Benson, the butler of the Thornton household, climbed the staircase of the family mansion situated in Hampstead, London. He made his way along the first floor landing and knocked on the door of one of the bedrooms.
'Who is it?' called out the young female occupant.
'Benson, ma'am, I have a message for you.'
'Come!' she instructed, sharply.
The older man opened the door and stepped into the room. Ageing though he was, the sight before him still made the veins of his penis fill with blood. Wearing a chemise, over which was a tight corset that came up to her breasts, lifting them and pushing them together, was the 19yr old daughter of his mistress and employer, Lady Amelia Thornton. Her lower half was clothed in thick stockings held up by garters while her upper thighs and private parts were covered by now unfashionable knee length knickers or pantaloons, commonly known as bloomers.
To Benson, a man who grew up when Victoria was England's Queen, the sight of a woman without her heavy over clothes was more than thrilling. It would have been unheard of in his younger days for an upper class female to allow the butler into her boudoir, even if she was fully dressed.
'The message is from your mother, ma'am. She's instructed me to inform you that 'it's time to get ready' - she says you'll understand what it is you have to get ready for.'
Clara had resigned herself to the fact she had no choice but to obey her mother's orders or she'd lose her allowance. There was a price to pay for being a strong activist with the rebellious Suffragette Movement, fighting for women's right to vote. To Lady A, Clara was bringing shame to the family.
Defiantly, Clara pointed at her own body.
'You can tell my mother that you have personally witnessed that I'm in the act of getting ready!
Benson looked where indicated, salivating at the sight of her deep cleavage and the lily white skin of her ample bosoms. Clara saw his reaction and knew he'd probably masturbate later in his room on the top floor.
'Perhaps you'd better not mention to my mother that you've been in my room and seen me in my underwear.'
She swayed from side to side intentionally getting the old man hot under the collar.
'Had you come here any other night, Benson - and seen me dressed in my normal undergarments - that are much more revealing - you'd have something much more exciting to think about when you amuse yourself before sleep. More bare flesh on show to titillate and excite you.
'You know Benson, you might not believe this but my dear mother is forcing me to submit to an act that men pay Ladies of the Night a lot of money to perform. Can you believe that Benson? If, during the course of the act, the folds in this garment separate then my entire private parts will be exposed. But my hypocritical mother doesn't seem to care about that!'
'It wouldn't be my place to comment ma'am.'
'But I'd wager you'd love to watch, Benson! Perhaps you dare to sneak down the corridor and listen outside the door, or peep through the keyhole; be careful not to moan to loudly with delight and betray your presence!'
Benson excused himself and hobbled out due to his erect penis pressing against his trousers. He wasn't quite sure what Clara was talking about but clearly something strange was going on.
When the clock struck nine Clara went downstairs and entered the parlour where her mother was conversing with Sir Peter.
'Ah, you've seen sense!' Lady A, gloated. 'You have resigned yourself to the situation. Very sensible indeed.'
'I'm only going along with this to prove you can't break me!'
'Oh dear, still the arrogant rebel!' Lady A said. 'Take her upstairs Peter - do what you have to do.'
Peter rose from his seat after emptying his glass of brandy and picked up a large leather bag. Clara, trying her best to put on a carefree persona, held her head in the air and walked ahead, not showing how curious she was about what the bag contained.
'We'll use your room,' Peter told her.
Benson, watched the couple climb the stairs, then turned to enter the parlour; he swore he noticed Lady A quickly pull her arm from underneath her gown.
'Does madam require me to stay on hand until Sir Peter leaves?'
'I'm not even sure that Sir Peter will be leaving, Benson. The rest of the evening is yours - come down later to turn out the lights and lock the doors. You're dismissed for now.'
The butler thanked his employer and quickly but quietly made haste up the staircase to find out where the couple had gone. He was very shocked to hear muffled voices coming from Clara's room; what business would Sir Peter have in the girl's bedroom? Clearly her mother was fully aware and had sanctioned it.
In the room Clara stood quite still with no intention of showing any co-operation. Peter put down his bag, opened it, took out a thin cane, swished it in the air then placed it on the dresser in sight of the girl. Next came a paddle then a leather strap, that Peter told her was a tawse; he flicked it through the air showing the girl that a good half was split into thin strips. Sir Peter delighted in seeing the anguish on her face.
'The force used depends on the level of obedience you demonstrate.'
Lastly, out of the bag came manacles, handcuffs and lengths of rope whose use hardly needed explaining.
'Of course, I won't be using all of these tonight; but they will be on hand. Your mother has given me permission to keep them here in a locked cupboard - I may add other items to the collection as the weeks go on!'
Clara gave him a look that could kill.
'Weeks? Never? I'm prepared to submit to this disgraceful and perverted treatment once or twice - if only to show your attempts to break me will be futile. You are deluded sir, if you think you'll still be performing this outrageous debacle weeks from now!'
Sir Peter smiled calmly before he grabbed her and flung her on the bed with such force that the mattress bounced like a trampoline. Before she could protest he was sat on top of her, his weight preventing her from drawing enough breathe to speak. Weakened, she could do nothing when he took each wrist and bound her to the bed posts.
Moving off her, she cried out, blaspheming and threatening to see the man imprisoned. As she flung her legs around in a vain hope she might escape she turned her head when Peter moved to her side, took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then in his hand was the cane.
Still protesting noisily Clare shouted of the butler demanding he call her mother. It was then that she felt the first whack of the thin stick on her rump. Thankful that she was wearing her thickest items of underwear, nevertheless, she flinched when the cane began to occasionally miss her buttocks and strike the tops of her thighs.
'Remember what I said, Clara, the more obedience and submissiveness you show me, the less pain you will suffer.'
