“Please ma'am, please don't sack me. I'll never do it again, I swear.” He was looking up at her with a pleading expression on his face and Lady Vernon pursed her lips. The boy was a good hard worker but such a lapse had to have consequences. And if he was that keen to keep the job maybe he could be talked into a consequence she could deliver herself. And the thought of that was mightily appealing...
“Well, there just could be another way. When my father was in his prime, dismissal was very much a last resort. Instead there was the ever-present threat of physical discipline to keep youngsters in line.”
“Physical discipline, ma'am?”
“Basically step out of line and you got a good hiding. Just follow me, boy, and I'll show you something.” She led the way across the yard and round the back of the house to a narrow wooden door. Taking the key from a ledge above Lady Vernon unlocked it and ushered him in.
“Now I don't suppose you've seen one of these before?” Centre stage in the whitewashed room was a device around three feet high, consisting of a padded slab supported by four stout legs. Angled out, they were strengthened by cross struts and hung with leather straps. She watched the boy's eyes widen as he took in its purpose.
“Yes, lad, it's a device to assist in the delivery of corporal punishment. Which practice has long since fallen out of favour, I'm afraid. But why don't you try the frame out for size?” When he moved close its top was a touch higher than his waist and he hesitated.
“Hold on, you're going to need this, boy.” Lady Vernon pushed a small low platform into place and watched him stand on it.
“Now, right over, that's the way. You see we can fasten your wrists here at the front. And if you spread your legs we'll get the ankles here at the back.” Kneeling in order to demonstrate she looked up at his figure and took in the denim drawn tight into the cleft between his bottom-cheeks with a prickling of arousal.
“Of course the jeans would have been removed first together with the underpants. So that the instrument could do its work unimpeded.” Crossing to the cupboard she retrieved a yellow jointed rod about three feet long and held it in front of his raised head before swishing it through the air.
“Very whippy, this fellow. Pretty much what would have been used in the day. Can you imagine the bite on a bare bum? Ouch.” Itching to take things further Lady Vernon fluttered the weapon against the boy's seat. Only to lower it, beset by doubts. Could she really ask a modern-day sixteen-year-old to submit to such treatment? Probably not...
“Right, lad. You'd better get off that thing. Sorry, got a bit carried away there. This whole scene belongs in the past.”
Hands on the crossbar he pushed up and turned his head to her. “Lady Vernon, I don't mean to be cheeky, but are you sure about that? I mean if I could keep my job...like instead of getting the sack, I think I'd be prepared for you to...to...” He was struggling and she came to the rescue.
“You're saying you'd take a caning. From me. Strapped to this horse.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Then there's just one more thing. I am not your schoolmistress giving you a firm but measured six of the best on the seat of your trousers. No, boy, your arse will be bared and you'll be getting three times six. For a serious offence. Understood?”
He'd gone pale but was still looking her in the eye. “Yes, Lady Vernon. Understood.”
“Then you had better go and get changed. You won't want that bottom in anything close-fitting when I've finished with it. How about some baggy shorts and a T-shirt, say?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
When he returned Lady Vernon was sitting at a desk in the corner and waved him over. She looked up at his face, tense but determined, and took his hands in hers.
“Courage, lad. Once we start this will all be over in no more than ten minutes tops.” With what she hoped was a reassuring smile she put her hands on his waist. “Now let's have these shorts off, shall we?”
He stood unresisting while she pulled the garment down and over his feet, though he flushed when she ran her eyes over his nakedness. Lady Vernon gave a small chuckle. “You're quite well-endowed, boy, but it's nothing I'm not familiar with. So now, let's get to it.”
She got up and led him to the horse. “As before, but this time it's for real, eh?”
When the last strap had been buckled Lady Vernon stood back to admire the outcome. Fastened at wrists, ankles and thighs, topped off with a broad band cinched tight across the small of the back, the body had been rendered incapable of any movement to evade or even mitigate the pain to come.
She eyed the meaty globes of the arse and between the spread legs the cock that she noted was quite distended. Hmm. That wasn't going to last long, but plainly there was an erotic component to his situation. Maybe this boy was a natural...
“Ready, lad?”
“Ma'am.”
She took the cane, lined it up across the centre of the buttocks and with a thrill of anticipation raised it over her head.
THWUP!
“Uh. Uh!”
THWUP!
“Uuhh!”
THWUP!
“Uh-uuhh!!”
They were more grunts than cries, but his anguish was perceptible. After three more strokes Lady Vernon placed a hand on his back and spoke quietly. “First six, boy. You're doing well.” She feasted her eyes on the pale orbs that were now startlingly striped with purple parallels.
Twelve strokes in and he was vocalising with sharp yelps. There was sweat on his brow and small muscular spasms ran up and down the backs of the thighs. The buttocks were now more raised welt than clear flesh and a solid area of bruise was forming low on the right.
Lady Vernon leaned forward and spoke to the bent head. “Just six to go. And a word of advice, boy. Try not to keep clenching the bum.” She laid her fingers against the base of his cleft. “I know it's tough, but if you can push out from down here, and spread the cheeks a bit it will help, I promise. Now hang in there.”
With that she straightened up and measured the rod against one of the few unmarked spots left on the heavily wealed behind.
When it was all done the stable boy lay moaning quietly while Lady Vernon restored the cane to its drawer. Then she released the belt that pressed his stomach to the padded top and unbuckled the straps that held his thighs.
“You've taken a thrashing, my lad, and I'm proud of you. So after all that pain you you have earned a treat. And a rather special treat, if you're so inclined.” She wiped his face with a damp cloth and tousled his hair, watching the bemused expression grow.