A continuation of the school adventures of young French aristocrat Delphine de Lotbiniere. Read the previous chapter here
The school has its own railway station. The green nameboards proclaim “Hernmere – for St. Faith’s School” Before the war the two daughters of the General Manager of the Southern Railway attended the school and he arranged for the reference to the school to be added. Not all trains stop here, you may have speeded through yourself on a Waterloo to Guildford train, but we have a direct link to London. Before the war the Southern Railway provided special trains at the beginning and end of term, the guards van piled high with the girls’ trunks, but these days fewer girls arrive by train. Most families have motor cars.
I am taking the train today. I am going to London with Lotbiniere. She does not know it but we are going to visit Catherine Spencer-Harrington. This is a day I have been dreading. After I had recovered from my food poisoning I waited fearfully for the phone to ring. It was two days before Catherine rang but her cold fury was unmistakable. Like me she had spent the night bent over the toilet. Unlike me, she had spent a further two days in bed. Her constitution was clearly not as strong as mine. Then she rang.
“You are to bring the little slut to me on Wednesday next” she hissed.
“But milady, I fear that will be impossible.”
“You will do it or face the consequences. I have two of my security guards coming in specifically to fuck her, to take her virginity and loosen her cunt a little, ready for the paid work she will be doing.”
“But, please, I can’t…”
“You will bring her to me or face the consequences.”
When my secretary came in with letters for me to sign I was shaking.
I had a restless night with vivid dreams. I was in the presence of Catherine, dressed in a Dior gown from which protruded a forked tail.
“Kneel before Lady Beelzebub!” commanded a voice from behind a heavy velvet curtain. I knelt, and noticed that I was dressed in leather trousers and sleeveless leather doublet. Both my forearms were tattooed with the number 666. In the mirror on the right hand side I saw that my head had been shaved and the stubble dyed blonde. She handed me a crop.
“Take this crop as a symbol of your service. I anoint you Angel of Satan she said, spitting in her hand and rubbing the spittle over my forehead. Now take the crop and bring me Lotbiniere!”
I was taken by a demon with a scarred face and stooped gait to an adjoining room where a dozen young woman knelt, in chains and manacles, in shapeless grey dresses. I saw Lotbiniere, a look of utter hopelessness on her face. I pulled her to her feet and gave her six with the crop.
“An Angel of Satan has no pity” I said to myself as I led her through to Lady Beelzebub’s chamber. She walked slowly, weighed down by the chains.
As we came into the presence, I pushed her down and she knelt, head down, quivering with fear.
Lady Beelzebub stood up and walked round her.
“Lotbiniere you are to suffer the Torment of a Thousand Cocks.”
A scar faced demon came in, dragging a gynaecological table.
“Prepare her!” I was ordered by Lady Beelzebub.
I pulled Lotbiniere to her feet and unlocked the chains which fell to the floor with a clank. I took a knife and sliced off her dress. I cropped her again until she screamed with pain.
When she was secured on the table, her feet in the stirrups, her cunt exposed, I turned to Lady Beelzebub.
“The victim is prepared Milady.”
Lady Beelzebub clicked her fingers and I watched in astonishment as cocks grew out of the body of the demon, out of every limb, out of his torso, out of his hands, his feet. A thousand cocks each fat and hard, veined and throbbing, a thousand bell ends, angry purple and glistening.
“A thousand cocks will penetrate you. You will take them in your mouth, you will swallow the come of a thousand cocks. You will swallow come until you are sick. Just as you made me sick. A cruel punishment. But a deserved punishment. Sub Demon Phallocentrus, she is yours to use and abuse. Let the torment begin.”
The demon went up to her, pushed in with a cock on the palm of his right hand. Lotbinere screamed, I moved in to hold a gloved hand over her mouth.
“Keep quiet you dirty little slut!”
I was woken by the alarm, I had the feeling of orgasms exploding through me. I put a finger in my cunt. I was dripping wet.
In the waiting room at Hernmere station Lotbiniere asked me
“Why are we going to London Madame?”
“I want you to meet a friend who will be able to help you in your post school life and then I thought we would have time to visit the British Museum.”
We heard the London train approaching, heard the huff and puff of a grimy steam locomotive, and went out onto the platform. As the train pulled out Lotbiniere said
“I have never been on an ordinary train in England Madame. I have been on the Golden Arrow but not on such a dirty local train. I think our SNCF in France is much better.”
I said nothing. I was struggling to fight back tears. Tears of shame.
From Waterloo we took a taxi to Soho. I paid the taxi off on the corner of the Charing Cross Road and Old Compton Street and we walked from there. We turned into Frith Street. It was still early but there was a lady out, in a thick fur, plying her trade.
“Good morning ladies! It’s a bit nippy today.”
We hurried on.
“Madame, that lady had such a deep voice. She is not a man?”
I said nothing. We turned another corner. I saw ahead the building where Catherine had her club.
“Madame why are we in this neighbourhood? I thought we were going to a museum?”
Lotbiniere looked anxious. I took a step towards the club and stopped. I turned to her and said
“Lotbiniere I have business here.”
I took a ten shilling note out of my purse and gave it to her.
“Buy yourself lunch. There is a British Restaurant over there, on the opposite corner. I can recommend the toad in the hole.”
“You eat toad in this country Madame?” She looked genuinely puzzled.
“You eat frogs legs don’t you? Run along Lotbiniere, it is for the best, believe me. I will meet you by the station clock at Waterloo at 4 o’clock. We will be back at school in time for supper.”
She grimaced at the mention of supper and walked off. I took deep breaths, and a nip of Scotch from my hip flask and approached the door. By the bell push was a small typed notice that read
“The Gentleman’s Retreat. Strictly by Appointment. ”
I pressed the bell. The maid opened the door and led me up the stairs to Catherine’s office on the first floor. She did not get up from her desk, did not invite me to sit down.
“Where is the French girl?”
“I am sorry Milady but I cannot, I really cannot”
“You were to bring her here for punishment and training. I made that clear!”
“Milady, it is do difficult.”
“Maybe prison is easier? ”
She stood up and took a file from a filing cabinet.
“I only need to take this to the police. And if I do I think you’ll be spending the next 5 years in Holloway”
“I see you on your knees rather a lot, scrubbing floors. And that grubby prison underwear!”
She laughed again.
“But you know all about grubby underwear, don’t you?”
I felt myself going red with shame.
“You need practice. I am a pussycat, Ranson, compared to those lesbian wardresses. Learning here will save you a lot of trouble later on.”
She laughed again and pressed the bell. Trudy the transvestite maid came in and curtsied.
“Ranson is going to scrub the stairs. Show her where the water is and the scrubbing brush and watch her. Take a crop from the SM room and discipline her if you think she is slacking.”
Trudy curtsied before taking me by the ear and leading me out of the room.
After an hour of scrubbing my knees were causing me agony and my bottom was stinging from Trudy’s crop. The doorbell rang and Trudy went to let in the new visitor.
I heard the door close and a man’s footsteps coming up behind me. I froze at the sight of shiny gentlemen’s shoes and pinstriped trousers.
I looked up and saw the tall figure of Sir Reginald Carless, Chairman of the London and Home Counties Bank, and father of Delilah Carless, Head Girl in 1949.
“Sir Reginald” I said, remaining on my knees.
He shuffled his feet in embarrassment and followed the maid up to the first floor. My humiliation was complete.
It was five o’clock when I reached Waterloo.
“I must apologize Lotbiniere. I was unavoidably delayed. Come, the Hernmere train leaves in three minutes.”
We ran and jumped onto the train as it started to pull out. I slammed the door shut, raised the window and hooked the leather strap. We sat down.
“So Lotbiniere, what have you been doing?”
“Well Madame I found some very interesting bookshops on, how do you call it, the Charing Cross Road?”
She handed me a brown paper package.
“It is a book for you Madame. They tell me it is not an allowed book in this country. I bought it, how you say, under the counter. But I know it is the perfect book for you.”
She smirked as I opened the package. I read the title “The Well of Loneliness.”
I scowled. She was openly mocking me. I had felt pity for her, faced with the revenge of Catherine Spencer-Harrington. No more. I was going to make her suffer.
TO BE CONTINUED
A post for Wicked Wednesday. You can find more wickedness here