The Dominant Male

engorged nipples. His cock easing out and then ramming home again. The crack of paddle on her par-boiled bottom. Heat, sweat, the lingering smell of cigar mixed with latex, and the radiator gurgling.
    She was going to be in real trouble if she did not get some sleep.

The Pinkery – Arbella Silkstone
    ‘Constance, Honesty, Verity, carry on with the silver. Patience, Docility, Faith and Duty, dusting the yellow drawing room and polishing the furniture. Loyalty, Joy, Felicity…’ Little groups of maids peeled off to attend their designated duties and Mrs Snodgrass had to raise her voice so as to be heard above the click-clacking of steeple heels on flagstones. Comfort listened out intently, increasingly desperate to catch her own name above the clatter, for as the group of uniformed young women grew ever smaller the sense of tension built. The tasks grew more onerous at the end of the list and all the girls knew what came last of all. Few wished it to be their turn for that particular duty.
    ‘Benevolence, and Fidelity, special duties, trot over to the stables and report to Mr Jackson.’ Comfort caught an almost imperceptible gasp from shy Fidelity and there was just the hint of hesitation before the buxom and beautiful Benevolence, and her slender blonde companion, clip-clopped off to meet their fate, both blushing furiously. Comfort wondered, briefly if she would see either again, for maids sent to the stables did not always return. ‘Sincerity and Clarity,’ Mrs Snodgrass continued. ‘Go over to the walled garden. Mr Blenkinsop has produce for you to take over to the house.’
    The two girls clattered off, looking no more enthusiastic than had the girls sent to the stables. It might be a morning hauling apples and pears to the kitchen, but Comfort knew from personal experience that their duties might just as well as be carrying fresh-cut nettles or holly sprays to her Ladyship. Also, the gardeners were a rough lot, well known for playing pranks. Still, there were worse duties.
    ‘Hope and Comfort,’ Mrs Snodgrass paused and eyed the two remaining maids, a hint of malice in her expression.
    Comfort’s palms were perspiring now, and her mouth was dry. There were other things that they might be detailed to do. It was not every day that maids were required to clean and polish in that particular place. Mrs Snodgrass kept the tension building. It was so quiet now that just the three of them remained that Comfort could hear the ticking of the big pendulum clock that regulated all their lives below stairs.
    Mrs Snodgrass smiled a slight smile, fixed the two girls with her gimlet gaze and said simply, ‘rod room.’
    It was a long way to the rod room from the servants’ hall, a rare chance for once for the maids to talk one another.
    ‘Oh,’ said Hope, as the two girls’ heels echoed down the long corridor. ‘Do you think that they will come in today? Do you think that Mr Ellington will come in? He is down from Oxford again, Serenity said. Once he is ordained he is going to take up the living at St Knickerless’s.’ Hope was a pretty girl, quite short with blonde curls and a trim figure that she was foolishly proud of. Her infatuation with Richard Ellington, a young friend of the family, was a source of great amusement to the other maids.
    ‘For Heaven’s sake, Hope. Forget about him. That young man can only bring you trouble. And it is St Nicholas ’s, you nitwit.’
    ‘Oh, is it, really? Anyway, he is so handsome. And so kind…’
    ‘Kind? Your bottom was so striped it looked as if you had sat on Cook’s griddle!’ Comfort could hardly forget as she had had to apply soothing unguent to Hope’s plump and welted bottom. The way that Hope had wriggled and squealed had been memorably distracting.
    ‘Oh, but as he said, discipline is very important. And he comforted me so nicely after.’
    Hope’s eyes had gone a little glazed and Comfort simply shook her head.
    There was no one in the rod room. A relief but no surprise as it was as yet very early. Unlike the adjacent gun room which was a compact and very secure little chamber, the rod room was spacious and well lit. Originally an annex to the orangery which had been built onto the side of the existing house, it had large, south-facing windows that flooded its horrid contents with sunlight. Comfort thought it like a sort of temple, a temple dedicated to the gods of pain. Certainly the maids felt a sense of awe and reverence as they entered.
    There