The Imp of the Perverse

Nartha had suggested that he now had a judicial labyrinth. He had disliked the idea—but he was warming to it. He had sent messengers to the throne and to DunnisUrom to key leaders in the order to determine what should be done—both with the abbess and the abbey. Quassi assured him that the Abbey of Miserable Discipline lived up to its name. He would let the order decide. He was sure that whatever had been happening there, they would not want to abandon such a potent facility.

Of course, it should never have gotten that far to begin with.

Proctoress Abagail wore a fine blouse, stylish shoes, and nothing else.

"It was under my watch," she acknowledged, blushing badly. "I am sorry. Whatever they were doing there, it should never have gone so far as it did."

He nodded. "You didn't know—so I am not releasing you from your station—but there will be a lot of penance."

She didn't look nearly as interested in being punished now, he thought, feeling surprisingly satisfied by that.

"I'm going to soundly—very soundly—spank you, Abagail. But I will not be your chief disciplinarian."

Her eyes widened at this last.

"Who then, Lord Grummurand? Are you asking the order to send a—"

"No—your punishment will remain more or less within my household—although I would expect some scalding humiliation in public."

The woman swallowed. She blushed but nodded.

Behind her in the doorway, Lord Grummurand could see his wife Nartha leaning, arms lightly folded. The woman had a slight smile on her face. She liked Abagail—but she was probably going to enjoy seeing her punished.

"My wife will oversee the affair," Lord Grummurand said. "But would like the punishments to be carried out and managed by my daughter and my judicial ward."

The woman paled. She had a good understanding of what that would mean.

Lord Grummurand lowered the arms of his chair so the Proctoress could lie across his lap. "Disrobe entirely, Abagail," he said. It was the gentleness in his voice that made her quiver. She stripped off her blouse and stepped out of her shoes. She was scared—she was right to be: this was going to hurt. Her lower lip was quivering when she positioned herself over his lap. He raised his thick, strong hand.

Proctoress Abagail was thirty-four years old. By 12 smacks, the hardest she'd ever been given, she was begging. At 22, she broke and fought. He pinned her easily and continued. Blubbering, and wounded sounding, she pled with him not to give her extra for her failure. He touched her sex, and found it had wet itself during the ordeal. Naked, she sobbed in the corner like a much younger girl. She had her arms crossed behind her back, her palms on the opposite elbow. She couldn't touch her face to wipe the tears or snot. The block of carpet she stood on, on her toes, would change color if she lowered her heals. She quivered, miserable, as his wife found one excuse after another to send servants to visit the office, bringing the castle-lord teas, and napkins and candles and whatever else she could think of to have them look on the proctoress sobbing in the corner.

In the evening, when she was taken, still naked and wrung out to the castle dungeons (Nartha had prepared one of the cells to ensure a fresh bed with thick sheets and blankets was provided, as well as a small but well prepared dinner, and plenty of water). Grummurand stood in the now vacant kitchen, holding his wife and leaning against her.

"You gave her quite a bruising," Nartha said, approvingly.

"She earned it—I hope it inspires her to take a firmer hand in things."

"Once the girls are done with her, I think she'll be very focused on not coming back for seconds!" Nartha laughed!

"Speaking of seconds—how is . . . Mai—?"

"Maya," his wife ginned. "Oh—she turned out to be punishment prone, poor thing!"

"Oh?"

"The kitchen lead checks her panties after anyone gets punished and she's soaked. If she has to serve at the great table? Soaked. Minor mistakes? Constantly." She smirked. "Don't worry—nobody's being rough with her, but she's fretting you're going to dismiss her when you review her punishment record."

He groaned. "I could practically smell the humors on her when she saw the Proctoress in her corner time. She's probably rubbing her poor purse in the water closet."

"Mmm—probably," Nartha said. "Anyway, I'm putting her on a maintenance punishment schedule and I suppose I'm cruel enough to have her serve you when she's under punishment."

He laughed. "Oh, that IS cruel. The poor thing!"

Nartha grinned.

CODA -2 ELENI

"I can feel the heat on my face as I write this entry, knowing my horrid Mistress is going to cruelly threaten me with it and unfairly torment me with the possibility of showing it to my master. I do SO regret having taken on that order!

Apparently my Muck has decided she likes me far more than I like her! My wicked torturess got her a large fishbowl in my room to stay in when she isn't enjoying herself at my expense. I am tormented constantly by my rotten sex's need for comfort, and my Muck, waits, knowing the smell of Eleni's misbehavior as the dinner bell.

I've even had the utter mortification of asking for the hated belt back! Master spent so much on it—and it was designed explicitly to frustrate me! Alas no, my cruel mistress leaves me in bed each night to plunge a hand into my pajamas and undergo the various miseries my Muck can visit on me.

I have faltered more than once this moon, suffering for days and driven by the cursed jelly to humiliate myself at every possible opportunity! I should like to throw them ALL into a great cold river—especially my beastly mistress Quassi."

Quassi grinned, closing the book. The small collection of girls about her howled with laughter.

"Beastly!" Laughed Adena!

"Well, I am, " Quassi giggled. "Beastly and awful and cruel!"

More laughter. Eleni knelt by her mistress' side, the muck buzzing approvingly around her loins. She fought mightily to prevent herself from making a sound—and while she knew the muck could break her, it allowed her to hold right at her ragged edge.

She blushed and squirmed and quailed when the girls addressed her. Her expansively embarrassing answers almost brought her to orgasm—but she would need permission for that, and mistress hadn't given it.

When the girls were done, and Mistress Quassi had gone to walk them out, Eleni went through a stretching routine her Muck liked, glad there was no one around to see it.

She was in a fairly taut, compromised position when she felt Mistress's eyes on her. She knew full well better than to cover up, so she completed it and then returned to her kneeling as Quassi came over, and squatted down before Eleni and gave her a hug.

"Did I score good marks with my punishment journal, Mistress-Quassi?" she asked nuzzling her shoulder.

"Brilliantly," beamed Quassi, "although you may have laid it on a bit thick calling me 'beastly.'"

"You are!" Eleni shot back "OH! OHHHH!" She spread her legs. "My muck likes that too—nuhhhh!"

"Your muck likes you too much, I think," Quassi laughed.

"Uhhhhnnhhhh," moaned Eleni, rolling onto her back, her legs spread wide in the 'diaper' position. "I'm a dirty little wood-spirit who deserves to be punished! Nuhhh—ohhh—" she writhed in pleasure on the floor.

"Hold your cum, wood-spirit," Quassi snapped. "Your journal was very good and I appreciate you marking a section to read to my friends. I'm sure it can't have been easy."

"Nuhh—ohh—ohhh!" Eleni moaned. Was the Muck going to spend her illicitly in front of her mistress!!?

"Hold that O," said Quassi. "You've earned a reward of humiliation sex tonight—and this time I might even let you spend."

"Uhhh," gasped Eleni. "Beastly!!"

END