The Imp of the Perverse

Some of the feedback I got was a request to see more of Eleni, the Dryad. She is a nature spirit who became infatuated with a human lord and stalked him—first spying on him and then seeking to tease and taunt him. When he struck a diplomatic agreement with the Stag Spirit of her forest, he requested her as part of the agreement. She was turned over to him as a "judicial slave" with the agreement that he would not just command her but ensure she was properly punished when under his service.

She has been under his command for a couple of years. She was first introduced in the great city of DunnisUrom during the Punishment Day Festival.

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Lord Karl Grummand sat in the saddle of his Rathdale. It was a huge horse, a powerful breed and one that could possibly defeat even a Valiance Stallion should they find themselves matched against one.

He gauged the time by the sun. Near Middens. He steered his horse towards the road that led into the small crescent of town that huddled at the foot of Ormally hill, atop which was the stately castle Ormally. The castle he'd been put in charge of.

Ormaburg had colored banners flying over the ramble of houses, shops, and plazas. It had grown prosperous in the last years and now, if there were an enemy or an incursion, he doubted he could shelter its populace in the castle he was the steward of.

He doubted there would be any such danger in his lifetime, but he would look into extending a Mott, in any event: that was what being in command meant. He had many privileges and also many responsibilities.

He saluted the watchmen at the gates of Ormaburg and they snapped back crisp acknowledgements, as their lord rode through the checkpoint. It was hardly a gate, Karl Grummurand thought. The town had expanded too fast for that. It had wooden walls and beams that could be lowered or raised to restrict traffic. The entry was flanked by wooden watch-towers. It was defensible in terms of keeping out bandits or the rare Unclean that might slink out of the nearby woods at night. It wouldn't hold against a real force, but the young men standing on the towers had never seen a real enemy force or an incursion of Unclean. Ormally had ceased to be a front line of defense before even Grummurand's birth.

Still, his instincts told him that the main paths should have stone towers and defensive ditches. If the treasury would tolerate it, he'd look into that.

Beyond the entry points, the street was cluttered with rickshaws, carts, and pedestrians carrying packs laden with goods for sale. To the right was a brick plaza with wooden furniture within it. The punishment plaza. He could see the white robed acolyte waiting to receive him.

He knew he would not avoid an extensive review of the penitents in the plaza: the acolytes were very proud of their service to the karmic debt of the township and it would be deflating if the lord of the castle, meeting with the Proctoress, ignored their handiwork.

He dismounted from his horse, letting two timid looking acolytes try to tend to the beast. It was well behaved, though, and it would not hurt them . . . so long as they were properly submissive to it.

A slim young man in the acolyte robes stood straight, his hands behind his back. His head was shaved, and he wore a fine steel necklace with several keys on it—his subordinate's chastity belts or cages, presumably.

The man bowed deeply. "I am honored to have your attendance, Lord Grummurand," the acolyte said. "Our proctoress awaits your audience. Would you do us the honor of a brief tour of the penitents we are caring for today?"

"Very much," said Grummurand, not wanting to grunt assent. This young man was doing well. Ormaburg was provincial as these things went, and although an acolyte, he was almost certainly common-born and required to show strict submission to his betters. In the Key Cities, the acolytes didn't grovel—but even on his own doorstep, the boy could have decided that his proper greeting of the Lord of the castle would put him on his knees.

Indeed, if he opened his pants, the boy would suck his cock. Grummurand was pleased the boy wasn't trembling or bowing on his knees or any such nonsense.

"My thanks, Lord Grummurand," said the acolyte. "Your presence is very uncomfortable for our unfortunates. It makes their experience more educational!"

A row of stocks held three unfortunates. Two fully adult men, perhaps in their thirties, and a younger woman, sat on a wooden bench with their legs out and feet trapped with the closing of a hinged board.

The men looked disgruntled and looked away, shamefaced when Lord Grummurand was walked up. The woman brought up her shackled wrists to cover her face. He could see the title cards hung about their necks. Drunkenness, Arguing, Gossip.

"Before they are seated," said the acolyte, these unfortunates were given their ages in sound swats from the enclave's paddle—Spirit Breaker. It usually guarantees a very penitent unfortunate when they are seated!"

"Their shoes are removed for tickling?" Grummurand asked, noting the three pairs of bare feet.

"Yes—although it's generally mild if they behave themselves," said the acolyte. "Some of my girls will get slightly carried away at times. We reign them in."

Grummurand nodded.

A set of raised pillories towards the back held two young men. Their shaming signs read Fighting and Stealing. Both were dressed, but looked wretchedly uncomfortable.

"Both wear irritant laced panties under their pants," the acolyte said. "Their tenders also see if they can coax an erection! If they can, it may be displayed."

The boys squirmed in discomfort. Grummand watched a cute acolyte girl, bent over next to the Stealing boy, speaking quietly and sympathetically with him. She stroked his hair as he whimpered and nodded as well as he could.

Satisfied with his acquiescence, she made him take a long drink from a water-skin.

"If the subject is well behaved," said the head acolyte, "Their tender will usually assist them in peeing. It will be humiliating, of course—but better than spending their term in soaked trousers."

Grummurand watched the girl skip happily around to where she planned to climb down from the platform, giving the boy a soft pat on his buttocks.

Grummurand knew that there were those who misbehaved intentionally to get the kind of attention the acolytes gave them. It didn't surprise him.

The three display stools held young women, perched on high stools, looking miserably out and, blushing hard when they saw Lord Grummurand.

"Ah, our socialites," said the acolyte dryly. "The stools are for girls, mostly. If they were to rise, you would see the small blunt rubber pyramids on the seats. The girls are given a sound paddling as well and the seats are made to have their sit be extremely uncomfortable. If they are judged to squirm—"

He indicated one girl who had her hands cuffed in a "fiddle" that wrapped her neck and held her wrists out in front of her.

"Or other such additions." A pretty young woman with eyes reddened from crying, wore a bit-gag strapped to her head. Drool dripped from it and she whimpered. Her hands were cuffed at her waist, attached to thick leather belt, wrapped around her and buckled behind her back.

"Over time, most will accrue more and more additions. The girls are quite creative in coming up with them! And it also attracts boys."

The crime plaques were Backtalk, Masturbation, and Illicit, which usually meant the girl had been caught with some form of pornography or some such.

They looked mortified and miserable and he nodded his approval and followed the acolyte up a flight of stairs and into the enclave's building.

"Thank you for indulging me," said the acolyte. "I have three boys and five girls under my command and I assure you, they were all watching eagerly to see that you approved."

Grummurand nodded. "I do. I know as well as anyone how important it is to maintain a good balance in a township."

The man nodded. They stood before a door—it was made of light wood and seemed to be carved to depict a woman, naked, with an octopus like creature wrapped around her sex, its tentacles gripping her waist and buttocks. The Sea Bride, he knew. One of the old stories.

The acolyte pulled a grip on a small chain and a bell inside jingled to signal their arrival.

"Lord Grummurand!" came the Proctoress' voice from inside. "Please! Do come!"

Gruummurand stepped through the door.

"Proctoress Abagail," he said. The woman stood wearing white clothing—a slit skirt and blouse—with a cape of white cloth with gold trim.

She smiled brilliantly. Coming forward to stand before him as the acolyte shut the door.

"I greet you humbly," she said. "And I am your loyal subject—available in all things."

Her smile was genuine. She looked up at him. He gave her his hands and she clasped them.

"Ah, Karl, it has been far too long since you have visited us."

He nodded, feeling her smooth fine fingers over his larger, coarser ones.

"I have been busy. I now have the Southern Jewel Coast and I am appointed the Warden of the Lindell Wood." He let her lead him to where tea had been set out. She sat next to him, pouring for him and for herself as well.

"I know—The Throne and Crown finds you so capable—thus you accrue these responsibilities like shackles."

"Yes—well, I am not quite so tired that I have petitioned for retirement," he said. He took the tea, as did she. "I do enjoy your company Abagail, never think it is not so. But I suspect there is some reason you sent me a request for this meeting?"

"There is," she said, sitting back up. They sat off to the side and behind her desk was a stained glass window depicting the ancient Proctress Esera in the tentacles of an imundopus, its various arms entering her in ways that were certainly unpleasant even if its skin had not been coated with fine, stinging hairs. An early founder of the order, the scene that had been chosen to adorn Abagail's room was one of humiliation and defeat.

She took a sip of the tea.

"Do you know what an Imp of the Perverse is?" she asked.

Grummurand was extremely well read, but he shook his head.

"We have a penitent abbey, out in the hills," she gestured to the east. "You may have seen it?"

"It sits inside my lands," he confirmed. "I've not been."

"It's a place to send acolytes who fail at a substantial trial or forget their place badly." She gave a little sigh. "An unpleasant place! But also, a sound library and the acolyte sisters who oversee it conduct research and study."

"In to what?" he asked.

"Order things," she said. "Well, if you must know, karmic-mechanics." At his nonplussed look, she gave a laugh. "Think of it as the study of math and physic—but for the deeper world around us?"

"I shall hold to the clarity that explanation gives my thoughts," Grummurand said dryly.

"If you feel I am being . . . difficult," the Proctoress suggested, her voice with a faint hint of slyness, "it is within your domain to chastise me."

His laugh rumbled through the office.

"The Imp—a particular kind of spirt, an unusual kind—appeared there."

"Summoned?" He asked.

"I think not. If one of the acolyte sisters called it, I do not think it would have been intentional. These creatures are not physically dangerous, per se—but they have another kind of peril."

"What is that? The Art?"

"No—well, maybe. Not as we understand it—but these creatures can stir the deeper imaginings. They can draw out proclivities and appetites in those around them—or those interacting with them," said the Proctoress. "They can cause breakdowns in discipline and order . . . left unchecked they can be quite disruptive."

"And do you wish aid in capturing the beast?" he asked.

"No—no. It's . . . captive. Apparently it allowed itself to be taken. Difficult to understand but—" she said.

"It is being held in a cell?" He asked.

"In a jar." She held her hands aslightly part. "They're small."

"I see," He nodded.

"You have a nature spirit, yes? I've seen her riding with you."

"I do, she is a judicial slave. Her abilities have been limited somewhat," he said.

"Might we . . . borrow her? I think she would be resistant to the Imp's charms and I would like her to interview the spirit. It is being kept sequestered with only a couple of the sisters having access to it. I should like her to act as an assistant to them in their examination of the imp. It has a message it wishes to share with us—but only under some circumstances. I do not know what they are—but I understand they are peculiar."

"Eleni is quite susceptible to everything humans are," Grummurand warned. "She has yet to evidence any defenses that come from her nature. To me, anyway."

Proctoress Abagail nodded. "On this, trust me. Her binding to the firmament is distinct from ours. The tendrils of our fears or desires that the imp can touch are not the same as ours. We are base matter with a spirt embedded. She is a spirt adorned with base matter. It's different."

Grummurand nodded. "And would she be in danger?"

Abagail shook her head. "We've known each other a long time, Karl. The abbey is as safe a place as I know. The imp's charms shouldn't work on her. I will see to it that she is well cared for. As a judicial slave, I'm sure you'll find the facility more than adequate to meet her needs."

Grummurand nodded, thoughtfully. "I am not inclined to turn down a direct request from the enclave in this township," he said. "I wlll make arrangements to send her. You will provide transportation?"

"I will," said the Proctoress, bowing her head politely.

LATER THAT EVENING IN CASTLE ORMALLY

Grummurand strode through the door to the living complex where his family stayed while they were in residence at the castle. He was thankful for many things—but most of all for his wife's ability to handle the requirements of his office without resentment.

He met Nartha in the rustically styled kitchen. She wasn't cooking: they had staff for that—but she was overseeing several girls who were preparing the dinner.

Ahh—he stepped up to her, and she came over to him, standing close. He could smell the soap and the light perfume and the wash she used on her hair.

"How stands the house?" he asked her.

"Oh, it still stands, I think," she said, smiling wryly. "It is in good order. I have prepared a requisition for supplies and checked it with the treasurer and ensured the availability of all item."

"Without your thoroughness, I doubt I could keep the walls standing alone," he said. "I saw one of the girls—"

"Maya is getting a time out in the pillory," she said. "She has her moon's humors in her—and she and another girl had angry words. I deemed her at fault so she will have a few bells to calm herself."

He grunted, and nodded. "She looked awful—"

"She begged me to throw her in the dungeon rather than have her posted under punishment when you returned!"

"I'm am not going to visit further miseries on her!" Karl rumbled. They had several new girls, did she think the castle lord would take the trouble to whip her?

"She knows. It's just the embarrassment of being seen by you when posted!" His wife smiled. "A bell or two shan't harm her and if she scurries a bit more in your presence I find that to the good."

Grummurand nodded. He assumed he'd be seeing the fresh-faced young girl bringing him tea to his study, bearing records from the kitchen for his files, and whatever else his wife could concoct to place her under his gaze.

It wasn't malice. The girl would squirm—but she would learn that he was not one to bear a grudge or take a cruel hand in discipline. But—

"If she's on her humors—" he said, his voice betraying a hint of unease.

His wife laughed. "One of my judicial slaves is assigned to check her and clean her. I imagine you'll hear the poor thing squealing if you listen hard—but it's not an excuse to keep a girl out of the pillories!"

He made a disgruntled noise.

"Let me handle the girls, Karl. You can handle thing that are simpler like battle plans or politics!" He laughed. One of those girls spun by, delivering him a tall cup of wine. Her smile was brilliant: Bringing a cup of wine to the castle lord was apparently a mark of pride and status! He gave her the barest of nods, and she blushed!

If he'd thanked her, he thought, she might have fled. Haylis? Hollin? He ought remember her name! He ran a hand across the back of his neck, making a note to review all the staffing posts. If they were begging not to be witnessed by him, he ought know all their names.

"Speaking of handling the girls," Nartha asked, "did you meet with the Proctoress?"

"Abagail? Aye. She has some condition in a reformatory abbey that she wishes Eleni to help with."

Nartha smiled, faintly considering this.

"It must be dire if she has called the Lord of Castle Ormally to her enclave. I'm sure the staff was in a frenzy!"

"I got an abbreviated tour of the punishment plaza," he nodded. "It was all in good order of course."

"I'm sure you didn't notice the bricks were all newly scrubbed, the robes were all freshly laundered, and the acolytes had probably been dipped in perfumes!"

"If that were the case," he confessed, "I didn't notice it."

She snorted, nodding. "And Abagail herself?"

"She was fine. You know I knew her before she was the Proctoress? I was serving as a top aide for the Grand Commander of the Eastern Line and she was working for the order as a study clerk!"

"I'd heard that. She has been to our festivals and celebrations, you know. I've talked with her more than once!"

"Sorry," he said. "A long day. Yes. She seemed fine."

"Did you spank her?" Nartha asked, her eyes sparkling with her smile.

"I—what—no! It was a request for aid, not a—"

"Oh, relax, Karl. I have a bath drawn. Finish your wine and I'll take you to it."

He tilted the cup back.

"Do you really think I'd just—" He asked.

"You, oh no! But I suspect she was hoping!"

"That I'd spank her!? In her own office?"

Nartha laughed. "Come husband. Don't let your mind vex you on it. Come and let the hot water unwind you."

He placed the cup on one of the table (it vanished nearly instantly as one of the kitchen girls, who was poised and ready, pounced on it as silently as a hunting cat).

As he lay in the tub, steam rising around him—oh, the bath was wonderful! He was not one for floral scents in his own bath—but his wife had apparently insisted on it . . . perhaps as subtle hint at his scent from riding all day? Perhaps just to mark him as hers? He tilted his head back, feeling the bath soak into his closely cropped graying hair.

"Nartha?" He asked, eyes closed.

"Yes, exalted lord of Castle Ormally," his wife replied, apparently sitting clothed on the toilet and waiting with towels ready for when he exited the water. Her use of his title and the honorific was her way of gently mocking him.

"How has Eleni been? I'm asked to send her to the reformatory—"

"She has been cared for by Quassi," said his wife. "I'm sure she's not been bored."

"Oh," he said. His youngest daughter was probably thoroughly terrorizing the nature spirit. The cute-but-vicious little punishment apprentice at the event had reminded him of his own daughter.

Still, Eleni was a judicial slave with a heavy ledger of assigned punishment by her spirit stag. He heard the soft bell that signified dinner was served. He pulled himself out of the bath and let his wife wrap him in soft, warm towels.

CASTLE ORMALLY - ELENI

Being made to keep a punishment journal is one of the more frustrating and inventive ordeals I've been tasked with. My owner's youngest daughter visited the indignity upon me as follows.

We were in her "play room" which was not, as I'd assumed her punishment salon where she would discipline housemaids and the like, but rather a games room with comfortable chairs, an "indoor croquet table" (a form of female-themed billards, I gathered), a rose board (darts with their feathers shaped as flowers—again, this female theme!) and many books other oddities.