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stalwart and imminently serviceable. Therese took the scarlet tip of his cock into her even redder mouth and began fervently licking and sucking it. A low groan passed through the male section of the crowd as they imagined how her agile tongue would feel when applied to their own genitalia, while Hetty merely felt embarrassed. It was a long time since she had been forced to witness such a lewd scene as this, and it reminded her of the debauched parties at Longton Hall where her depraved father-in-law sated his lust on any available female in as many ways as his fertile imagination could devise.
    The partygoers cheered as the lucky recipient of Therese’s attentions groaned his ultimate fulfilment, and breathily proclaimed himself well satisfied with his new slave. He sheathed his manhood back in his trousers, stood up, and handed over a small purse to Milord, who ceremoniously passed it on to Therese. She slipped the purse into her cleavage, and then the pair stepped off the platform and disappeared through a door, doubtless to further their mutual acquaintance in private.
    Hetty watched in trepidation as their host’s dark eyes scanned the room looking for his next victim. Although she tried to shrink into the crowd, she felt all too conspicuous in her black and pink creation, and the high heels also made her stand out quite literally. Inexorably, Milord’s gaze fell upon her and this time did not move on.
    ‘Mademoiselle!’ he called peremptorily. ‘Step up on the podium, s’il vous plaît .’
    Hetty’s legs threatened to dissolve beneath her. She tottered towards him on her precarious heels and nearly twisted her ankle, but there was no lack of willing male hands to prevent her from falling and help her on her way. Slowly she ascended the three steps until she stood beside the master of ceremonies feeling very shy and awkward. Therese, obviously accustomed to such lewd displays, had conducted herself with a certain sensual bravado, and Hetty tried to emulate her now by holding her head high, but she failed miserably; one whistle from the crowd and she was blushing and hanging her head in shame. Her bashful attitude only seemed to encourage the bidders, however, and she was astonished to find her price going up by leaps and bounds. When it reached one hundred and fifty francs, Milord looked quite pleased, and she guessed he had taken a gamble by inviting a naïve young woman to this sophisticated gathering, a gamble that was now paying off handsomely.
    The man who finally claimed her made her heart sink, for he was by no means young and handsome, as Therese’s master had been. In fact, he reminded her a little of Sir Victor, her former tormentor, with his complexion ruined by port wine and pox, his fat paunch and his leering expression.
    As before, Milord selected an instrument from the sinister pink cushion. This time he decided upon an innocuous looking slipper, perhaps to spare the ingénue undue pain. Little did he know what her poor long suffering posterior had endured in the past at Longton.
    The room fell silent as she was obliged to bend over the stool and raise her skirt and petticoat. Milord then pulled down her cotton drawers to reveal her bare bottom, and Hetty braced herself for the inevitable. The old gaffer who had bought her huffed and puffed his way up the steps onto the platform, and she doubted he would have the strength to put much effort into her correction, which was a blessing. Yet when the first of her three allotted blows fell, she realised at once the old man’s lust for administering discipline was lending an unnatural burst of energy to his aged arm. The slipper made such a thwack as it landed against her defenceless cheeks all the air was knocked out of her lungs as she gasped in shock. Then a further moan of agony escaped her lips as the painful consequences – once referred to ironically by Sir Victor and his cronies as the ‘afterglow’ – set her lower regions aflame. The next