Mary Felix Observes a Punishment

England 1902: At Bancroft Hall the German countess's man, Herr Lindemann has been caught in Lord Bridport's study. A chastisement awaits...

Monday morning brought further news. Mrs Welling and Lord Bridport had discussed the matter and it had been agreed that whilst Lindemann's explanation was to be publicly accepted, his behaviour in entering His Lordship's private study without permission was nevertheless considered unacceptable. Even for a German.

He would, therefore, be punished in the traditional manor for Bancroft Hall, and afterwards the matter would be considered closed. The countess had agreed to this course of action, and the thing would take place that same evening.

I felt brave enough to mention the matter to her just before luncheon, when I was helping her to change from her outdoor walking clothes into a day dress.

'It's a shame about Herr Lindemann. It all seems to have been a misunderstanding, my lady. There is writing paper available in the library if only he had realised,' I said innocently as I tackled the eighteen mother-of-pearl buttons that ran down her spine.

She was admiring herself in the long freestanding mirror, lifting her chin and turning her head to the left and right as I spoke. She paused and clicked her tongue in irritation, then met my eye in the reflection.

'Stupidity and incompetence bring their own reward, Mary, and now he will pay the price,' she replied dismissively and then returned to her languid contemplations.

I was well satisfied with her response. If ever confirmation was needed that he had been acting under the countess's bidding, then she had just supplied it.

At lunch time, as we tucked into chicken stew in the servants' kitchen, Mrs W made an announcement regarding the arrangements for Herr Lindemann's censure.

'It will take place this evening at nine o'clock in the red bedroom above the ballroom. In accordance with the practice agreed with Lord Bridport, some members of staff will witness the event. You will be advised this afternoon if you are on the list.'

I still had no idea what his punishment would involve, but the unholy gleam in the housekeeper's eyes did not bode well for Herr L as he sat opposite me, gloomily staring at the table.

As directed by my lady, I had taken the opportunity to introduce myself the morning after their arrival, running him to ground in the stable yard. He seemed a pleasant fellow, and his English was good enough to explain that he was the bloodstock manager for the countess and normally ran the stables at her estates in Bavaria, a role he had performed for her husband before his demise. I sensed that he was more than an admirer of hers and wondered if they were lovers but suspected that, strongly built though he certainly was, her tastes would run a little more sophisticated than his seemingly uncomplicated character.

There was also the fact that he suffered from severe alopecia. The poor fellow didn't have a hair on his head, and although he had a ready smile and rather cute dimples, his blue eyes denuded of eyebrows and eyelashes peered out of his shiny pale skull in a rather fishlike way that left a lingering feeling of unease in me. I could imagine his expression changing from benignity to intimidation at the flick of a switch. Or at the command of a countess, perhaps.

I finished my stew and put my knife and fork on the plate. As I raised my glass to take a sip of water, he lifted his head and looked across the table and our eyes met. His face was expressionless for a moment, then he gave me a wry smile. A guilty man resigned to his fate, I thought.

After lunch, Mrs Welling informed me that Lord B and the countess were dining in Bridport that evening and were expected back around eleven o'clock. More interestingly, I was to be one of the witnesses to the punishment, and so, at five to nine, I paraded outside the red bedroom on the first floor of the unused wing above the ballroom.

Julia Wolstenholme the cook and Lizzie the pretty maid were already there as I came to a halt. This was the official party, then, and as the clock above the stables chimed nine, the door to the bedroom opened to reveal Mrs W standing in the dimly lit doorway.

'Come in,' she said, and we moved forward obediently. Lizzie was in front of me, and she give a little gasp and hesitated momentarily as she crossed the threshold. A second later, as the interior came into view, I realised why.

Herr Lindemann was standing to one side of a large four poster bed, and a row of three plain wooden chairs faced him some six feet way, their backs to the curtained window. But what caught the eye was the fact that he was naked apart from a white towel wrapped around his waist and that his head was covered with what appeared to be a pillowcase, rendering him blind. His hands were clasped behind his head in a position that had clearly been dictated to him.

I saw him turn his head and listen to our footsteps on the wooden floor as we entered, as though he was trying to identify us by sound alone.

'Remain silent and sit down on the chairs, please,' said Mrs W quietly. We did so. I sat at the far end, then Lizzie next to me, and then the cook. 'You will notice that Herr Lindemann is blindfolded. Although he has been told that his punishment will be witnessed by some members of staff, he is not be aware who they are. It is a protection for you all.'

Also a further punishment for the culprit, I thought, not knowing which of his fellow servants had witnessed his humiliation.

Without further ado, she reached forward and pulled the towel off him. I heard Lizzie take a deep breath as his full nakedness was revealed to us. And mighty impressive it was too. He was wide, stocky, and muscular, making up for a lack of height with a pair of powerful arms and shoulders and a flat stomach. His thighs were brawny and bulging, and the overall impression was of an immensely powerful and fit man, even though he must have been well into his forties.

But I suspect we three ladies in the audience were not expending too much time on his torso. Frankly, it was his long, fat cock and heavy balls that caught the eye. Denuded of hair as they were, the man looked like an absolute bull. I saw Mrs Welling take a very obvious look at it before she turned and picked up a tawse from the bed. The blade was a piece of leather about eighteen inches long and an inch and a half wide, its polished surface shining faintly in the dim light from the single bedside lamp that lit the room.

So that was to be it. A rite of beating.

She spoke again, her quiet voice quite distinct and curiously energised in the silence of the room, and I realised that she was aroused by the prospect of what was to come.

'You are granted a kindness, Herr Lindemann. It is to be the tawse and not the horsewhip, so you will not be scarred. As you know, there are people watching, so I suggest that you maintain your dignity in the face of the pain to come. And stand still. Do not move. Each observer will deliver five strokes, and then I will continue until I decide enough retribution has been delivered.' Smiling, she leaned forward and whispered into his ear, 'Take your punishment like a man, sir.'

With that, she looked at me and held out the tawse.

I had not expected this, but there was no avoiding it. I stood and walked over to her and took the thing into my hand. The handle was warm after her touch, and I swung it experimentally a couple of times, although to be fair, it was not an unfamiliar device.

'Full strokes. On the buttocks. Say nothing,' she instructed. The excitement in her voice was barely contained as she stood to one side to give me room.

Oh well, I thought, sorry and all that but, as the countess had said, 'incompetence and stupidity bring their own reward'. I swung the tawse. It connected with a flat, loud crack on his backside and he grunted. Rather enjoying myself, I swung again to the same effect. On the third stroke he gasped quietly, and I saw the material of the pillowcase suck inwards as he inhaled. Two further crisp blows and my work was done. I was a little disappointed it was over but looked across to Lizzie and held out the tawse to her.

She took a moment to return my gaze, her eyes seemingly fixed on his groin, and as I moved from behind him, I could see why. His cock had thickened and lengthened and, though still hanging slack, was noticeably larger than when it had been first revealed to us.

I took my seat as pretty, luscious young Lizzie assumed her position behind him, all curly hair, rosy lips, and freckles. Her face was a picture of alarm and indecision but also something else - oh yes, there was definitely something else. They start them early in the country, and, looking as she did, I did not doubt that she had been tumbled behind a haystack a time or two and that our German friend wasn't the first naked man that she had seen.

'Full strokes. On the buttocks. Say nothing,' our head girl repeated.

She obeyed, swinging the tawse five times, the fifth noticeably harder than the first. By the time she had finished, Lindemann's shaft was at half stand, and I was starting to speculate where all this might lead.

She passed the tawse to the cook and resumed her seat.

I noticed plump, plain, Miss Wolstenholme passed close by the German as she assumed her position. Close enough, in fact, to let her dress brush the end of his cock, leaving it stiffening visibly. That was no accident, you naughty lady, I thought.

She delivered her ration of blows, swinging strongly as her heavy breasts moved freely under her dress. Then she handed the tawse to the housekeeper and returned to her seat, managing to catch him again on the reverse, I noticed.

It would be fair to say the atmosphere in the room was hotting up at this point. Our naked and muscular German was now fully aroused, his thick white shaft pointed upwards and balls high and tight below. I was feeling distinctly tingly down there myself, and when Mrs W stepped forward, her erect nipples were clearly visible through the thin dress she wore. She did not appear to be wearing anything underneath it. But then again, neither was I. Not a thing.

'What a disgusting display, Herr Lindemann,' she said disdainfully and, leaning forward, she flicked his cockhead with the tawse.

He groaned, more in humiliation than pain, I think, and then gasped as she repeated the movement, this time a little harder. His cock bounced and he moved a little on his feet. 'Stand still, sir. Do not move,' she cautioned. 'I will now continue with the punishment. As some perversion seems to have aroused you, it may take some time before I consider it to be complete.

With that, she set to work, swinging the tawse with enthusiasm and application as a steady series of flat cracks echoed around the bedroom. The pain must have been considerable, and, stoic though he was, an occasional gasp emerged from underneath the pillowcase. More obviously, as the strokes found their mark, he naturally pulled his buttocks inwards and away from the impact, which had the effect of thrusting his hips and therefore his straining cock in our direction in a gratuitous priapic display.

I saw a trickle of sweat run down his chest and squeezed my thighs together.

Glancing to my left, I saw Lizzie staring, seemingly transfixed by the image in front of her. I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back but did not take her eyes off him. Beyond her, Miss Wolstenholme was leaning forward, grinning openly, her eyes narrowed and focused. She was clearly enjoying herself.

As the punishment continued, it became clear that Herr Lindemann was in danger of disgracing himself further. His cockhead was now glossy and wet and fully skinned back. And he was starting to moan with every blow. To add to his discomfort, Mrs Welling, who seemed to have completely forgotten our presence, was alternating her attentions between beating his buttocks and flicking at his groin.

After one particularly enthusiastic series of blows, she finally reached over and grasped the shaft with her hand and pumped it a dozen times whilst whispering audibly in his ear.

'Whose hand is this, Herr Lindemann? Is it me or someone else? Someone round the breakfast table in the morning, for sure. But who, sir? Who? We will know and you will not.'

This produced a stream of muttered German under the pillowcase and then another groan as she returned to his backside. She repeated this treatment three times, each time stroking his cock for longer. I heard Lizzie give a little sigh as she watched intently.

The fourth time brought matters to a conclusion. Eyes narrowed and a thin smile on her face, Mrs Welling began to concentrate on his painfully swollen and slick cockhead, rubbing it slowly between her looped index finger and thumb as he pleaded with her.

'Nein, Frau Welling, bitte nein,' he gasped, the pillowcase moving under his panting breath as her merciless stimulation led him towards its unavoidable conclusion. At last, in desperation, he emitted an anguished moan of surrender and his thighs shuddered as his resistance crumbled and he crossed the point of no return.

Timing it to a nicety, Mrs Welling released him and started to beat his buttocks again as his freestanding cock jerked and bounced, and he spent powerfully, four strong spurts rising high into the air in front of us before falling towards the polished wooden floor at our feet.

I saw a line of silver pearls appear on Lizzie's black boot, and her hand squeezed mine tightly as I felt her shaking and realised that she was spending spontaneously, carried away with the scene being played out in front of her. I must confess, I was not far behind, and doubtless a few well-placed strokes of my fingers would had have the same effect.

At the end of the line, Miss Wolstenholme, clearly lost in her own world like Mrs Welling, was leaning back in the chair, her legs apart and her hand at her groin and openly working through her skirt. She spent quietly as I watched, gasping with pleasure as a deep red flush spread across her throat and neck.

Distinctly wild eyed and with the tawse hanging loosely from her hand, the housekeeper addressed us. 'You may leave.'

We filed out. As we stood outside, I heard the door click shut and the lock engage. It appeared that Herr Lindemann's ordeal was not yet over.

As the cook tripped off down the corridor at high speed, I glanced at Lizzie, who was standing loosely a few yards away. She was managing to look aroused, delicious, and vulnerable at the same time, her mouth open and face and neck flushed red.

I just could not help myself. She looked so ripe and ready.

Stepping forward, I wordlessly took her hand and led her towards the first door I could see. We went in and I shut and locked it. She looked at me with hot eyes. Oh, yes please, you little beauty, I thought and, pressing her up against the wall, kissed her hard and full on the lips.

She stiffened in shock and for a moment I felt her hesitate, but by then my tongue was at her mouth and within a second she was opening her lips to me and responding. My head swam as I lifted her dress, intent on keeping the momentum of the moment going. And then suddenly my hand was on her cunny and she uttered a gasp and then a long, low, and almost despairing moan of pleasure as my fingers stroked and probed her.

'No, Mary, you mustn't. It's wrong,' she managed to whisper, but her words were in vain. The poor girl was dripping wet and overrun with passion. Clearly her earlier spend had been an hors d'oeuvre rather than a main course. As she pressed her hips forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, another sound penetrated the room. A regular, rhythmic moaning that rapidly grew in intensity and was coming from the other side of the wall against which Lizzie was braced.

'Listen to that, Lizzie. He's fucking Mrs Welling,' I said in a low voice into her ear. 'Just next door. She's getting that big white German cock deep inside her. Can you hear it? You'd like that too, wouldn't you? A long stiff cock fucking you hard.'

Her only reply was a gasp that turned into a sob. Pushing her raised dress into her hands and whispering, 'Hold it tight,' I sank to my knees and buried my face in her cunny.

The soft curls parted as I sucked her clitty into my mouth and went to work, my hands firmly clasping her delicious bum. Completely overwhelmed, she came almost at once with a series of hoarse, indecorous grunts, her hips thrusting involuntarily as she released a flood of delicious juice into my mouth. I lapped and licked and gurgled away as further spasms followed, until she eventually calmed and released her hand from my head, which she had inadvertently grasped in the throes of passion. At the same time a scream of joy from Mrs Welling and a guttural roar from her German beau sounded clearly through the wall, indicating that matters had reached a very satisfactory conclusion next door.

Which just left me. Oh, goody.

With a knowing smile, I climbed up from my knees and held Lizzie's face in my hands, then kissed her again gently. 'Nice?' I whispered as a precursor to inviting her to explore my own body as a matter of some urgency. But instead of a little giggle and a hand-in-hand procession to the large bed I had noticed to my right, an expression of shock and distress suddenly appeared on her face.

'Oh, Mary, what have we done?' She held her hand up to her mouth, pushing mine away. 'Oh, dear Lord, what have we done?' With that, she burst into tears and ran for the door, unlocking it and disappearing before I even had a chance to say anything.

'Lizzie, come back,' I cried as I reached the corridor, but all I got was a wave of her hand over her shoulder as she sped away from me and around the corner. I groaned with irritation and frustration. Especially the latter. The silly girl. The silly, delicious, lovely girl.

Slowly, I followed her, walking along the corridor to where the wing joined the main frontage, and turned into the passageway that ran behind the first-floor rooms, passing Lord Bridport's bedroom on the corner. A grandfather clock showed the time to be just after half past nine, so the whole event had taken just half an hour.

Thinking I might find Lizzie in the kitchen, and keen to alleviate her distress, I walked down the main stairs to the hallway and turned back on myself to find the back stairs and descended those in turn. But everywhere was deserted down below. I wandered through the kitchen and past Mrs Welling's sitting room and bedroom. Well, I knew where she was - trying to tempt one more round from our robust Bavarian, no doubt. But everyone else seemed to have disappeared, and a deep silence pervaded the rooms.

I followed the corridor that led to the back door and the stable yard, thinking to have a breath of air, but as I passed the short passageway that led to the dairy, I heard a noise.

It was a muted groan of the sort I had heard a fair amount of in the past half hour or so. It was also the kind of noise that merited investigation.

Silently I tiptoed the few yards to the dairy door, which stood eighteen inches or so ajar. Further quiet sounds of the same nature reached my ears and I risked a quick peek. I must say, my immediate reaction to the sight that greeted me was further frustration. For heaven's sake, was every servant except me enjoying a lascivious night?

Sideways on to me and quite naked, Miss Wolstenholme was lying across the end of the narrow dairy table. Standing between her legs, John Ellerman, the head gardener, was fucking her, his hands holding her knees high and wide as he thrust forwards. The sensible lady had reached down and gripped the edge of the table, enabling her to push back against him, and they were going at it hard and fast. Her large breasts and plump belly were rippling and rolling with the impact of his thrusts, and she was uttering muted animal-like grunts as his cock did its work.