When The Bell Rings Thrice

Then the bell rang thrice; Hannah was being summoned to the Master's chamber. Apprehensively, she ascended the master staircase, passing imposing portraits of his ancestors, their stares all hard and cold. Gingerly, she knocked at the door.

"Enter," his voice commanded.

The chamber was expansive; immaculate. Velvet drapes hung around a big four poster bed. There were armchairs, an antique chaise longue, a wide black iron grate. Early morning sunlight spread in through a broad bay window.

"I've called you here to punish you," he informed her.

She quivered as his grey eyes regarded her. She was a peculiar-looking creature, he mused; awkward and slightly dumpy, with lank black hair.

"Raise your skirts and bend over the chaise."

She drew a short breath and looked up at him. He was wearing a black tailored jacket. The autumn sun behind him cast a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. He was holding a bamboo cane.

Flushing, she lifted her skirt slightly, then hesitated. Something in his demeanour made her continue. She sensed him move closer as she squatted and bent forward over the chaise. Then she raised her skirts right up, exposing big white knickers.

The cane sliced the air, and she let out a whimper as it struck her. He hit her six times in all, and by the end of it she was sobbing. He bade her rise.

"If you commit any further transgressions, then I will punish you again," he warned.

Two days later she was cleaning the billiards room, when the bell rang thrice again. She went quickly to the Master's chamber and knocked and entered, her heart jumping. The Master was standing with his back to her, surveying his estate through the big bay window.

"You are to be punished again," he informed her without turning.

There were a few moments of silence, during which Hannah noticed that the Lady of the house was also present. She was standing behind one of the red leather chairs, her arms crossed in front of her. She looked pristine; severe.

The Master turned at last: "The head house keeper has reported you for pilfering, so this time the punishment will be severe."

Hannah blushed. She had indeed stolen a sip of whiskey from an unfinished glass after a recent party.

"Lift your skirts and bend over."

She did as the Master instructed, rather less haltingly than before. Her breath quickened as she bent prone and waited. She had come out in goose bumps all over.

"This time take your knickers down."

Now she hesitated, but only for a moment. She slid her white cotton knickers down, and he observed that her backside was still a little raw and pink. In front of her, the Lady had stepped into full view, and Hannah could see that she was holding a horsewhip. The Master crossed in front of Hannah, and the Lady handed him the thin black whip. The Master looked down, and saw that Hannah's brown eyes were wide with apprehension. Then he stepped behind her.

The Lady looked on, rapt, as the Master beat her; a dozen hard strokes. By the time he had finished, the maid's bottom was rosy red and she was sobbing. He bade her leave, and the Master and Lady quickly fell to fucking.

The next day the bell rang thrice again. Hannah's bottom was still smarting. This time it was six strokes of the slipper. She cried out whilst he was hitting her, and left sobbing when it was over.

And so it went. She was punished every day or every other day, sometimes by the Master and the Lady, but more often by the Master alone.

One night in early December, there was an evening reception after the hunt, and the gentlemen had retired to the reading room for brandy and cigars. The room was mahogany-panelled, with several bookcases containing many leather-bound volumes. The air was musky and thick with cigar smoke, and one of the men was telling a lewd joke. They were all laughing as the door opened and Hannah entered, apparently in mistake. A shocked expression crossed her face as she saw them, and she immediately turned to leave.

The Master was quickly up and upon her, gripping her by one wrist. Her eyes became wide with fear.

"You know you are forbidden from entering this room," he hissed.

She tried to pull away, but he held her firm and pressed his cigar into the flesh of her upper arm, making her cry out in pain and shame. The other men continued laughing as he released her, and she fled.

Early one morning in the week before Christmas, Hannah was hanging decorations when the bell rang thrice again. Now her backside began to tingle at the mere sound of that bell, and her movement up the staircase was obedient and swift. But as soon as she entered the chamber, she sensed something had changed.

"This will be your final punishment," the Master informed her. "You have been a poor maid, lazy and dishonest, and I am letting you go."

"Pl-please, no" Hannah uttered. "I have no money, it is cold outside, I have nowhere to go, please-"

The Master raised a finger to his lips, and gestured down to the chaise. She hesitated, and he raised one eyebrow just very slightly, a look which said that he did not want to have to gesture again. Hannah stood looking up at him for just one moment longer, then stooped, lifted her skirts, and dropped her knickers to show him again her derriere. The Lady was watching from behind one of the armchairs. Her face was prim and controlled, but Hannah could see that her eyes were eager. The Master stepped behind Hannah and she waited, trembling. Moments passed, but the blow did not come. A curious feeling came into her then; anticipation, frustration - longing, even. But then she heard a hissing and a clink of iron on iron. She twisted, seeing the Master drawing a white-hot poker from the fire, and terror swept up into her.

"Do not move," he instructed. "This will hurt."

Hannah began shaking and whimpering loudly. She screwed her head round to see the Master approaching with the poker, then ground her face back down into the chaise, sobbing. She began to beg: "No please, please, please. No please, please, please."

The Master took a long look down at her bottom; round, pale and fleshy. Then he pressed the poker into her, holding it horizontally across her. She let out a scream like an animal, the loudest scream the Lady had ever heard. The maid rolled sideways off the chaise onto the floor, gripping at her burned flesh, her screams subsiding into cries and sobs. The Master bade her leave.

As she was scuttling away down the staircase, still in tears, clutching her skirts about her, Hannah passed a girl in a maid's uniform, who was ascending. She was an odd-looking girl, rather gangling, with eyes set slightly too far apart and dirty blond hair scraped back hard against her head.

Later that day, the head butler showed Hannah to the door. Hannah's face was streaked with dried tears, and she was carrying all her possessions in a bag. The butler opened the door. It was snowing outside, and the estate was deep in white. The sun was setting and it was starting to get dark. Hannah bit back a tear and stepped outside.

"Goodbye," the butler said, extending a hand. Hannah reached out to take it, but instead the butler pressed a heavy leather pouch into her palm. Their eyes met and he said: "From the Master."