Ruled by the Rod Read online

  RULED BY THE ROD

  by

  SARA RAWLINGS

  Ruled by the Rod first published in 2000 by Chimera Publishing. Published as an eBook in 2012 by Chimera eBooks.

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN 9781907753381

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters and situations depicted in this work are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Sara Rawlings. The right of Sara Rawlings to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  Chapter 1

  A New Beginning

  I remember that Marion felt it should be she that went up to papa after supper.

  'After all,' she said, 'I am the eldest, and responsible for keeping house. It is not as though papa's complaint is of some specific fault, the onus for which we could decide between the three of us, but a declaration that an example should be made to ensure a devout attention to our duties in future.'

  'But Marion,' exclaimed Charlotte; the middle sister at twenty-four, three years younger than Marion and four years older than myself, and very tender towards us both, 'your buttocks were well thrashed only two days past. I dare say you are still sore in your drawers, he beat you so.'

  'Charlotte, I blush to hear you speak thus,' Marion replied. 'In any case, we do not customarily display the results of our corrections, and you would not have been aware of the state of mine, if you had not slipped into my room when my mind was on other things.'

  'That I can well imagine,' Charlotte said, 'since you were lying across your bed with your skirts up, and your drawers down to cool your burning bottom. I only came in because papa had spent so long over you, and Annabel and I were worried for you.'

  'I know, and I am grateful for your concern, and it was a great help that you could staunch the bleeding for me with cold compresses. Papa's rod is sometimes hard to bear.'

  'All the more reason why one of us should go up this evening,' I put in. 'Your bottom is not yet recovered enough to receive it again.'

  'I shall come to no harm,' Marion replied. 'Has not papa assured us many times that providence, which made woman the weaker vessel and prone to give shelter to all manner of evil, also endowed her with the wherewithal to receive correction in full measure without risking injury to health? I will steel myself to do my duty, and attend papa's study at seven, as he requires.'

  She paused momentarily. 'I would make one request of you though, my dear sisters. Perhaps you would be so good as to see that the supper things are properly cleared away, and the house secured for the night. I doubt not that, after my interview with papa, I would prefer to remain in my room, and seek to learn how best to profit from the lesson he will have taught me.'

  After supper, which we took alone, papa preferring to have his brought to him on a tray, where he was preparing his sermon or other uplifting text, Marion kissed us both warmly, then gathered her skirts to ascend the stairs to papa's room, moving a little stiffly, for her bruises still troubled her.

  She was a long while gone.

  We heard just a trace of papa's loud rumble through the heavy oak door. He seemed to have considerable matter to impart. Then there came the faint snick we all dreaded so much. We remained in the kitchen, so did not catch them all, but it seemed a fearful count. Towards the end we heard several sharp cries accompanying the snicks, then Marion screamed, her cry answered by a bark from papa. The rhythm of the correction paused, them resumed. Another few beats and Marion screamed again. Our hearts stood still, our bellies quaked. Marion was very brave, but papa seemed to have penetrated her defences. In the silence that followed we waited to hear her leave the dreadful chamber, but the door stayed shut. After a few minutes we could hear, dimly but distinct through the heavy wood, a regular thump, punctuated by groans from our dear sister. Finally all was quiet.

  Several minutes later we heard the door open and shut, and Marion's footsteps, dislocated as if she was limping or walking with stiff and parted legs, dragged across the landing to her room. We looked at each other but did not voice our unspoken thoughts. She had asked to be allowed to recover herself in private, meditating on her correction, and we would respect her wishes, and turned to clear the room and secure the house for the night, as we had promised her.

  Marion did not, however, keep her room that night. You may imagine our astonishment when, a bare half-hour later, the door opened, and there was Marion, clinging to the frame. She shuffled across to us with an awkward gait, then, instead of joining us at the table, where we sat, dropped to her knees at the end of it, her bowed head on her arms. We jumped up and ran to her side, endeavouring to raise her and set her in a chair, but she resisted.

  'No,' she said, her face lined with pain, 'let me be. Papa beat me most severely, and I cannot manage to sit.'

  We urged her to let us assist her to her bed, but again she refused.

  'Before he beat me, papa lectured me on the shortcomings of the household, and what he deemed should be done for the improvement of our souls, through the mortification of our bodies. He specifically desired me to acquaint you with the gist of his argument, though the details will have to await another occasion as, not only did he spend some time giving me examples of our shortcomings and what means we should adopt to correct them, but he made it quite clear that these were but by way of example, and that he would be expanding and expounding his thesis continuously.'

  My heart sank and my knees trembled at this dire news. Our father had brought us up to fear God, and more particularly, God's surrogate on earth, himself as head of the family. I should perhaps explain at this point that, though we called him papa, and treated him in all respects as if he had indeed been our progenitor, this was by way of a courtesy title, albeit one so engrained in us that we never considered it. He was not in fact a blood relative, being the husband of our late mother's childhood friend, who had accompanied our parents on their ill-fated trip to Paris and perished with them when the packet to Dover foundered in a gale. Her relict took us in, and we were cared for by his austere housekeeper, until Marion had reached an age when she could take over the duty, and relieve our benefactor of the expense. Since our parents' death in my infancy, we had known no other source of knowledge, guidance and discipline. There were not even servants in the vicarage since Marion attained the age of sixteen years and was put in charge of the housekeeping, with Charlotte and myself undertaking more and more domestic duties as we grew older.

  We had of course, daily women from the village to do the rough work in laundry and scullery, and even assist with periodical major cleaning and refurbishment, but we were expressly forbidden to engage in any but the most necessary conversation with these women, who were, in any case, too hard-driven to be communicative, and returned to their homes as soon as their allotted tasks were done. We had, besides, a groom and a gardener, but neither lived in, and both were directly employed by papa, and we scarcely saw or spoke to either.

  Our regime was already one of stern and biblical patriarchy, and, if this was judged too lax and in need of additional discipline, then our failings must be lamentable, and the necessary correction vigorous and searching, and Marion's brief digest of what our stern guardian proposed for us did not fall short, nor did we expect it to, for we knew he would never shrink from his duty to curb the evil which the bible, and the church, teach us is inherent in all women and, especially it seemed, in the women of his household.

  When Marion had explained the impossibility of her sitting at table, Charlotte had run to fetch a cushion from the drawing room, and now she knelt on it as on a hassock, in the attitude of prayer, her elbows on the table but her head lifted so as to address us.

  'It would seem,' she began, 'that our father is conscious of a certain undesirable element within the household, an evil effusion of the feminine. As he has so often taught us, the Holy Book, St Paul, the ancient Fathers of the Church from St. Augustine onward, are all agreed that we women are sinks of iniquity and vessels of unrighteousness. It is not enough that we try not to sin, hopeless though that task may be for our sex, but we must actively mortify our flesh and discipline our minds, so that our feminine emanations do not disturb the meditations and prayers of a man of God, such as he.

  'Naturally, he intends to help us all he can by increasing the frequency and severity of the corporal corrections to which we are subject, in the hope that we might derive some benefit therefrom, as my flogging tonight was intended to demonstrate, but he feels that mere fustigation in itself will not be enough to enable us to drive down those dark forces within us, which are a snare for men, dragging them down into the pit of hell, for which we women are already irredeemably destined.'

  'But what new disciplines must we be subjected to?' I cried. 'We already accept
his every ordinance as befits dutiful daughters, conscious as we are of the obedience we owe our father, and all other members of the superior sex. How may we serve him further?'

  'You are right, dearest Annabel,' my sister replied, 'we do owe him absolute obedience and, I believe, we make what poor effort we can to deliver it. But we are but poor weak women, prone to stray from the strait path of virtue at every turn, and we need to reinforce our resolve by submitting ourselves to a harsh discipline to rein in our naturally wayward ways, and teach us virtue. Papa is drawing up a comprehensive list of the penances and disciplines we must impose on ourselves and, when he graciously presents it to us we will receive it with gratitude, thanking him for his care on our behalf.

  'At this time,' she continued, 'he has only vouchsafed to us his first suggestion for our spiritual health. He requires that we are to give up the sinful luxury of hot water for washing our bodies.'

  'Does he intend that we should go unwashed then?' asked Charlotte, in amazement. 'I fear there would soon be very tangible feminine emanations, especially when our monthlies are on us.'

  Charlotte was always the least proper of us, and Marion corrected her sharply.

  'That smacks of frivolity, Charlotte, if not worse,' she said, 'and makes me even more convinced that father is right, and that we really do have need of a sterner regime than we have enjoyed heretofore. In answer to your question, however, it is his intention that, winter and summer, we should strip and wash under the pump in the stable yard, at first dawn, before the groom arrives to take up his duties, since it would be scandalous for a male to see us in a state of nature.' She sighed. 'Now I am truly tired, and my wounded rear is paining me. I will try and give you a better idea of papa's thinking on our behalf tomorrow but now I would be grateful if you would assist me to my room, for I fear I cannot walk unaided.'

  We helped her to her room, and out of her clothes.

  'Kneel and rest your head on your arms, Marion dear,' I said, and carefully eased down her drawers, over one knee at a time, telling her to stay in that position until I had applied a soothing salve. She was in some doubt, since she felt it might not be showing proper duty to do anything that might mitigate the pain that had been inflicted for her own good, but I persuaded her it was as much to promote healthy healing, so that she could submit to proper correction the sooner, and she seemed satisfied with this.

  With her drawers off, the effect of this whipping could be clearly seen. Her buttocks were a mass of overlapping bruises, some blackened from her fustigation two days since. Others were fresh, the whole extending over the lower half of her hinds, from their fullest part down to the tops of her thighs, and blending into a mass on the underside of the right buttock. There were even angry welts on the tops of her thighs, and I could not avoid speculating whether it had been these unexpected and painful cuts that had driven the screams we had heard. I did not distress my poor sister further by enquiring into the matter at that time.

  Kneeling on the bed as she was, head on her pillow, thrusting her broad but firm buttocks upwards and spreading them so that the dark divide between was opened to the viewer, I could see not only her feminine parts, but also that small wrinkled dimple adjacent. To my surprise, it was no longer small nor dimpled. It was swollen to several times its normal size, protruding distinctly above the surrounding flesh of the secret valley, and looking very red and inflamed. It would seem that it was not only the soreness of her thighs that caused her to walk so awkwardly, as if trying not to let those rear cheeks rub on the angry bud in between. Moreover, this pouting mouth, where her dimple had been, seemed to be slightly agape, and a thin trickle of some sticky substance descended from it onto the inside of one thigh. I did not like to mention this metamorphosis of her erstwhile rose, but let the warm cloth I was using to wash her buttocks slip into the cleft and cleanse her as gently as I could, but not without causing her to wince.

  When we had made her as comfortable as we might, and she would allow, for she still felt it disloyal not to suffer the full consequences of her correction, she kissed us and thanked us for our kindness, but bade us finish up quickly and be sure to call her at first light, so that we could institute the new ablutional routine.

  A raw and chilly dawn found us huddled in our wrappers, padding barefoot into the stable yard. Shivering already, we cast off our slight coverings and looked at each other, not sure of how to proceed. As usual Marion took the lead, as she had done since we were children.

  'Charlotte, you pump vigorously and I will stand under the spout until I am quite washed all over, then Annabel shall pump for you, and I for her.'

  Charlotte, naked, worked the long lever with a will, glad I think to be active in that bitter air, the water gushing from the spout in time with the rise and fall of her arms, and the swaying of her breasts. Marion loosed her long dark hair and stepped under the icy jet, turning and twisting, running her hands over her body, lifting her breasts to the chilly kiss, and parting her legs as she bent, so that the cleansing torrent reached every intimate spot. When she had doused and rubbed every part under the icy waterfall she stepped out, snatching a towel, and called for me to take over the pumping, and for Charlotte to submit herself to the arctic caress.

  I too, was glad to work my shivering body while Charlotte ducked into the spouting water, squealing at the coldness of it on her bare skin, and dancing round like a heathen dervish. But Marion admonished her.

  'Hush, Charlotte,' she exclaimed, 'do not make such a fuss. You are meant to be submitting your sinful body to this stimulating stream, which will help cleanse you of both your corporal foulness and the spiritual filth of sloth, for that is how papa expressed it to me, and you should attempt to endure it with the solemnity the purpose calls for.'

  When Charlotte had completed her excruciating ablutions Marion dropped her towel, and came to take over the work of pumping from me. It could be seen that the cold and the icy water had brought up the marks of her corrections, so that they flamed on her white skin. Charlotte, too, showed some tracks, for she had attended papa's study two days before Marion's previous visit, but I suspected that my own hinds were comparatively lightly marked. Papa did not like us to be without an outward and visible reminder of our imperfection, but I had last bared my buttocks for his disciplinary rod some six days ago, and the tracks were fading, helped by the fact that it had been one of his more lenient nights and I had only received eight strokes, none of which had broken the skin, except one tip which had dug into my right flank, but only in one small spot, lost among the collection of small silver scars from more testing thrashings.

  Gasping and hissing I stepped under the freezing jet, trying to emulate Marion's stoic behaviour, but unable to prevent some shocked cries from escaping. I washed all over, running my hands over my breasts as their nipples hardened in the icy flood, and bending low so that the jet found my rear crack and surged between my thighs, washing that part of a female body that papa, and the churchmen he never wearies of quoting, held to be the most injurious to men.

  Then it was over and we all towelled ourselves vigorously to both dry ourselves and restore some circulation to our frozen limbs. As I did so, I looked up to see papa watching us from an upstairs window. He had said that it would be scandalous for a male to see us at our ablutions, but presumably he was referring to the groom and the gardener. In his case, obviously, it was his duty to check that his instruction to his erring daughters, for their better management and spiritual health, were being properly executed.

  We hurried indoors to dress and open up the house, setting about the usual business of lighting fires and preparing papa's breakfast. The morning passed without incident, but when Charlotte collected papa's luncheon tray she wore a puzzled expression, and bore a large white envelope in her hand.

  'Papa says we must all put on clean drawers, and then go with the groom, in the trap, to the saddler in Sexton Hinds. He will, apparently, know what papa's requirements are from the contents of this envelope.'