The Captive Bride
The carriage jolted violently, knocking the sleeping young woman's head against its paneled interior. Frederica gasped and one kid gloved hand reached up to ensure that her hat had not slipped awry. All was well. The elegant confection of fine black straw and silk roses perched neatly upon her handsome auburn hair and a diaphanous gray veil covered her face like a fine morning mist. Wearily, she retrieved a tiny looking glass from her velvet reticule and lifted the veil to appraise a pair of piercing, if slightly reddened, green eyes. Goodness! It would never do for Lord Urquhart to see her like this. She would keep her veil down and be a lady of mystery, that's what she'd do... But one week of traveling by stagecoach had taken its toll and she felt bruised all over by the ceaseless rumbling, bumping rhythm of the wheels. And it was so desperately cold... The young woman shivered and cleared a little patch in the steamy window. Outside, the seemingly endless procession of murky hedgerows and dark, skeletal trees lined the narrow rutted roads like wicked spirits, drawing her deeper and deeper into her fate...
Gazing through the veil was like being enshrouded in cloud, but she preferred its modest seclusion to being stared at by the men. There had been one in particular, a loathsome creature with a pockmarked complexion and a scar beneath his left eye, who had brushed up against her by way of an "accident," as the carriage lurched through a particularly pothole ridden stretch of the turnpike. He had apologized profusely in an oily manner, which reminded Frederica of the consistency of pomade. Her cheeks grew hot, recalling the brief, furtive grasp of his horrible hand on her left breast. It was almost as if his probing fingers had reached beneath the layers of winter clothing, insinuating themselves between the thin chemise and her warm, creamy flesh. Despite her disdain, she imagined those steely fingers continuing to explore and penetrate her, as she sat in the sullen, snoring company of her journey-benumbed companions. Perhaps it was true, after all. Perhaps she really was a harlot, as a true lady would never, ever allow such sordid thoughts to sully her virtue. But the phantom fingers continued to probe and press, causing her nipples to harden and her breasts to swell and tingle as if making milk for a squalling babe. They weren't gentle, either, but pinched and scratched and trailed a livid, lustful path...
The boys had called her a whore, for showing them her bare bottom, but they had demanded it! Angry, helpless tears filled Frederica's eyes. Her cousins, Wade and Thomas. For years, they had stalked her, taunted her like a rabbit in a trap, knowing full well that she could refuse them nothing, her security lying in the hands of their father, Uncle Frederick. She had been named for her father's brother and cursed the link, for he was as cruel as his evil sons. Well, they had taken everything she possessed, but not her pride and spirit. Nor her virginity.
Gathering her shawl about her shoulders, Frederica remembered the events of the summer, the final weeks at Gallowridge House. Oh, they were monsters, Wade and Thomas! Thomas, with his long hair and artistic pretensions, yet, in his own way, he was as vicious as his dominant brother, who already bore a reputation for violence. They had grasped her by the arms, one on each side, and marched her into the old playroom.
"Lie down on the carpet and pretend you are sleeping."
The sneering voice, as cold as the North Sea, and slowly, painfully, she assumed the desired position. The rug smelled of must and camphor.
"On your side. That's it. Now, remove your drawers and raise your skirt."
The frantic, helpless protestations and the blatant threats.
"You are an orphan, Frederica. Without our family's charity, you are destitute. Don't you understand? It's the poorhouse for you, if you don't comply. Or worse..."
Slowly unfastening the tangled ribbons of her long linen drawers and--oh, the shame of it--sliding them down to her ankles, feeling the cool air of the long abandoned playroom upon her slender calves and thighs. Resigned to the horror of her captivity, she had raised her skirt, as they commanded, closing her eyes against their hateful faces. To her surprise, they did not touch her, but lay down beside her, one on either side, so that Thomas faced her front and Wade her back. She could feel their breath upon her hair and face, hot and moist and slightly sweet, for they had been eating cherries from the orchard. Then they shifted themselves, moving south, as it were, and she opened her eyes just a tiny crack, to see them staring, fascinated, at her private parts. Thomas had his angular face almost pressed against her sex. He gazed at the perfect, tawny curled mound as if mesmerized. But what could Wade be doing behind her back? She could not turn her head to look and risk their wrath, but her eyes slid sideways, observing that he, too, lay and stared, but this time at the trembling twin cushions of her bare bottom. Strangely, it was both agony and ecstasy. It seemed that they lay like that for an eternity, quite motionless and silent, and Frederica began to feel a desperate desire for something to happen, anything. Their eyes seemed to bore into her tender flesh and it was almost as if a tiny flame licked tentatively at the sensitive lips of her virginal sex and she flushed with shame, suddenly realizing that she longed to turn over onto her back and part her thighs, exposing all! Yes! It was too dreadful to have to keep her legs together when they desired to see her bottom and her sex, like being bound at the ankles, having one's knees glued together... Quietly, she began to moan:
"Oh please, Master Wade, Master Thomas! I'll show you all, if you'll only let me move..."
"WHAT?"
It was as if the spell had been broken, shattered to a thousand knife-edged fragments. The two brothers scrambled to their feet and Wade had grasped a handful of Frederica's tumbling curls, dragging her to a kneeling position. Cruelly, he stooped to stare into her brimming eyes and she wondered at the dark pit, which seemed to beckon from his blue-rimmed pupils. Coolly, he began to speak, and with each few words, winding a length of hair tighter about his fingers until the terrified young woman believed her hair might be torn from its roots.
"You little slut, Frederica. You want us, don't you, you filthy whore? Both of us, at once! My, my, I see what Papa disclosed about your dear Mama is true! Did you know she made her living on her back?"
"No! "
Frederica's cry was half-strangled by the terrible pain Wade was inflicting upon her, but she would not endure such a sleight upon her beloved mother.
"I think little Miss Harlot needs a severe spanking, Wade, old boy."
Thomas was standing beside his brother, a curious smile playing about his thin, mean mouth.
"Go on--put her across your knees and tan her bare bottom, like you did with that scullery maid."
"Ah yes. Maisie, wasn't it? Foolish little trollop with uppity notions. That's not such a bad idea, my friend..."
Together they dragged the sobbing young woman to her feet and propelled her across the playroom, her crumpled drawers caught about her ankles like a convict's manacles. Wade seated himself upon an upright chair beside the empty fireplace and patted his lap in an elaborate gesture.
"Come now, Missy. We have been a very, very naughty girl, haven't we?"
Frederica hung her head and a large tear trickled down the lovely curve of her cheekbone. It was true! She had comported herself in a disgraceful fashion, never mind what horrors the boys might have committed. Boys will be boys but a young lady must be decorous at all times. Her voice, when it finally issued from the deep well of her misery, was a mere whisper:
"Yes, Master Wade. I've been very naughty."
A look of triumph crossed the hateful cousin's face and Thomas laughed out loud. Frederica could see a large protuberance in the front of his trousers and she fixed her eyes upon the carpet, more ashamed than ever.
"Go on then, Wadey! What are you waiting for? Let's see those buttocks heated 'til Miss Slutty Bottom glows in the dark."
"Over my knees."
Horrified, Frederica looked up at the two young men, a strange, confusing mixture of feelings coursing through her veins. On one hand, she loathed them, despised everything they stood for. Why should she submit to such a punishment? On the other hand--there was a curious little pulse beginning to beat like a second heart, deep between her thighs...
"I said--over my knees."
Wade's voice had darkened with the threat of violence and the trembling young woman hurriedly positioned herself facedown across his lap, painfully aware that her cousin had a very solid erection.
"That's better, isn't it? I know you want to be a good girl, Freda. Unfortunately, good girls aren't born but made. They have to have their wicked little bottoms spanked crimson at every available opportunity."
"Get on with it, Wadey! What if one of the servants hears us?"
Thomas was becoming slightly agitated, yet excited, his fingers wandering towards the bulge in his trousers.
Slowly, with obvious relish, the grinning Wade began to slide the palm of his right hand over Frederica's exposed buttocks and she gasped, a crop of goose bumps ruffling the sweet pink flesh.
"Oh!"
"Oh, do you like that, my dear? Well, try THIS!"
Suddenly, the young sadist raised his hand to shoulder height, then, bringing it down with a sharp slap that caused the young woman's cheeks to quiver like a blancmange, he began to administer a stringent spanking.
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