 'Up! Up! Up!' and before their monstrous barrage I
capitulated and climbed onto the chair, skirts thrown up over my back,
exposing my whip streaked buttocks, my thighs wide spread by the
spacing of the arms, leaving my vulva open to the rear, the lips
slightly stretched already by the pose.
While the hateful young women egged him on with cries of
encouragement, the Bishop unbuttoned himself, letting his manhood
spring free. It was a mighty member, as I knew only too well, and I
cringed at the thought of what it was about to do. I trembled as I
felt it nuzzling between my nether lips, and probing for the sealed
entrance to my vagina, while the girls called out lewd comments on his
weapon.
"'That's better than Salisbury spire," one cried. "Ring her bells
for her then, Bishop," urged another, and, "Ram her, slam her, burst
her pride," from the third.
He began to push but my maidenhead was thick and strong, and he
could make no progress. It hurt abominably, and I might have been
better off if it had been a lesser membrane, and given more easily.
The lustful harpies began another chant, 'Push!' 'Push!' 'Push!', the
Bishop thrust with all his weight, and he was through, the mighty
weapon sunk deep into my belly. My shriek of pain and shame was
drowned in the cheer of vengeful glee that went up from the girls.
They danced in triumph, calling, "Who's a virgin now?" and, "That's
your pride pricked, slut."
I clung to my perch in numb misery, scarcely concerned now that the
Bishop was battering me with his loins, his belly thwacking against my
sore buttocks, his male member reaming my torn sheath. Only when his
pace quickened, and I felt the monstrous shaft swell within me, did
the full horror strike me. He was about to discharge his seed into my
unprotected belly and there was nothing I could do about it.
The lewd young women sensed his mounting passion also, and began to
egg him on, chanting in time with his frenzied stroking, urging him to
"Give it her. Pump her full, Bishop. Stuff her to the gills." To the
accompaniment of their cries, and strangled grunts from the Bishop, I
felt, for the first time, the frightening flush of semen against my
womb.
That night, I lay in my narrow bed, sore in buttock and vulva,
leaking blood and semen onto my sheets. Would that all the perilous
fluid might leave, but I had no hopes that I might escape that way.
From then on, this mode of intercourse became the norm, and we were
taken in this fashion each evening, at the conclusion of our
disciplining. The cruel interlopers were usually allowed to stay and
watch our degradation, and exposure to the risks of swollen bellies
and ruin, while frequently they were allowed also to suggest what
punishments we should suffer, and even to inflict them.
After the first evening when we were deflowered, the gentlemen did
not restrict themselves to their one usual sink into which to
discharge their juices, but took each of us in turn, so that we
received seed from all three, several times a week. It was almost
inevitable that some of this abundant sowing should take root and,
within two months, each of us began to show disturbing signs. Another
month, and we could not dismiss them as fantasy brought on by fear.
Each was now certain of a swollen belly, and milky teats. Our stays
could not be made to meet, tug we never so desperately at their laces.
When we, as we must, confessed our condition to our Guardians, they
had the Doctor strip and examine us, to confirm our findings, then had
us stand, while the Judge told us how they in tended to deal with us.
"Now that you have proved yourselves harlots by conceiving when not
wed, we cannot allow you to remain in this house and sully its
reputation by bringing bastards into it. Tomorrow I will convene a
special court, where you will be condemned for harlotry, and sentenced
to a whipping, and to transportation to the new penal colony in
Australia.
"But before then, you will hand over all that you possess to these
young women, who will take care of our needs in the future. You may
retain two plain gowns, two petticoats, two pairs of stocking and a
pair of shoes each, together with a kerchief and hairbrush, some
sewing necessaries, nothing more."
And so it was done. At the special court, the clerk read a
disposition laid by the Bishop, accusing us of harlotry, and the
Doctor gave evidence of our pregnancy. The Judge gave a homily
denouncing vice, and saying an example should be made. Besides, he
added, the new colonies were short of females to populate the country
and, with our proven fertility, we would serve well for the purpose.
At this point, he turned again to the man of medicine.
"Is it your opinion, Doctor," he enquired, "that these young women
can sustain a good whipping, without danger to their bellies or
themselves?"
"For certain, My Lord," our medical adviser replied. "These are
strong young women, in good health, and well fed. Now that the bastard
seed inside them has been attached to their bellies for over two
months, there is little will jar it loose, as many a young woman has
learnt to her cost, who has allowed her swain to swive her, admitting
the flush of passionate seed into her fertility, then hoped by rigour
and stress to shake it free. No, they'll take the whip, till the blood
flows, if that be your will, and no harm done. And a fine example to
other young women not risk their bellies," he added gratuitously.
Thus reassured, the Judge pronounced our doom.
"I sentence you to be transported for life to the Colony of
Australia and for a parting gift, you shall be flogged in the market
place before you go. Thirty strokes and a bloody back for each of you.
God bless the King," and our fate was sealed.
That night we spent in the County jail, mocked by the Wardresses who
explained that we had not been taken straight from the court to be
flogged, as was the usual custom, so that there might be time for the
great ladies, who lived about, to come to see the sight, and revel in
our sufferings for, they assured us, there was nothing these high born
dames loved better than to see one of their own class stripped and
whipped, and better still if she were young and pretty. One such was a
rare treat. Three was a sight they would be very loath to have missed,
and so our execution had been delayed sufficient that they might
attend.
We slept ill that night on the thin straw that was all our bed, our
thoughts filled with dismay and uncertainty as to what would befall
us, buoyed up only by the thought that whatever the Judge had ordered
must be just and for our own good, for he had been acting in the name
of the Great British tradition of Justice, rightly respected
throughout the known world.
In the morning, we were given a meagre breakfast of hard bread and a
little small ale, and left to fend for ourselves until the hour
appointed, noon, when the market would be crowded, and the Great
Ladies and their escorts might be assembled. There was little to do
but fret about the coming ordeal, and sit nervously upon the pail in
the corner, when our nerves tipped our bladders, or our bowels, into
over-flowing. It came almost as a relief when, a little before noon,
the Chief Wardress arrived, accompanied by a grim dark man, dressed in
greasy leather, who one would not mistake for any other than the
public executioner, whose duty it would be to flog our naked backs.
"This is Master Hackett, come to see what he has to work," the
Wardress said by way of introduction. "Get your stuff off, and let him
feel your meat."
We interpreted this as an instruction to bare our backs for his
inspection, and duly shed our gowns. Since we wore no stays, we had
but shifts, stockings and shoes left to us. By pulling down the straps
of our shift, we could bare our backs, though it left our swollen
breasts exposed before. Master Hackett passed along the line, pinching
up flesh between finger and thumb, as if assessing prize pigs at the
show, to see if they would yield streaky bacon or fat.
"They'll do," he said. "Fine healthy specimens every one. None of
your half starved hedge droppings here, but well padded flesh. They
shall have their whipping, and more. No need to hold back on these
fine ladies," and he left us to the Wardress's care, no doubt to make
sure of his arrangements in the market place.
"Right, my fine ladies," the wardress mocked, taking her cue from
the executioner, "let us prepare. Women for public punishment go
penitent and barefoot, so off with those shoes and stockings. It will
help you feel humility on the way to the scaffold. You'll no doubt be
feeling something quite different when you return. Master Hackett has
a way of bringing blood to a woman's back, and tears to her eyes.
He'll make you squeal, I warrant, before you tread this way again."
With this cheerful intelligence, she encouraged us to shed our
footwear and stand, barefoot, clad only in our shifts. We had begun to
raise the straps over our shoulders again, once Master Hackett had
pronounced us prime meat for the slaughter, but the Wardress checked
us.
"Leave them be," she ordered, "you must show where you are to be
whipped as you walk to your fate."
We had hoped, at least, to have been able to cover our breasts with
our arms, but even this was denied us for, as we came to leave the
jail for our long walk through jeering crowds, we were each given a
long bull's pizzle, the stretched and dried member of an ox, with
which we were to be thrashed.
"A rod for your own backs, tradition says," the Wardress in formed
us. "You must carry it in both hands, placed across your backs, where
it will later fall. As to your breasts, full bellied trollops have no
room for pride, and must expose them to their teats to the common
gaze."
It was a hideous walk, full of shame and humiliation. We walked in
line, but even then were made to leave such space that all could let
their eyes rest on us freely, nothing concealed. Our shifts hung down
over our gently swelling bellies, our figures maintained in some
balance by our swollen breasts above, the distended globes forcing the
turgid nipples into milky prominence. All along our path, people had
gathered, many men calling rough obscenities, but even more women,
whose lewd and cruel cries hurt more than the coarse male repartee,
for the women seemed to hurl spite with their badinage.
We walked behind the Beadle, who set a pace so deliberate and slow,
he must have been paid by those who had no place by the scaffold, to
hold us back as long as possible within range of their taunts and
missiles for, as we slowly progressed, we had to endure a hail of
clods of earth, dung from the gutters, rotten fruit and evil smelling
eggs of ancient vintage. By the time we reached the scaffold we were
mired from head to foot, our faces splashed, our hair full of ordure,
our breasts dripping rotten egg, and stinking of it all.
We had expected to be taken one by one, and whipped in turn,
speculating gloomily during our incarceration whether it was better to
be taken first, and have it over with, or be last, and have to endure
the sight of our sisters being flogged before us. In the event, we all
suffered together. The scaffold held three whipping posts, set on the
points of a triangle and linked at their tops for strength and
stability. Now we saw the reason we each carried our instrument of
punishment, for the executioner had engaged two assistants, each as
burly and uncompromising as himself, so that three lengths of bull's
leather might lash three white backs at once.
Each of us was led to her corner, and her wrists tied with leather
thongs. Our bound wrists were then passed over a hook high on the
post, until we were almost on our toes. Hands grabbed our ankles and
drew them apart, wrapping them with more thongs and fastening them to
the wooden platform on which the posts were erected to give the
populace a fine view of our disgrace and suffering. With our feet
spaced thus, we were up on our toes, and could move but little,
offering a steady target for the whip, unable to turn away from its
bite, when it began to gnaw our sides and under arms.
By now, my position was so extreme, and my fear so overwhelming, I
could spare little attention to my sisters' misfortunes, being wrapped
up in my own, which were considerable. I was strung up tight against a
rough wooden post which chafed my tender swollen naked breasts, while
my bulging belly pressed against the same post lower down, though
protected by my lowered shift. My arms were strained painfully above
my head, as I stood on my toes. Numbly I awaited the flogging to which
I had been condemned. Thirty strokes in public, from a bull's pizzle
on my naked back. The Judge was not likely to have miscalculated when
he hazarded it would be to the blood.
All around me, I could here the jeers of the women, especially the
high born dames who had paid to have the best points of vantage
reserved for them. They chattered and called, made disparaging remarks
about our breasts, and the swellings just discernible below our
shifts, where the seed was growing, and called us sluts and trollops,
harlots and scarlet women. Their fervour was such I suspected some of
them foamed at the mouth, and not only the mouth above their chins,
either.
There was more harrowing delay, then a rattle of horse and wheels. I
turned my head as best I could and there, seated in a carriage for
which a space had been cleared not five yards from the scaffold, were
the Judge, the Doctor and the Bishop, and those pert horrid girls
whose jealous importunities had led our Guardians to deflower us and
ensure our ruin. Now they crowed in triumph over our discomfiture, and
our coming torment. God forgive me, for I wished that they could have
been stripped and set in my place.
Now there was no more cause for delay. The sentence of the court was
read, our thirty lashes confirmed, and the executioner was bidden to
do his duty. I closed my eyes and held my breath, and a line of fire
exploded across my naked back. Another and another and another fell,
tracing a hideous ladder of pain down my shoulders.
I was determined not to cry out before these leering ladies, and the
crowing painted creatures in the Judge's carriage, but it cost me
much. I had of course been whipped many times before, but always on
the buttocks or, very occasionally, on some excruciatingly painful
intimate part of breast, belly or vulva. These whippings had been
agonising but something in their positioning made them become a part
of one's most sensual being and, though the pain was still there, and
not mitigated, nevertheless, this sensual connection made it not as
devastating. To be whipped upon the back made no such connection. It
was pure pain, of the most atrocious kind, and not a frisson of
sensual response to compensate. I found myself beginning to despair
after only ten strokes or so, and my strength slipping from me. The
pizzle was long and supple and wrapped round my sides to bite into my
armpit, or even caress the side of my full swelling breast. I could
not turn away, and the executioner, who had chosen to lay on my
stripes himself, leaving his assistants to cut my poor sisters' aching
backs, seemed to sense my anguish at these bites, and let the tip out
further, so that it could reach my tenderest parts with every blow.
I think I would have screamed and pleaded for mercy at the next cut
if I had not heard one of the horrid girls cry out, "Hurrah, Master
Hackett. Swing with a will. She'll sing soon, and her screams will be
music to my ears. Lash her well, Mister, and you shall taste my
gratitude in my kisses. The blood on her back will be almost as sweet
to my eyes as that on her thighs, the night I had them rend her
maidenhead, the stuck up little cow."
I bit my lip to the blood, and pressed my sore teats to the rough
timber, inviting splinters, and they helped me to hold out and deprive
the young bitch of her triumph. Sick and fainting, I took my strokes,
not giving a sound, though I could not prevent the blood from
trickling down my back, to stain my shift where it was bunched about
my waist.
My tally mounted, but I would not 'sing'. Though the last strokes
nearly broke me, I clung on, buoyed up by hatred of the young harlot
in the carriage. She shrieked alternate abuse and promises at my
whipper, calling him no man if he couldn't make a milk-sop wench like
me cry out, offering him her tawdry body if he did. Little did she
know that, if she'd kept her peace, she could have heard my screams a
score of times before my tally of strokes was completed.
And so we travelled up to London, sore in body and mind, our backs a
mass of weeping welts that vexed us sorely whether we tried to stand
or sleep. We arrived at the dockside to find that the fleet was about
to sail, and were driven up the gangplank with staves and sticks, told
to hurry, lest we miss the tide.
Now began a very troublesome time for the three of us. As fast as
our backs healed, so our bellies swelled, until we became quite
ungainly. With little time to prepare, and forbidden to take more than
the Judge had dictated, we had to rely on the rations issued on the
ship, and the kindness of strangers. When the private stores were
exhausted, the women began to hunger, and made so bold as to ask the
purser for better portions. He dismissed their request contemptuously
and warned that anyone asking again should suffer the rope's end on
their buttocks.
"I'll warrant that'll make you dance," he guffawed. "Even the
toughest tar will dance a jig when caught across his canvas seat with
a tarry tawse."
Matters got no better, and Marion persuaded us that we should be the
ones to repeat the request.
"After all," she pointed out, "they would hardly whip women in our
condition," for, by then, our bellies proceeded us like sails.
With this thought to sustain us, we went to see the purser, and
requested him politely to reconsider the women's rations for, as we
pointed out, the authorities could hardly wish to have us delivered
dead or dying, or so weakened by hunger that we would be of little use
to populate the new settlements.
This seemed to touch him on the raw, indeed we learnt later that he
had a scale of doles laid down for him, and supplies to match, but
hoped to keep a surplus and sell it advantageously in the new land. We
were cursed for impudent sluts and, in minutes, found ourselves on
deck, bent over a bollard, our mighty bellies pressed under us, our
now generously fatted buttocks exposed, for our gowns were flung over
our heads, muffling our cries, and cutting us off from sight. While
jesting seamen made coarse comments on our fleshy posteriors, they
held us firmly in place, and the bosun's mate, summoned by the irate
purser, laid into those same plump pillows with tarry rope knotted
into hard knobs at one end. The pain of that hard heavy lash was as
bad as anything I had suffered in the past, Papa's penal cane not
excluded. We shrieked and kicked under the whip, but the man did not
stop until all our buttocks were welted solidly from top to bottom. We
crept back to our sisters in misery, sore, sobbing and defeated.
Still, it was not a useless gesture in the end. News of our brutal
flogging came to the ears of the surgeon, for one was appointed to
each ship by the authorities, anxious to reduce the number of souls
lost on the voyage. He ordered us brought before him, to be inspected
to see we had come to no harm in our expectant condition. We were a
sorry trio, limping and groaning, but he looked us over, and
pronounced us unharmed.
"For," he said, "the human female is a more resilient creature than
many give credit for, able to endure much more punishment than that,
even when big with child, or half the children conceived would never
come to term, since a man is entitled to chastise his wife, and in
nine months will find himself with a dozen instances where provocation
is so gross that a belt or rod is all that will cure it. Still, I'd
like to see them better fed."
This was our opportunity, and we took it.
"Sir," I said, "if you think we need more food, then consider the
other poor wretches. They have given their all to help us in our
condition, seeing each of us is eating for two. I beg you to inspect
the generality of the women, and consider whether they are getting the
rations they need, and to which they are entitled."
There is much good in the man, for he listened to what we had to
tell him, and came into the hold to see how the poor creatures fared.
>From then on, the rations have improved remarkably, and the Doctor is
now often seen observing their issue, to the scowls of the thieving
purser. We are all in much better health and spirits as we approach
our destination, and, for my sisters and me, our immanent deliveries.
What will become of us then, I cannot conjecture, nor record, for I
must close my narrative now.
This account of our history and salvation, that I have been writing
to pass the long months of the voyage, has been made possible by the
kindness of the chaplain who has furnished me with pen and paper,
despite the Captain's warnings of the dangers of encouraging women to
attempt composition or thought processes widely held to upset the
balance of the unsteady female intellect, leading to hysteria, brain-
storms and mental degeneration, and it is to him that I shall entrust
it for safe-keeping, in the hope that, some day, other females may
read of our experiences and derive suitable profit from them.
END
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