1 hour ago
When we were at school our games were simple
I played a janitor, you played a monitor
Then you played with older boys and prefects
What's the attraction in what they're doing
Hey Carrie Anne, what's your game now, can anybody play
You lost you're charm as you were aging
Where is your magic disappearing?
People live and learn, but you're still learning
You use my mind and I'll be your teacher
When the lesson's over, you'll be with me
Then I'll hear the other people saying
Hey Carrie Anne, what's your game now, can anybody play
Christmas came, and with it arrived several visitors, all young ladies and gentlemen of about our own ages, to spend the festive season with us; our entire party consisted of five gentlemen and seven ladies.
New Year's Day was Frederick's eighteenth birthday, and we determined to hold a regular orgy that night in our corridor. Plenty of refreshments were laid in stock, ices, sandwiches, and champagne.
Frederick was master of the ceremonies, with Alice as a most useful assistant... When all had assembled in Alice's apartment, they found her attired in a simple, long chemise de nuit.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said. "I believe we are all agreed for an out and out romp; you see my costume, how do you like it?" and a most wicked smile, "I hope it does not display the contour of my figure too much," drawing it tightly about her so as to show the outline of her beautiful buttocks, and also displaying a pair or ravishing legs in pink silk stockings.
"Bravo! Bravo! Bravo Alice! We will follow your example," burst from all sides. Each one skipped back to his or her room and reappeared in mufti; but the tails of the young gentlemen's shirts caused a deal of laughter, by being too short.
Alice said, "Well, I'm sure, gentlemen, I did not think your undergarments were so indecently short."
Frederick, with a laugh, caught hold of Alice's chemise, and tore a great piece off all around, so that she was in quite a short smock, which only half-covered her fair bottom.
Alice was crimson with blushes, and half-inclined to be angry, but recovering herself, she laughed, "Ah! Fred, what a shame to serve me so, but I don't mind if you make us all alike." The girls screamed, and the gentlemen made a rush; it was a most exciting scene. The young ladies retaliated by tearing the shirts of their tormentors, and this first skirmish only ended when the whole company was reduced to a complete state of nudity. All were in blushes as they gazed upon the variety of male and female charms exposed to view.
Frederick, advancing with a bumper of champagne, said, "We've all heard of Nuda Veritas, now let's drink to her health. The first time we are in her company, I'm sure she will be most charming and agreeable."
All joined in this toast, the wine inflamed our desires, and there was not a male member present but what was in a glorious state of erection.
"Look, ladies," said Alice, "what a lot of impudent fellows, they need not think we are going to surrender anyhow to their youthful lust. They shall all be blindfolded, and then we will arm ourselves with good birch rods, and then let it be everyone for themselves and Cupid's dart for us all."
"Hear, hear," responded on all sides, and handkerchiefs were soon tied over their eyes, and seven good birch rods handed round to the ladies.
"Now, gentlemen, catch who you can," laughed Alice, slashing left and right into the manly group, her example being followed by the other girls. The room was quite large enough, and a fine romp ensued.
The girls were as lithe and active as young fawns, and for a long time sorely tried the patience of their male friends, who tumbled about in all directions, only to get an extra dose of birch on their plump posteriors before they could regain their feet.
At last, the Honorable Miss Vavasour stumbled over a prostrate gentleman, who happened to be the young Marquis of Bucktown, who grasped her firmly round the waist, and clung to his prize, as a shower of cuts greeted the writhing pair.
He reached down and yanked Brigitte to her feet. She started to protest his roughness, but thought better of it when she caught his icy glare.
"Do you know this man?"
"...Are you always this way with strangers?" Rowland demanded harshly.
"I did nothing wrong. I was in need of a friendly smile."
"That is not what you are in need of," Rowland said ominously.
He did not give Brigitte a chance to reply, but gripped her arm and jerked her away from the inn. She was embarrassed at being dragged behind him like a naughty child...
"I will hear nothing about parting, and I warn you, do not provoke me."
"Why do you hate me so?"
"Do you not hate me as well?" he asked casually.
She looked at him in surprise. "If you think I hate you simply because of your rough treatment of me since we left, then you are wrong."
"So you think I am rough, do you?"
"Certainly you are," she replied indignantly. "You have threatened me, and you bullied me at the hostelry, as if I had no right to speak to whomever I please."
"You have no rights at all."
"It matters not what you were before. What you are now is my servant. You are bound to me, and if I hear you deny it once more, I will take a strap to your back."
"Come here, girl. Where have you been?"
Brigitte hesitated. She knew that tone... His hand caught her arm and slid down it, coming away wet.
"So a swim was more important than starting a fire against this chill?"
He hadn't struck her, and she took courage from that... One of his arms closed around her waist.
"Perhaps I can warm you better than the fire, eh?" He pulled her closer and reached for her belt.
"Where is the wench who fainted in fear the moment I laid her on my bed?"
"You praise yourself too much," she answered tartly. "I fainted from the pain in my back, not from fear of you."
"What was wrong with your back?"
"I was beaten, thanks to you."
Rowland frowned and gently placed her on his blanket near the fire. Against her murmured protests, he removed her belt and tunic, then raised her clothing and touched the area that no longer bothered her. Then he pushed her back down on the blanket and looked at her sharply.
"Does it still pain you?"
"You still have bruises. A beating that would leave such violent marks a week later must have been very bad."
"Rowland is here," Brigitte said to her new friend. "I must get his food."
Gui rose indignantly. "No, Lady Brigitte. You must not serve like a common serf."
"Oh, but I must," she replied, "or he will beat me."
"If you must beat me, Rowland, use a whip," she whispered. "I could not survive a blow from your fist, not when you are so angry."
Her eyes flew back to Rowland, and she saw that he had Wolff secured to the tree. And the reason he was tying her dog before he had said one word to her became clear. Rowland had something so terrible planned that he could not let Wolff loose. Before that thought even fully registered, Brigitte ran to her horse as if her life depended on it.
But she had waited too long. Her mantle was caught well before she reached the horse, and the clasp at her throat nearly choked her as she was jerked to a halt and then swung toward the fire. She fell to the ground...
She saw Rowland's boots next to her, planted far apart. She looked a little higher and saw his hands removing his belt... Before Brigitte could find the words to plead with him, Rowland's belt descended on her back. She gasped and cried out. He struck her again, and she screamed... By then, she was curled tightly in a ball, cringing as she waited for another lash. It did not come...
"Be damned!" he rasped, throwing a stick into the fire, sending sparks flying. "Then I cannot promise not to beat you again, And the next time you may not be so heavily clothed."
"I would expect no less of you," Brigitte snapped.
"So?" Hedda demands of Rowland. "Will you have her stripped and flogged in the courtyard? The horrible example she has set must be corrected."
Rowland replied, "I have already punished her."
"If you did, it is not enough!" Hedda snapped. "She moves easily, without pain!"
Rowland rose, a threatening gleam in his eye. "Do you doubt my word, lady? Do you wish to feel what Brigitte suffered?" He reached for his belt.
Brigitte grinned and stretched languidly. "Are you certain you wish to leave now?" she asked, her eyes gleaming.
"Ah, damosel, do not tempt me," he groaned, turning away to find her clothes. She giggled, and he threw her clothes at her for punishment. "You will pay for that tonight, I promise you," he growled.
"I will look forward to it," she teased... He crushed her to him once again, then released her and whacked her behind. "Get dressed, wench."
"I have something more important for you to do," Druoda said, glancing venomously in the direction of Brigitte's quarters. "The girl almost succeeded in escaping today, even with those fools I hired to prevent it. If not for the knight, she would have succeeded, and all we have achieved would be lost even now."
"You want her beaten?"
"Severely. Be sure to bind her mouth. I do not want the whole manor to know about it, but I want her to suffer as much pain as possible so that she will be in no condition to escape again. Do not draw blood. Wilhelm would not want his bride marred." Druoda smiled at her old friend. "I am sure he will take pleasure in marring her himself, if what I have heard about him is true."
Brigitte lay motionless on her pallet, letting her tears fall freely. But crying only made her muscles jerk and the slightest movement was agony.
She still could not believe what they had done to her. She had only just finished washing her muddy clothes when Hildegard and the two guard burst into her room. She was stripped of her worn gown and gagged, and did not even have time to feel humiliated at being exposed to the two men before she was thrown face down on the mat and held fast by the guards. And then came the pain, as Hildegard let loose with her leather strap. It was as if fire licked across her back each time the strap came down, and she could do nothing but cry out against the gag in her mouth. She lost consciousness before she felt the last blow, and when she awoke she found herself alone, still naked.
She began to cry again, but only for a moment. She could not give up!