From the Top Shelf - A Master of Discipline, part 20

We are nearing the end of the tale of A Master of Discipline by Zoe Templeton. The story took a dark turn a few chapters ago, but you will be happy to know that this week's installment is lighter. The activity that Ruth and Stephen engage in is entirely consensual, and there are even moments of humour.

The heavy door of the main hall slammed shut. Ruth heard the key grate in the lock as Madam Karabengse, the last of her tormentors to leave, followed Sir Harold's instructions to ensure that she and Stephen remained safely shut away. Her jaws ached from being stretched so wide by the ball-gag and her throat was sore from the unnatural sounds she had been forced to emit during her harsh treatment. She tried, not very successfully, to divert her mind from dwelling on the various other aches and pains which permeated her body.

Her bottom still smarted abominably from the wallop which Kim had dealt her, and her breasts, which had hung unsupported ever since she had been locked into the pillory, throbbed from Robin's use of the riding crop. Throughout that time, her awareness of her exposure, her position and the various assaults had maintained her in a constant state of sexual arousal. Her nipples had already been erect, hard and sensitive when the leather loop at the end of the crop had flicked agonisingly across each in turn. Madam Karabengse's application of the Moon Balm had helped considerably, but such was the exquisite tenderness of her flesh in that area that she could still feel the crop sending pulses of pain into her very core with each heartbeat.

Ruth heard Stephen groan.

Forgetting her own troubles for a moment, Ruth turned her attention to her companion. He was, after all, their only chance of getting out of this nightmare in one piece. Stephen was still slumped in the same position, his head bowed. The only thing which had changed was that Kim had used a knife to release the bonds on one of his wrists, so his right arm was now hanging limply rather than extended at full stretch.

She made another gurgling sound behind her gag, trying to attract his attention. For a moment, she thought that he had not heard her, that he had been more hurt by the blow to the head than she had realised. Perhaps he had concussion, or worse? Ruth began to struggle against her restraints, gurgling into the gag. To her intense relief, after a moment or two, Stephen raised his head and looked towards her.

His eyes were open, his face streaked with tears, but at least he appeared to be in possession of his faculties. Ruth thrust her head forward, straining against the headboard of the pillory, her eyes wide, pleading. Stephen must have realised what she wanted because he raised his free hand towards her, albeit somewhat half-heartedly.

It was not enough; his limp fingers were still an inch or two short of her face. Frantically Ruth thrust herself forward, adding a pain in her collar bones to her catalogue of woes, straining her neck muscles to extend herself as far forward as she possibly could. His fingers brushed the surface of the ball in her mouth and Ruth let out a cry of triumph as she felt him tug at the gag. For a brief instant, she thought he had released her, but then the effort of stretching against their respective bonds became too much for both of them, and they simultaneously relaxed, temporarily exhausted.

Ruth was ready to weep. She had hurt herself across the shoulders and neck in trying to reach out to Stephen, and she was sure that he could have reached her if he had tried just a little bit harder. She sobbed in frustration into the gag and felt the ball rattle against her teeth. Shaking her head in temper, she made a futile attempt to dislodge the ghastly thing, shaking it like a terrier with a bone. Again she felt the hard plastic rattle against her teeth, mocking her. Wait a minute! She realised that the ball had been inserted so forcibly into her mouth by Madam Karabengse that it could not possibly move. Now it was just loose enough to be able to feel the movement. Perhaps Stephen's grasp had done some good after all.

She tried bending her neck to one side, rubbing the fastenings of the gag against the wooden structure which held her. The movement was painful; she felt as if she was choking, but she could feel the ball moving in her mouth. She turned to the other side with a similar result. No, wait! The retaining strap on that side was definitely not as firmly fastened as its opposite number. Desperately she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue coming into play, pushing at the back of the ball, her mouth straining wide to release the foul thing . Suddenly, without warning, the gag gave way. Ruth felt the strap fall away from her face, and with a great whoop of exhaled breath, spat the loathsome gag across the room.

For a moment she could do nothing except gasp from the exertion, licking her lips to moisten them, and gently working her jaw, easing the muscles back into shape after their prolonged extension. Going to the dentist and being told to 'Open Wide' would remind her of this for the rest of her days, she thought wryly. She looked across at Stephen, trying to smile, hoping for some reaction from him in return.

"Stephen!" Her voice was hoarse from the shouting, screaming and unnatural breathing which the gag had imposed on her. "Are you all right?"

He raised his head slowly. "Of course I'm not all right." But his action belied the words; he could move his free limb, he could hear and see her, move his head.

"Stephen!" Ruth's voice was sharp. "For heaven's sake snap out of it. Are you OK? Have they hurt you?"

"You saw what those swine did to me. How can you even ask that? " He allowed his head to hang down again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so dreadfully sorry I got you into this." Ruth meant every word, but she also knew that she needed Stephen to get with it, if they were to have any chance of escape before Henderson and his gang returned. "Look, I know it's hard to take, but you have to snap out of it. You must get free and then release me from this damn pillory. If we work together, we might just find a way out of this."

"What's the point? We can't get out of here, we're locked in, we've no clothes. It's a waste of time trying."

"For heaven's sake, Stephen, snap out of it. Now come on, get with it."

Stephen, at long last, began to free himself. He worked at the knot which secured his other arm and, with a grunt of satisfaction, managed to release his wrist. Ruth watched as he put his hands on the crosspiece of the birching bench and eased himself up into a kneeling position. Her hopes began to rise. If only she could get out of the pillory, there must be some chance for both of them. "Can you do it?" she asked him, softly, encouraging. "Can you get yourself free?"

I don't know, I'll try, but I can't turn. I'll have to do it by feel." Ruth watched as he bent backwards, trying to reach the bonds which held his ankles. Stephen had been tied on the bench in exactly the same manner as Ruth herself had been, the night before. His legs were spread wide, his shins horizontal on the two supporting planks, and secured at the ankles. He could only half turn to see the knots and pick at them. Ruth could not fail to see that his penis was fully erect, standing proud of the undergrowth of his pubic hair like a great monolith.

She had seen his genitals before, of course, scarcely disguised under a jockstrap when she had caned him in this very room. It seemed such a long time ago and such an innocent act. She remembered that she had been impressed with his size then, and had felt more than a passing twinge of longing. Only the threat of her own imminent punishment at the hands of the Reverend Mould had suppressed her desire. The evening afterwards, it had been the image of that powerful tool, combined with the warm afterglow of her thorough birching, alleviated by the Moon Balm, which had provided the inspiration for the essay which had won her the golden tawse as a souvenir.

The recent past flashed across Ruth's mind at lightning speed as Stephen struggled to release his legs. All the while, Ruth felt her hot gaze being drawn as if by magnets to his quivering erection, surely made all the more massive as his exertions stimulated his circulation. At last the knots gave way to Stephen's efforts and, with a groan of relief, he swivelled into a sitting position, massaging his legs. Ruth could see the marks where the bonds had dug into his ankles.

"Come on," she urged him. "Get me out of this."

He stood up and turned unthinkingly towards her, then sat down again sharply, his hand across his groin, his face beetroot with embarrassment.

"What's the matter?" Ruth was still concerned that he had suffered some, as yet undiscovered, injury.

"Oh God, Ruth, I can't let you see me like this."

"Don't be so damn stupid! We haven't got time for ridiculous concerns about modesty. You've got to get me out of this and, if you think your prick is the worst thing I've seen in the last forty-eight hours you couldn't be more wrong. Now come on, get me out of this!" She snapped at him, her temper frayed suddenly by an accumulation of stresses. Just as quickly, she regretted her action as she saw the hangdog expression on his face as he stood up again.

He made no attempt to cover himself this time, as he approached the pillory, and Ruth felt his naked body brush against hers as he stepped behind her to unlock the top section of the headboard. She didn't think to enquire why he had chosen to release the board from behind, when it would have been much less of a stretch to do it from the front. She flinched automatically as his warmth touched her, then sighed with relief as she felt the headboard being lifted from its position over her neck and wrists to fall with a clatter behind them.

Ruth remained in position, her neck still resting in the slotted board, as Stephen knelt at her feet to release the straps which held her ankles to the uprights of the pillory. She gratefully eased her legs back into a less acute position, to restore her balance. She was about to ease herself stiffly into an upright position when she became aware that Stephen was still on his knees at her feet.

"Oh, Ruth, I would have done anything for you. I fancied you like crazy; that's why I'm here. But that's all gone now. Once we get out of here, if we ever do, you'll never want to look me in the eye again."

Ruth took a deep breath. She knew that she could not break out of the priory unaided, she needed Stephen. Drastic therapy is called for, the little voice at the back of her head told her. You know what you have to do.

"Stephen, that's not how I see things at all. I fancied you too...and I still do. And, right now, I wish you'd do something with that wonderful cock of yours."

His eyes widened as he looked up at her. "Do you really mean that? All of it? I mean, do you really want to...now?"

"Oh for God's sake, Stephen. Yes. Stick it in me, give it to me, fuck me right now." She thrust out her bottom and waggled her hips as provocatively as she knew how. Slowly, Stephen stood up. Ruth's last glimpse of him as he moved out of her sight was a look of pure astonishment. Then she felt his hands on her hips. She braced herself against the pillory as his member slid between her legs, then gave a little scream as he thrust into her in one fierce movement. She had not anticipated how much her bruised labia had swollen, and the sensation as the great stiff shaft slid into her was the most exquisite combination of pain and pleasure she could imagine.

He remained in her, immobile, buried to the hilt, his wiry hairs tickling at her smooth pussy, while his hands slid up over her hips, round and under her and up to her breasts. She gasped as he gently kneaded her erect nipples then brought his hands together, the fingertips tracing the line of the crop down over her belly. His fingers splayed, pressing against her stomach, then slid deeper, parting her outer lips still further until he was able to massage her clit between the fingertips of both hands. Ruth was herself melting as the tension of her captivity was released. Stephen began to move inside her, slowly at first then speeding up as her vagina flooded with warm juices. His pulsing shaft worked backward and forward, stretching her, filling her, releasing her.

They were both far too tense for the coupling to last and the wooden frame of the pillory rattled noisily as they came to a climax. Pulling out of her, Stephen gently eased Ruth upright, turned her, and kissed her full on the mouth.

"You should have been a doctor, not a teacher," he whispered softly. "It was clever of you to know what I needed."

"Not really," She smiled. "I needed it so badly myself."

Their brief moment of tenderness was suddenly shattered by the sound of a siren on the drive outside. Then bedlam broke out. Both inside and outside the building, men were running. Doors slammed and there were shouts from a number of different voices. Ruth could hear Madam Karabengse's high-pitched tones, angry, along with several deeper, more English voices. To her amazement, one of the voices she could hear belonged to Tony!

Frantically she looked around. "Quick!" she hissed. "We must find some clothes. They can't find us like this."

She could hear the sounds of another door being kicked in and a shout of "Anyone there?" With an inspiration born of desperation, she grabbed one of the waxwork figures, the schoolmaster engaged in thrashing the boy draped over the stool. She tore the gown from the pedagogue's shoulders and wrapped it round herself. She turned her attention to the Victorian parent, standing frock-coated, ready to apply the riding crop to his daughter.

"Help me." she gasped at Stephen. The waxwork's limbs were stiff and unyielding as she tried to rip the frock coat off the dummy's shoulders.

Stephen had only just managed to wrap the dusty, ill-fitting garment about himself when the main door of the hall burst open with a crash.

"Tony!"

"Ruth! What the hell is going on?"

Stephen looked away, a wry smile creeping across his face, as Ruth launched herself at Tony in an enveloping bear hug. Explanations would come later, and would no doubt have to be carefully thought out to avoid embarrassment.

But for the present, it was enough that they were safe!

What must Tony think of this very odd arrangement. Will he approve of Ruth's choice of daywear? How will his relationship with Stephen change now that he has seen him in a frock-coat? Has Tony brought back-up or is he in for a turn on the birching bench? All will be revealed next week.