The Gentleman's Confession Ch. 05

"Has little piggy-wiggy been a bad boy?" he asked desperately.

"A very bad boy indeed!" she answered sternly. "A very bad boy who is going to be severely punished for what he has done!"

"Oooooo!"

It was a cry akin to that of a wounded animal, and she had not yet even struck him! No, she was saving that for the implement which I now saw her withdraw from her bag -- a small, wooden paddle. It had a short handle of a few inches which she gripped tightly in one hand, and a large, circular, flat surface, making it appear much like a much reduced tennis racket, with solid wood where the strings might have been. She swished this about experimentally in the air for a moment or two, as those who play at tennis might practice their strokes before starting a match, and then suddenly and without warning she brought the implement down against Sir Reginald's backside with the most resounding crack of wood upon skin.

Oh how he squealed! Even I winced, convinced that such a sound would be heard throughout the bank, but no running footsteps came to investigate the commotion.

"Be quiet piggy!" she snapped.

Instantly, his squealing stopped, but when she smacked him again on his enormous backside, he gave another yelp.

"I mean it!" she demanded. "One more yap out of you and I shall ensure that backside of yours is so red you cannot sit down upon it for a month or more! Now, be silent!"

And so Sir Reginald, knight of the realm, clamped his lips tight shut and kept silent -- or as silent as he could, for he still shifted and groaned with each attack -- as Lady Sarah beat his flesh with ever-increasing vigour. Again and again the paddle came down; again and again it smashed against the skin with a sharp smack.

Faster and faster she went, becoming more creative in her positioning of the smacks, running the paddle all across the flesh, every inch of his posterior covered and -- I imagine -- left warm and red and flushed by the blows. She did not smile or show any sign of emotion as she beat him, but it was obvious that she took great pride in her work, being careful to ensure that the punishment was administered as effectively as was possible.

Faster and harder still she went, until Sir Reginald -- after perhaps thirty strokes of more -- could bare it no longer, and cried out.

"Oh Mistress!" he roared, and I could tell that he was weeping.

Lady Sarah paused, stood back, then advanced again and unleashed one final blow of such force and vigour that I was convinced she would break the paddle in two.

She did not. Instead, she replaced it in her bag. Sir Reginald's head was now slumped right down upon the desk, snivelling and weeping sound emanating from its vicinity.

"Has piggy learned his lesson?" she asked perfunctorily.

"Oh yes Mistress! Oh yes! A thousand times yes! Little piggy-wiggy is so sorry for being such a failure, Mistress!"

"Hmmmmmmmm."

She was giving careful consideration to his beaten bum, arms folded once more across her chest.

"You're lying to me," she eventually said.

He lifted his head a little, and looked back at her, I think with quite strong and genuine fear.

"M-Mistress...? I.... Your little piggy would never..."

She uncrossed her arms and gave him a short, sharp spank with her gloved hand, which made him whimper once again and drop his head.

"If you had learned your lesson and fully understood your place, you would not have cried out and begged for me to stop, would you piggy?"

"No Mistress," he admitted miserably.

"You need to be punished further, don't you piggy?"

"Yes Mistress, it seems so."

"Mmm-hmmmm."

She nodded to herself, for the first time showing some indication of pleasure in her work, as a ghost of a smile flickered across her lips.

"The spike, I think."

His head came up once again, and he nearly rose fully from the desk.

"Oh no Mistress, please! No the spike! Please don't spike piggy!"

Another spank was administered quickly, her expression once again as hard as cold steel.

"Do not dare to beg me!" she said.

"I am sorry, Mistress, please..."

"Be quiet!"

He was silent. She reached once more into her bag.

"Little piggy is going to be spiked, and he is going to lie there and take it."

"Oooooo......."

There was despair in his tone, but resigned despair. Clearly this "spiking", whatever it may be, was all-too-familiar to him.

It took a few moments for me to be able to make out the object that she had removed from her bag, which she now held up for her own examination in the light of the window. At first I was confused as I had no way of understanding its purpose -- it appeared for all the world to be a slightly larger-than-life model of a pine cone, carved in wood. Perhaps a little longer and tapering off to more of a point than the familiar type of cone, but nonetheless with all the spiky, hard edges of such an object.

For what purpose could such a thing possibly have been made? And why did it strike such fear into Sir Reginald?

"Now, ask me for it, like a good little boy," Lady Sarah commanded.

"P-please..." Sir Reginald sniffled.

"Come on piggy, I'm waiting...?"

"Please... Lady Sarah, can little piggy-wiggy be plugged?"

"Yes," she replied, smiling once more. "Little piggy-wiggy can and shall be plugged. And guess what?"

"What, Mistress?"

"This time you are to keep it in for a whole day!"

Keep it in. Suddenly, reader, the purpose of the 'spike' became clear to me, and I started to well understand the reason for Sir Reginald's horror at its implementation. My dread suspicion was confirmed when she reached down and placed the tip of it roughly between the cheeks of his backside, causing him to flinch mightily.

"But... but Mistress... cannot I be buttered first, as usual?" he asked.

Buttered... so many new words, so many new thoughts! Had such worlds existed beneath and around mine for so long, without me ever realising? For how long had Sir Reginald been the victim of such practice?

"Certainly not!" she dismissed, holding the spike steady. "You have been a very bad little piggy today, and besides is this not how a man ever expects it of a woman? Is this not how a thousand unhappy wives must suffer their penetration? You shall take the spike as nature intended, piggy, and as you would have a woman take your miserable little member!"

So saying, she both twisted and thrust the spike forward, drilling its serrated length all the way into Sir Reginald's hole, causing him to let out a great howl of agony that was dreadful to the hear and mind to hear.

"Quiet piggy!" she shouted, and he did his best to stifle his cries even as she finished working the painful object all the way into his backside. Once she had achieved this, she stood back to admire her work.

I realised that my own member, locked tight inside my breeches, was as hard as iron and leaking its pre-excitement fluids in copious amounts. My heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, and I felt quite giddy -- and I knew why, to my shame! It was because I was imagining what it must be like to lay in Sir Reginald's place, and to suffer and serve as he now did!

With the 'spike' quite secure, Lady Sarah then had Sir Reginald stand, which he did with some clear discomfort, although also with the practised air of a man who has been made to suffer in this manner before.

"A day!" she repeated, as he pulled up his breeched and rebuttoned them, a look of forlorn resignation written across his face. "Not an hour less, and not an hour more! I shall return for another appointment tomorrow, to inspect that sorry little hole of yours and to retrieve my spike."

That was when I had to break off my audience, as I feared she was about to leave, and would discover my vantage point looking in on them from the other side of the door. But I could muster the energy to do very little work once I had returned to my office -- even the sight of Simmons was enough to make me think of his uncle and his perversions, and I even found myself wondering what Simmons subjected himself too when not bound by the strictures of office life.

Do all men offer themselves up so? Am I not alone in what I do? Does that make it better, or worse?

As I saw old Sir Reginald leaving the building this evening, walking very carefully as he made his way down the steps from the main entrance a little way ahead of me, I could not help but feel that such passions are both a blessing and a curse. For while I pitied him and pitied myself for what I had been through, I could still not help but wonder what I would be like to feel the pain of the spike lodged within me, and to be instructed to keep it so by a Lady so commanding as Lady Sarah.

Oh what is to become of me? And what am I to do about this whole affair with the money? The world is a stranger and more complex place than ever I could have imagined, but for your poor narrator it is full of woe and intrigue indeed!