CASTLE 05
Mr Fred
Bottomley looked at the Girl and his jaw dropped! He had just
returned to the Castle for the weekend. It had been a few weeks since
he had last seen his wife. She had told him she had now a full
complement of servants, having recently employed a maid of all work.
“What are you doing like that, my dear?” he asked the Girl, who had
rounded the corner of the castle walls just as the owner got out of his
car.
“I am the Mistress’s naked Slave, Sir.” replied the Girl. “I have been
sinful and unclean and this is my punishment - to be naked and open to
the gaze and ridicule of all who come to this place. Can I help with
the luggage, Sir. I am stronger than I look and am used to hard work
after a month here!”
Too amazed to say anything, he nodded and the Girl was soon proving the
truth of her boast as she lifted two heavy suitcases as if they weighed
only a few ounces, carrying them into the Castle, across the drawbridge
and into the Great Hall.
“Take them up to the main bedroom, Slave!” ordered Mrs Bottomley as she
came out into the hall.
To her husband she said. “I suppose you need to unpack, my love. Keep
your hands off the Girl. I know all about Men!”
Fed followed the Girl up the stairs to the main bedchamber, which he
shared with his wife whenever he visited the place. He marvelled at the
succulent motion of her sweet young buttocks and the swaying of her
lithe and wiry trunk as she effortlessly sped up the stairs with her
heavy burdens. The golden hair still hung down almost to her
bottom, delicately brushing the small of her back - those adorable
little dimples above the sweetness of her firm and rounded cheeks.
Like the appreciative Fitch a month ago, he felt his hands itch with a
burning desire to caress that swelling loveliness. He followed her into
the bedchamber and watched as she unpacked his things and hung up all
his clothes with a deft expertness that made her seem lovelier to him
than ever.
What did you do before you came to work here, my dear?” he asked.
The Girl blushed deeply and bent her head in shame before the
Mistress’s husband.
“I was a beggar-girl fleeing from bad people who meant me ill. This is
a refuge for me and I willingly accept the loss of my clothes and my
never-ending routine of hard and back breaking work.”
Bottomley blinked at this. This was like no conversation he had ever
had in his life. He had never liked this pile of ancient stones and the
feeling of menace was getting worse, not better.
“What should I call you, my dear?” he asked in a kindly voice, his
hands aching to touch her firm young breasts and equally firm buttocks.
“Oh. I am just ‘Girl’” she answered. “Or else, ‘Slave’. I prefer
‘Girl’, although I have no right to express any preferences. I should
be beaten for that, I suppose. I am beaten most days, you know. I am
very unsatisfactory to the Mistress and the other staff.”
“Well, you aren’t unsatisfactory to me, my dear Girl.” said the
infatuated Fred Bottomley. “I would like to help you. I hate to think
of you being so dominated by my wife. Please let me help you!”
He had just put his hand affectionately on the Girl’s naked shoulder
when his wife’s fury burst upon the pair like a hurricane.
“Take your hand off her this instant, you weakling! And as for you,
Slave - as for you!!”
Dorothy quivered with rage, her mouth dribbled saliva down her chin and
her eyes were hard and cold as ice. As soon as she had recovered, she
spoke to poor Fred, who just did not recognise this fearsome harridan
as his own dear wife.
“She tried to seduce you. She is wicked beyond belief, the ungrateful
slut. Take that belt you see lying on the bed and beat her soundly to
teach her not to repeat her infamy. Go on - beat her and beat her
hard. Don’t stop until I return!”
Mr Bottomley, with the look of an automaton, did as he was
told and raised the belt over the Girl, bringing it down upon her sweet
bottom. As the familiar but hated pain once more invaded her body, she
felt it must be the thousandth time that this horrible object had
tormented her. Dorothy went out of the room without a backward glance
and stood in the corridor for a while, listening to the regular sound
of her obedient husband chastising a poor creature he had only minutes
before offered to help.
Realising that the Girl still had plenty of work to do before the day
was out, and must not have all the strength drained out of her just
yet, Dorothy somewhat reluctantly came back before too many blows had
landed and ordered Fred to stop.
The Girl slunk out of the room and rubbed her bottom trying thereby to
massage some of the soreness out of it. Even after all she had endured,
the continuing shame was getting no easier to bear and she felt the
tears forming once again and running down her poor lovely
face. The door bell rang and she opened the door to see the
grocer’s boy standing there. A whispered conversation took place and
the Girl took the heavy parcel of groceries down to the kitchen, where
the ugly and ill-favoured couple took it from her and set her to work
cleaning up. She worked hard and avoided any more blows that day.
=========================================================================
Fred was relieved when, after a telephone call from his office, he was
obliged to return to London to deal with a sudden crisis. As he turned
around and saw the castle disappear into the distance he felt a surge
of relief. The more he saw of that place, the less he liked it. It
seemed to have some horrible power over those who lived in it. His wife
had always been a tiresome, nagging woman, but the appalling cruelty
she was showing to that sweet young thing was something entirely new.
He should have put his foot down - instead he had meekly obeyed Dorothy
and beaten the Girl himself - hating what he was doing but powerless to
disobey.
He tried to put the incident out of his mind. Soon he would be back in
a world where he himself was in charge, something he never had been
when Dorothy was around! But she had never had this kind of power over
him before - not to the extent of ordering him to hurt an innocent
person.
But was she so innocent? This thought came as a bit of consolation. The
Girl could simply walk out of the Castle any time. She would have a
thousand chances to do so, and yet she chose to stay and accept the
regime that Dorothy was subjecting her to - on her own head be it,
then! She was obviously of age and not a simpleton!
He sank back into the comfortable leather seat. Leather! This word
dragged his mind back to the belt he had applied with such force to the
poor Girl’s behind and his mental discomfort and guilty shame
returned. He rubbed his shoulder, which was still sore from the
unaccustomed exercise. When he finally did reach his office, he was in
an unusually irascible state for one so normally equable.
As he walked from the lift, through light and airy corridors to his
light and airy office, the comparative modernity of his company’s HQ
acted as a gently therapeutic corrective to his depression and
guilt-ridden mental turmoil.
He sat behind his desk and buzzed his Secretary. He was shocked when
instead of the middle-aged and comfortable Miss Prosser, a demure
although slightly over weight young red head slid mellifluously into
the room and smiled radiantly at him. “Sorry, Sir, but Miss Prosser was
taken suddenly ill and I have been hired by Mr Wilkinson to be her
temporary stand-in. I have been working here since Thursday and
think I can cope.”
She handed him the papers relating to the sudden crisis and he waved
her away and started to read them. They were all about the Manager of a
Store in Manchester who had been dipping his hand pretty liberally in
the till for some time now. How such a thing could have been allowed to
go on for so long was a bit of a mystery. Obviously people were getting
slack. Heads would have to roll! The rest of his day was spent
blowing several senior figures out of the water. He might be a
spineless husband, but he was a ruthless businessman, and in a
couple of days he was satisfied that nothing like this would happen
again.
Through all this, Miss Protheroe, the new secretary was a veritable
tower of strength. She was at his side during the entire crisis -
literally so. Fred became accustomed to her firm young breast
occasionally brushing against his arm as she leant over his shoulder to
go through his correspondence with him. He became very impressed with
both her physical charms and her shrewdness and quick witted
intelligence.
After a week, when the crisis was past, he asked her to accompany him
to lunch. Amy Protheroe was delighted to accept his offer and
they found themselves in the Savoy Grill seated at the same table that
he had shared with Mr Hanspacker all those long weeks ago when the
fateful purchase of the Castle had been discussed.
He told her all about the grim pile that his wife had caused him to buy
for her enjoyment. Amy’s eyes grew wide with wonder.
“Golly, Sir! It sounds a creepy sort of place. I wonder if there
is a castle ghost haunting it?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts.” replied Fred. “But if there were such
beings, that Castle would be one of the first places you would go to in
order to find them! I shan‘t be going down there again for a few
weeks. I can‘t really explain, but there are things going on there that
I don‘t like.”
Amy smiled inwardly . “Well, if you don’t like the place, don’t go
there again. Your wife can come up here to see you if she likes. After
all, there is that lovely house in Bishop’s Avenue. She might like to
spend a little time there for a change and catch up on her London life
once in a while.”
“In time, Amy. No doubt the novelty of living in a castle will wear off
a bit one day.”
Amy smiled reassuringly and leant over the table towards him. He had a
deliciously tantalising glimpse of her succulent breasts as they
strained to escape from the fragile and diaphanous restraint which she
used for a bra. How unlike his own dear Dorothy’s sensible underwear!
“I think you need a bit of light relief after all you’ve been through!
Know what I mean, Sir?” She winked at him and grinned. Her fresh and
minty breath wafted over the table towards him. What a change from his
chronically halitotic wife!
Fred felt his heart beating so fast and hard he wondered if his last
hour had come. He gasped and mumbled something about having to get back
to work.
As the pair emerged into the Strand, she slipped her arm through his
and drew him to her. “I know a lovely family hotel near Victoria, Sir.
Very discreet and anonymity guaranteed! Don’t tell me I’m not a lot
more desirable than Mrs B!”
He looked down at her and was unable to disagree. She hailed the taxi
and gave directions to the driver. Within minutes they were in a
pleasantly appointed room standing next to a luxurious double bed and
Amy was slipping out of her clothes with breathtaking speed and
efficiency.
As the naked Amy put her arms around his neck and drew him gently
towards her, he recollected the words of an old friend many years ago.
“Redheads smell a bit, you know, Fred. But you don’t really mind at the
time!”
“Come on, Sir! Slip out of those clothes. I can see you keep pretty
fit! I’m sure there’s nothing there to be ashamed of! Let me help
you, darling!”
Fred did as he was bid and the pair stood regarding each other’s
nakedness for the first of what were to be very many times in the
coming weeks and months. He compared her to the Girl - the last
naked woman he had seen - and sighed to himself. It was as if Amy could
read his mind!
“I know, Freddy old bean! I don’t have quite such a firm figure as
some. The Girl at the Castle, for instance. But I bet my bum and tits
are a sight more fresh and juicy than poor old Dorothy’s!”
“Every about you is fresh and juicy!” gasped Fred weakly.” But how do
you know about the Girl?”
Amy reddened slightly.
“Oh, it isn’t easy to keep secrets in a small town, Sir! A friend
of mine was visiting relatives near there lately. The Girl is pretty
well known in those parts - as is the way your wife treats her. Don‘t
worry! Everyone agrees the wicked, dirty, lazy Girl deserves it, at
least the people who count locally - your wife is very popular,
Sir!”