Women with the Whip Hand

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Forced Into Petticoats

In which I endure a bare bottom flogging by two sisters

My name is Tom Lawson.

This is the story of what happened to me at the tender age of eighteen and how the events shaped my life.

When I took the path along the river I knew I was trespassing but I was young and carefree and it wasn’t the first time I’d visited the pool, sometimes with my pals, and I’d never seen a soul. The pool was a stretch of deep water where large rocks formed a natural dam holding up the flow until the narrow opening forced a cataract which carried away a white and yellow foaming torrent to a lower level.

It was a hot summer’s day and I was longing for a dip in the cold water. Hanging trees shaded the pool on the far side creating dark shadows and providing respite from the glare.

I stripped off my shirt and breeches and left them on the grassy bank. When we came to this spot as a group, even if girls came too, we swam nude without a thought. I must admit that on one such occasion I was quite aroused by the sight of Mary without her clothes, realizing that she was at the point of developing from a young girl to a woman. She caught me standing on a rock staring at her and splashed me with water.

“Tom Lawson! It’s not nice the way you ogle me.”

Unfortunately my c**k had responded to my thoughts and stiffened a degree and I think this was the real reason Mary took offence.

Now I broke the dappled stillness of the pool with a clumsy dive from the rocks and felt the first shock of entering cold water, especially in my loins. The river was so fast flowing that it was cold for swimming even during a heat wave such as we were experiencing.

I swam for some minutes, occasionally clambering onto the rocks to attempt more accomplished dives, when I suddenly heard a voice calling me.

“Boy! Come here!”

I saw two women mounted sidesaddle on fine looking horses and was shocked to observe that one of them was holding my clothes aloft. A huge mastiff (more like a small pony) stood beside them.

“Come here this instant,” the woman called again.

I was standing on a rock so they could see my naked state and I was feeling very embarrassed. I decided no other course of action presented itself but to go to them as I could hardly parade through my village without clothes, so I struck out for the opposite bank of the river where they waited.

I stepped over sharp pebbles and stood before them dripping like a wet dog and starting to shiver even though we were now in the sunshine.

I’d placed my hands over my genitals, my c**k shriveled with the cold, and this was the first thing they addressed. Meanwhile the dog was sniffing round my legs.

“Put your hands on your head,” ordered one of the girls and the moment I uncovered my private parts they whispered comments to each other and giggled.

“Remember the water’s very cold,” said one.

They made me turn round to show my back before facing them again.

At this time I had just turned eighteen and sexually mature and with their eyes fixed upon me I felt flickers of feeling and my c**k begin to stir making me blush deeply. I had not a shred of modesty left. The hound added to my discomfort by sniffing the most intimate places and finally licking my balls with a rough tongue.

The girls dismounted and when they removed their tall hats, I saw both had long tumbling tresses with a reddish tint. They were young women of about my own age, one very pretty with small features and white skin, the other rather stout and plain with a scowling expression.

“You realize you’re on private land, brat?” said the less handsome lady.

She prodded me in the belly with her crop.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” I said and gave a little bow. I knew the late Lord Brentford, recently widowed, had two daughters.

“What should his punishment be, Vicki?” she asked her sister.

As she spoke she took my c**k in her hand and pulled back my foreskin. ‘Ugh! Disgusting!” she said.

“I think he may need a good thrashing on that bare bottom, Caroline.”

At that moment I chose to make to make a dash for freedom and ran naked as I was, away from the riverbank into what appeared to be a copse, judging it would be more difficult for them to chase me through trees although the dog would have less trouble than the horses.

It took the girls some minutes to re-mount and set off in pursuit and I tried to take advantage of their delay.

But I was soon up to my waist in undergrowth of stinging nettles, briars and blackberries and felt their stings and scratches on my backside, legs and thighs. Running on bare feet was difficult too, some areas were still boggy despite the recent dry weather, and other parts scattered with fir cones and twigs and the natural debris of the forest floor for it was forest now.

What I’d imagined was a copse turned out to be the start of a forest with tracks through it. I came upon a clearing where a fire was lit and logs were being chopped. I tried to weave through foresters who attempted to catch me in response to cries from the girls.

I thought I had given them the slip when one man threw himself at me and caught me by the ankle. I tripped and fell headlong only to find the next moment the mastiff throwing its full weight over my supine body and biting me twice, once on the right buttock and then on my upper thigh.

Two of the woodcutters pulled off the snarling dog, lifted me to my feet, and dragged me over to the ladies who were tethering their horses.

After hurling my ragged shirt and breeches into the foresters’ fire, Caroline explained my misdemeanor to the men and how I deserved punishment for both my trespass and for my attempt to escape justice.

The men dutifully hoisted me across the saddle like a rolled carpet and held me from the other side so that my posterior was presented at exactly the right height for a flogging.

Caroline, who was well to the fore in all this, stepped up and ran her hand over the curve of my cheeks before striking me hard across the fleshiest part of my rump causing me to cry out in agony. Then I felt ashamed that I had screamed like a baby though Caroline seemed to have great strength in her arm.

The men stood on the opposite side to Caroline and held me in position each time I bucked with the force of the stroke.

I could tell the blows were severe enough to raise my flesh in hard welts and knew that my rear would be covered in livid stripes. Caroline whipped me until her arm tired and I was reduced to a sobbing, sniveling creature.

Then Vicki took over and although her strokes were not so severe they were painful enough. Perhaps because my bottom was so covered in welts by now, she began to whip the backs of my thighs, even down the length of my calves to my feet, actions which brought extreme anguish.

When there was a pause between strokes, I felt fingers tracing the length of the ridges as though relishing the handiwork and, although the fingers were soft and undoubtedly belonged to a female, it was impossible to tell if Vicki or Caroline was touching me, perhaps both at different times. A glow suffused the whole area by now. I could smell the leather of the saddle and the horse’s hide warm from its exertions and the experience was vivid in my senses.

Finally I was allowed to slide from the shiny saddle and collapse on the grass, my lower body wracked with pain, so much so that I had difficulty in standing when I tried. One of the men produced a long rope and tied it tightly round my waist so that Caroline could pull me along behind her horse. In this manner Caroline took me over many fields and down many country lanes with her sister and the cur beside her. On one occasion when I fell over yet again onto the dusty track, Caroline dismounted and set about me with her riding crop raining blows down over my shoulders and back as I knelt until I was able to struggle to my feet again. She was utterly merciless in the way she used her crop and there was something wild in her eyes as she brandished it. The dog added greatly to my humiliation by forever sniffing and licking my genitals as I trudged along.

Where I spend a night in the pillory and am abused by both sexes

We passed through my own village and onlookers stood open mouthed with amazement at my plight. I knew the word would be passed around quickly and there would be much discussion about my capture and who had dealt me the cruel whipping.

Again, I was all too aware of my nakedness when I passed groups of women and girls and wondered if I would ever dare to show my face again after such humiliation. Some of the young urchins ran behind me and tried to slap my bare bottom.

Our little procession came to the market cross where I was made to stand on the steps so my captors could show me to the gathering crowd. I dreaded seeing my sisters or, worse still, my father or mother.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” shouted Caroline. ‘This young man was caught committing trespass compounded by an attempt to escape justice. Turn round and show everyone.”

This last order was addressed to me and I was made to display my stripes to everyone by leaning against the stone cross and sticking out my behind.

“The whipping he’s received is just a taste of the punishment that awaits him or anyone else caught on the Brentford estates.”

There was no murmur from the crowd, no hint of rebellion or defiance. Lord Brentford’s demise was a recent event and as happens with many men after their death, he was in the process of being canonized, harsh acts of injustice forgotten and only good deeds remembered.

I judged the mood to be against me along these lines: if Tom Lawson is foolhardy enough to go poaching (they would assume that was the reason for my trespass) he has only himself to blame and must accept the consequences.

In any case I had something of a reputation as a reprobate.

Following my public display at the market cross I was put in the standing stocks still without a stitch of clothing. Caroline told me I would be collected in the morning by one of her staff so I could face the magistrate, and calling to her sister, the imperious girls left the square, their fine steeds sparking the cobbles.

***

The sky was pink as I woke from a deep slumber feeling wretched from hunger and thirst and general ill use, and remembering vividly the incidents during the long night.

Soon after dark a group of jeering drunken men had surrounded me, taking liberties with my naked body. One in particular r***d my back passage repeatedly.

Later I was accosted by an old crone who indulged herself with my young body, fiddling with my c**k until I spent copiously over her scrawny fingers.

A woman called Meg, who I knew to be a w***e, left the inn and, lifting her skirts, rubbed her bottom against mine, drawing shrieks of laughter from her male and female companions alike.

Another group of men threw stones at me causing my back to bleed.

No one offered me anything to eat or drink.

My greatest shame was that I had to defecate and urinate where I stood and I knew my legs were brown stained as my bowels were loose.

Consequently, when a young lad from the Hall picked me up in a pony and trap soon after dawn and deposited me in a yard, I must have looked a sight.

My long hair was matted, I was covered in cuts and bruises, I was filthy from top to toe and I still had stiffness in my limbs from my beatings.

Where I’m bathed and scrubbed clean by two young maids

Two young maids in white aprons and mop caps appeared carrying a tin bath tub and the sort of scrubbing brushes normally used on floors; one girl carried green household soap in a large block.