Hall of Infamy Read Online Free PDF Page A

buttock gently.
    â€˜Wonderfully firm. You really are quite magnificent, you know.’
    Betsy bit her lip. If you like my arse so much, Master Jamie, she thought suddenly, what do you see in that skinny little bitch Clara? She was surprised at the vehemence of the emotion. Surely she was not feeling jealous? Cross with herself for being foolish, she pushed the thought away.
    â€˜I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to cane you. You can put this away.’
    Betsy took the cane and scurried over to the big cupboard, trying not to let hope into her heart. It stole in all the same.
    â€˜Oh,’ Jamie said as she put the cane in its place, ‘and bring me a two-tailed tawse.’
    â€˜Lower, come on, touch your toes!
    The corset creaked in protest as Betsy tried to comply. If she had been allowed to unhook it altogether, she might have had a chance, but with the stiff whalebone resisting every inch it was quite hopeless. She was red-faced from exertion as much as humiliation now, and the effort was making her pant and her breasts heave. All the time, as she struggled, Master Jamie stood at perfect ease beside her, sipping his brandy, and letting the thick tawse swing languidly from side to side in his right hand.
    â€˜Come on, you can do better. You must!’
    Again, Betsy tried to bend further, fighting against resilient whalebone. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t.’
    â€˜In my school—’ the young man took a final swig and set the glass down on an occasional table ‘—there was a master, Mr Whitstable by name. He always used to tell us that there is no such word as “can’t”.’
    Betsy tried to stifle a little wail as she sensed him move into position at her side, and just a little to the rear.
    â€˜Quite absurd, of course,’ Master Jamie continued conversationally. ‘After all, how could he have said the word himself, if it did not exist?’
    Betsy knew it was coming now, at last. She tensed herself and gripped her own legs as low down as she could manage, which was just above the knees.
    â€˜What he meant, of course…’ Jamie murmured thoughtfully. There was a sickening hiss, followed by a loud retort and white fire shot through Betsy’s upper thighs, making her grunt as she desperately fought the need to cry out in pain. ‘…was not that “can’t” does not exist…’
    There was another hiss. Another even more explosive crack, and a stripe of flesh across the middle of Betsy’s buttocks was on fire. The pain made her gasp for breath and desperately knead the fleshy thighs above her knees.
    â€˜â€¦but that it was forbidden.’
    Betsy let out a long and heartfelt sigh as the blaze of pain started to subside.
    â€˜Now, bend over further, Betsy.’
    She managed to fight the corset enough to let her grab her shins just below her knees.
    â€˜A little better, I suppose,’ Jamie said grudgingly. Betsy gritted her teeth as she sensed him raise the strap once again.
    â€˜Ooh, ooh, aah!’
    â€˜Stop whimpering, you silly girl.’ Jamie’s words were stern but his tone was tolerant, even fond.
    After the belting, he had let her take the corset off and she now wore nothing but her woollen stockings. Betsy lay, sniffling, across her master’s lap, as he sat on the chaise longue and applied cold cream liberally to her throbbing hindquarters.
    She was usually less conscious of her behind than she was of her breasts but, right now, it was the other way round. The tawsing had not been the worst beating she had taken, but Betsy had an especial dislike for the split-tailed belt. It had been a new one, fresh from Mr Kimblewick the saddler in Hatherby. The strap was as thick as a finger, yet the leather was so flexible it felt like a whip. Betsy did not know how many strokes Master Jamie had given her, just that it had been too many. Her young master had taken his time, for time