Fantasy Holiday

by

Rob Willson

 

Part 11

 

When they visited Fantasy Holidays for the second time, this time as Favoured Guests, they were given a contact, Carol, to be their liaison with the Management. She visited them on their second evening to ask Helen if she could help them out. A young lady visitor seemed to be very undecided, even under hypnosis, of what she wanted to do and Carol thought a chat with Helen might sort things out a bit for her.

"A visit from her would fit in very well with your first fantasy."

Carol then explained some of the background and hints that they had gained.

The visitor, a single lady called Joan Cantry, a few years younger than Helen, was therefore asked around for morning tea the next day.

The maid, Rita, showed her in and Helen told her she would ring for coffee for two in about ten minutes.

Joan was very diffident to begin with about her problem. Helen explained that the Management had asked her to help Joan get her ideas sorted out and that, if they thought Helen could help, then she probably could do so from her previous experience there. She supposed some of the fantasies she had played out herself might have some relevance to those Joan was considering, perhaps in her subconscious mind.

Joan then explained that she had had a strong urge to book this holiday, without being exactly sure what she had in mind for herself. Helen explained in turn how the management examined holiday-makers under drugs and hypnosis and they must have an inkling of what she wanted, even if she didn’t yet know herself, so, perhaps, they should just talk about the various options available, although they were almost endless.

Helen told her that they had previously had six weeks holiday in this sphere, so that she had a lot of personal experience to call on. She then rang the small hand bell on the table and, a few moments later, Peter came into the room carrying a tray with the tea things on it.

Joan had obviously been expecting Rita to answer the summons and a man was obviously the last thing Joan had expected to see, but she hooted with laughter when she saw how Peter was dressed. He was dressed in normal men’s indoor clothes, but it was the gaudy flowered apron covered by mid-calf clear plastic apron, which caused her laughter.

"This is my husband Peter, who will serve us our coffee. Peter, meet Miss Joan Cantry".

"How do you do Miss Cantry?" he said politely.

She looked at Helen in surprise. "Is he really your husband?"

"Of course. Meet Peter, the henpecked husband." This caused Peter to blush to his roots.

"You must forgive me," Joan said hurriedly. I expected a maid to answer the bell."

"Oh don’t worry about that" Helen said, "Peter makes a very good maid."

Joan looked him up and down as he stood there subserviently with his hands clasped in front of him, just like a maid would do, and said, "Excuse me, Helen, but do you mind if I ask a question?"

"Of course not, Joan, that is why you’re here, remember?"

"Oh yes, but I didn’t expect anything quite like this."

"That is the whole point of this place. It is a Fantasy Holiday, so ask away."

"Well, why is he wearing two aprons? I suppose the plastic one is to keep the floral one clean?"

"Why are you wearing two aprons, Peter?" Helen asked him.

"Because you ordered me to, Ma’am".

"You see, there are two answers to the first of your questions and the short answer is the one he has already given you," added Helen.

Joan blinked at this, but before she could speak again, Helen went on, "But you are quite wrong with your second one. Peter," she commanded, "Go and stand in front of Miss Cantry and lift your top apron so she can see underneath."

Peter obeyed.

Joan then looked questioningly at Helen, who then said "Feel the material of both aprons".

Joan did so and exclaimed in surprise, "Why, they are both made of plastic!"

"That’s right", Helen agreed "So what?"

At this point, Peter dropped his apron and Helen immediately snapped at him, "Did I give you leave to drop your apron?" Peter hastily snatched it up again.

"Well," Joan continued, "that is both ridiculous and pointless."

"Ridiculous yes, but by no means pointless."

"I don’t understand. Please explain."

"Peter," Helen snapped, "Do you feel ridiculous wearing two plastic aprons?

"Yes Ma’am", he replied meekly.

"There you are then," said Helen, as if it were now obvious.

"I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I still don’t understand", Joan said.

"Well, put it this way. You think it is ridiculous to wear two plastic aprons and so do I and that is the point. Peter also feels ridiculous at having to dress like that and anything we make henpecked husbands wear or do that is ridiculous, humiliates or embarrasses them is far from pointless. Don’t you see now?

"Why do we always dress henpecked husbands in frilly feminine pinafores? If it were only to put them into an apron, we could choose a butcher’s apron, or a plain one, but that would not humiliate them. It is the fancy frilly sort, or being made of plastic or rubber, that makes all the difference."

"Oh yes, I am beginning to understand now," said Joan.

"Now Peter, you may lower your apron and fetch me the strap."

Peter obeyed meekly and returned holding a medium two-tailed tawse.

"Three handers for dropping your apron without permission".

He obediently held out his right hand on top of his left. Joan winced as the thick strap cracked down three times and she was then surprised when Peter changed hands and another three strokes swished down.

Helen seemed to use quite a bit of her strength behind each stroke, but Peter merely gasped and politely said "Thank you Ma’am" when she had finished.

"I thought you said only ‘three’ and, anyway, isn’t that all a bit excessive for simply dropping his apron?"

"Not at all. You can’t let husbands take an inch or you are lost. Also three handers means three on each hand as you have seen, but we have not finished yet."

She turned back to Peter, "What else did you do wrong?"

"I’m sorry Ma’am, I don’t know."

"I don’t know," she mimicked. "Well, I’ll tell you. Before you lifted your apron and when you were given permission to drop it, you forgot both times to curtsey to my guest. Now undo your belt, drop your trousers and hold your ankles."

Once again he obeyed without demur and, when he was ready, Helen pulled down is underpants and said to Joan, "It was you he insulted, so you can punish him if you like. Six good hard whacks on his bum. It is such a tempting target, isn’t it?"

"Do you really mean it?" said a very confused but obviously tempted Joan.

"Of course I mean it. Be my guest, which, of course, you are. You have got to start sometime. This is what you came on holiday for, so take the opportunity. But good hard ones you understand. His arse is not made of fine bone china so you can’t damage it."

Joan took the tawse and made her first attempt.

"No," said Helen. "Stand a bit further away and more round to the side this way. That’s better. Now try again."

Joan tried again and it was a better stroke but was still landing too much in the middle of the strap.

"No, a bit further back still, so the end of the strap catches the far buttock."

The third one was a good stroke, which made Peter jerk a little.

"That’s the idea. Now carry on like that."

"That’s another three, isn’t it?" queried Joan.

"Oh no. They were just sighting shots. Now give him six really good ones. I’ll tell you now that if you were Rita walloping him at my instruction and any stroke was not a good one, I would give you two in place of it, quite apart from giving him a proper one myself."

Joan, beginning to enjoy herself, was now set to give him a good six-stroke thrashing. By the end of the punishment, Peter was grunting as each stroke landed and seemed close to tears when she finished.

He was given permission to stand and pull his trousers up. He then turned to Joan and said with a servant’s small curtsey, "Thank you very much for punishing my fault, Miss Cantry".

By now, Joan was breathing rather heavily and had a sparkle in her eye that had not been there earlier.

"OK Peter, now you can pour us another cup of coffee and then go about your duties until I call you," said Helen.

They talked a bit more and then Helen said, "Peter and I are going to visit the stables soon to plan a future fantasy. Why don’t you come along and then come for dinner tonight? I am having several other ladies over to see Peter in his aprons so please join us. Then, tomorrow, come for morning coffee again as I think I know of something else that might interest you and, by then, you may have some idea of what you want to do."

"I accept the two invitations to visit, but I am not sure about coming to the stables with you. I am not at all interested in horses."

Helen burst out laughing. "These are not horses my dear, but human ponies. You might like to try out driving a pony, or even get the feeling that you might like to be trained as one."

Joan agreed and Peter was told to replace his plastic aprons with floral cotton one and accompany them. There, they all made mental notes for the future, whilst at the pony stables.

Joan arrived for dinner that evening and the door was opened by Rita again. She was dressed in a shiny black waspie corset, which left her breasts bare, and a very short black satin skirt. She had on the expected black fishnet stockings, with the suspenders showing well under the skirt, and high heels. There was a small symbolic lacy waist apron with a matching cap.

In fact, a typical French Maid’s uniform, but then came the differences. From each nipple hung a little silver coloured bell. They tinkled every time she moved her breasts.

There were four other ladies talking to Helen and a table was set for six places, so Joan assumed that Peter would not be eating with them. She was introduced to the other ladies and she looked around for Peter.

He was not in sight, but there were another four maids dressed identically to Rita standing against the wall with their hands clasped in their aproned laps.

Rita came by with a tray holding small bells. Each lady guest took the one with her name attached to it.

Helen explained that each of them would have a personal maid that evening to serve them.

"Now, so that each maid knows her mistress for the evening, we have to allocate them. Please ring your bell, Joan."

Joan did so.

Rita immediately jumped in the air so that her tit bells also chimed and showed they matched the tone of Joan’s bell.

"That settles Joan, now the rest of you in turn."

They did so, with each maid taking it in turn to make her tit bells ring.

They then sat down at table and Joan asked, "but what about your server, Helen?"

Helen had two bells in front of her and rang the first.

Peter came through the door and curtsied and then jumped in the air to make his bells ring. There was a concerted howl of laughter as the women saw him for the first time. He was dressed just like the other maids, with two exceptions.

His corset and skirt were bright scarlet and he had three bells. The obvious matching tit bells and a third dangling from a cord from beneath his skirt. It was obviously hanging from his penis.

"Come over here and ring your dainty little bells for my guests, Peter."

Blushing a bright scarlet, to match his cheeks, he held up his hands like a dog begging and then hopped, like a kangaroo, over to where Helen sat.

She reached for the cord and jerked it, making the bell ring again and bringing a squeal from him as she pulled on his cock. It was obviously a tight ring attachment.

There was another howl of laughter as he blushed furiously.

Helen rang the other general bell as a signal for the first course to be served

The dinner went ahead with Peter acting as wine waitress, as well as Helen’s personal servant and the ladies took plenty of opportunity to tease him about his dress, his duties, and his pretty little curtsies.

Most of the maids were able to move about fairly silently, as long as thy did not jiggle their breasts, but Peter could not help ringing his bell, as every time he walked, his knees knocked against the one hanging from his penis.

When they had finished eating, they moved to the lounge for coffee and liqueurs.

Helen then said, "I think we should have some old-fashioned entertainment like people used to have before television."

"What do you have in mind? Asked Joan.

"Well, people used to entertain by singing, so I thought of having a series of duets."

"Oh no!" said several of the ladies simultaneously.

"You haven’t heard my proposal yet", said Helen.

"You all know the sound a cane makes when it swishes through the air, well that is called ‘The Song of the Cane’. You also know the sound it produces from a well-caned servant girl, so the two together makes a duet, doesn’t it?"

"Oh yes", they all chorused as they finally understood.

A whipping block was brought into the middle of the room and then Rita brought in a selection of canes, whips, straps, and crops.

"Make your choice ladies".

When they were all ready, with one guest waiting for a cane to be used and returned for her use, they drew lots and each in turn gave their maid twelve hard cuts across their naked buttocks.

Their screams of pain mingled with the sound of the swish.

This left Peter until last.

"Go and fetch your favourite instrument of punishment, Peter", ordered Helen.

He curtsied, went out and returned with the black whalebone crop.

"What is that? Can we have a closer look at it please?"

"Sorry", said Helen, "Only two people are allowed to touch that. I can hold it anyway I like, but Peter is only allowed to touch the end. You may have noticed that he was carrying it by the tip. This is because it is the only bit that touches him; usually on his bum at high speed as I will demonstrate in a moment."

"Right over you go", she ordered him. "As the maid-in-charge, you will get fifteen strokes for the poor service, against your assistants’ twelve."

In spite of all his effort to avoid contributing to the entertainment, he eventually was squealing with the best of them.

By the time it was over, the anecdotes told had given Joan plenty to think about for the rest of her holiday.

The other ladies and maids had left, but Joan was still talking to Helen, with Peter in the background as Rita came in from the kitchen to see if anything else was wanted.

Helen said to her, "You look tired. You have had a long hard day, haven’t you Rita, so you can go to bed and rest now."

"Thank you Ma’am", replied Rita gratefully.

The Helen added, "Just as soon as you have scrubbed the kitchen spotlessly clean."

"Yes, Madam", said Rita in a tired resigned voice, curtsied and started to go out of the room.

"Come and fetch me when you have finished it so that I can inspect your work before dismissing you for the night."

Rita curtsied her acknowledgement again.

"You were a bit hard on her there, weren’t you Helen? She does look very tired and I did lay into her rather hard to get her squealing.

"As I have explained before to you Joan, you have to be hard on servants, whether they be maids or husbands, or else they will soon take advantage of your good nature."

Some time later, Rita came back looking more tired than ever and Helen went out to check on her efforts. Announced herself satisfied and dismissed Rita.

"There you are", she said. "She’s made a good job of it and it won’t be waiting for her in the morning."

"But what was that she was wearing?", asked Joan.

"That was what is known as a scrubbing apron. Something I have no doubt you will be more familiar with before you finish your holiday here. While we are at it, I had better tell you about the spanking aprons you will also encounter."

The next morning, Joan arrived for coffee again. This time she expected Rita to answer her bell, but it was Peter, who greeted her, again with a polite curtsey. Joan had expected him to be dressed as he had been on the previous morning and she was partly right. He was wearing the double plastic aprons again, but nothing else, except for a tight penis ring – and the cock bell from the previous evening.

"I hear you are still ‘belled’, Peter"

"Yes Miss!"

Of course, she didn’t see them at first, but after serving the coffee, he remained standing against the wall with his hands demurely in his lap and Helen made him lift his aprons to show them to Joan. Another deep blush.

"So," said Joan, "this henpecked husband fantasy is obviously one of your favourites Helen, but tell me about the others."

At this, both Helen and Peter roared with laughter.

"You have got it all wrong. This is not MY fantasy but Peter’s, although I obviously enjoy my part in it too. You see Peter really is my husband and we often play this at home, but there he doesn’t have an audience like he does here and that extra humiliation is what really ‘makes’ the fantasy. It’s the cherry on the cake, so to speak.

"As we have said, when we are at home, I can’t very well send him down the shops in a frilly apron, as I would like to, but I can here and he hates it; and loves it at the same time!

"You could have fooled me. Well, in fact, you did fool me."

"By the way, if you want to try out a henpecked husband for yourself, the Management will supply a suitable male slave and later on, if they think you can handle it, they might even offer you a male guest to act as your husband."

"What I wonder now is what kind of humiliation women can have, which is similar to making a man parade round in feminine aprons, or a maid’s uniform?"

"Well, first of all, there is the obvious one of becoming a maid yourself and being treated like one, or a little schoolgirl. However, I thought you might be thinking on those lines, so there is something we want to show you – in fact, we will dress up and become bit players in someone else’s fantasy if you like to?"

"Sounds interesting. What is it?"

"It is a fantasy set in the Deep South in ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ times. In this instance, two young female guests have been hypnotised into having that old attitude towards ‘niggers’. They have now been declared as having a trace of black blood in them, even though they are natural blondes, and are going to be stripped and sold at a public auction as niggers themselves. Do you think they will feel as humiliated as Peter does in his fancy pinnies?"

"Yes you’ve answered my question, but isn’t all this talk about ‘niggers’ illegal, or at least discouraged, these days?"

"Not on this Island dear, because it is self-governing. If you believe in political correctness, you simply don’t come here on holiday. Also, some modern black people like to come here to experience what their ancestors possibly went through, believe it or not. Masochism takes all forms and affects all races you know."

Now, do you want to attend the auction as a spectator, or not?"

"Wow. Just take me to it!"

First of all, Helen had to take her to the costume department. There she and Joan were transformed into Southern Belles and Peter now wore the uniform of their maid (as a make-believe octoroon male maid).

As they mingled with the crowd, they could see the two blond white girls standing on a stage amongst the chained Negro men and women. They were trying to cringe out of sight and were pleading with the officials, who, in turn, were enjoying the situation.

The auctioneer finally ordered his men to "put them out in the front and string them up by their hands so that every bidder can get a good look".

They were still in their ‘white’ clothes and the rowdier men in the crowd started to shout, "Get those nigger wenches out of those white folks’ clothes and let us see what we are going to bid for".

Another drunken voice added, "Yes let’s see their titties properly if you want to get a good price".

"You just want a free look at something you can’t afford, after spending all your money on whisky, Jed", was the riposte to that comment.

Anyway, the auctioneer gave instructions and his men carefully stripped the two girls down to their pantaloons, so that their dresses retained some value. The two girls were very distressed by this and by being unable to cover their breasts, which were then the object of many lewd remarks from the drunks.

When the girls had been sold, after much enthusiastic bidding, and dragged off sobbing their hearts out, Helen and Joan strolled home (back to the wardrobe department!). Peter, following on dutifully behind, found himself enduring amused looks and humiliating remarks from people, both in costume and out of it.

"Well, Joan, does that answer your question fully about women’s equivalent humiliation of men in frilly aprons?"

"Yes, completely I should think."

That evening, Joan arrived to find that Rita, dressed this time in a conventional parlourmaid’s uniform, was serving alone and that Miss Carol was another guest and, also that a place was set for Peter this time. He was dressed in normal men’s clothes for once, but was still aproned; this time with a bright shiny pink, plastic pinafore.

The four sat down, but before they were served, Helen said to Rita, "Please fetch the master’s little bibby."

Peter had to sit there with further embarrassment as Rita tied a blue plastic baby’s bib round his neck.

"But why does he need that when he is already wearing a waterproof plastic pinafore?" asked Joan.

Helen smiled at her, "Again just because I say so and also because him spilling food down his apron, whatever the material, is a caning offence."

They all then began to discuss what future fantasies were to be arranged. Helen explained to Joan about the reverse variation of the Deep South scenario, where the blacks were the masters and the whites the slaves.

"I have already had one dose of this, but, this time, Peter and I are going to spend two days together as fellow slaves in the same house under a very strict mistress. Him again as a male maid".

Joan looked at Carol, took a deep breath, and asked, "Can I do that one too?"

"Of course, you have only to ask. It is your holiday after all."

Helen said, "There is another fantasy you might be interested in. We," nodding at Peter, "did one last time where we were two Edwardian children at school, where Peter played a girl and another boy in the class was made to wear a girl’s pinafore against his will. This time, we are doing something a little bit different, which will allow him to get his own back for the last few days of being henpecked.

"He is going to be a rich modern man who causes young women to be abducted and then put into schoolgirl uniforms and made to attend class with him as the teacher and with plenty of corporal punishment involved. There will be a mixture of slave girls and guests involved as pupils with us.

"This, by the way, is my fantasy, as well as his. Does that idea interest you?"

"Oh, yes please," said Joan eagerly.

"I thought it might," said Helen and Carol grinned in the background at Helen in appreciation of the good job she had done on Joan.

Joan then spoke directly to Carol. "When we have done those, I think I would like to be a maid in a house like Rita is, or perhaps as a Victorian maid instead, or as well. I think I would also enjoy trying out one of those stiff corsets"

Peter grinned and said "You might feel a bit differently about that, once you have spent two hours scrubbing a floor in one."

"Well, I won’t know until I’ve tried it will I?"

The other three smiled at her new-found enthusiasm. She was obviously going to enjoy the rest of her holiday.

The next day, they played three white people who had travelled down from the North and who had ignored all the advice to stay away. They had been immediately arrested and enslaved and their identity papers burnt in front of their eyes.

Now they were on their way to the Deep South auction site they had visited as spectators so recently. This time, the girls were dressed in simple grey cotton shifts and Peter in cotton pants. They were also bare foot and had their wrists chained together.

They were put on the stage with other white slaves and this time the audience were all well-dressed black people. They were then stripped and handled by prospective buyers. The girls mainly by men and Peter by women. Eventually, all three were bought by a haughty lady, who had them dressed again and tethered behind her carriage, which was drawn by four matched male slaves.

She cracked her long carriage whip on their well-marked buttocks and they set off with the new slaves running breathlessly behind.

On their arrival, a white housekeeper came out to greet her mistress with a deep curtsey.

"Get these animals cleaned thoroughly inside and out", was the order.

They were taken to a yard behind the house and stripped again. Their hands were strapped together behind them and they were made to kneel in front of a cement trough, which had a sinkhole at the end.

They were then blindfolded and their heads forced back. Their noses were pinched and a pint of heavily salted water poured down their throats. They were bent forward as they vomited up the contents of their stomachs. This was repeated until no more vomit came up with the water.

The trough was then hosed clean.

Next a small wedge was put between their side teeth to keep their mouths slightly open and a rubber gag covered them. Each gag had a small hole in the centre and the end of a funnel was pushed through. Their heads were tipped back again and, this time, a pint of castor oil gushed into their mouths. The rubber covering over their mouths prevented them from doing other than swallow the oil.

The blindfolds were taken off and they were suspended, standing up, in the trough. After a while, they each emptied their bowels down their legs and into the trough. Although they felt completely empty by now, their tormentors repeated the process another twice.

Then it was three ice-cold enemas to finish the job.

When they were truly clean, inside, they were hosed down and scrubbed until they were both sore and clean on the outside too. After drying off in the sun, they were taken indoors and put into maids’ uniforms, Peter just like the others.

Eventually, they were taken to their new owner, who was drinking tea with a 15-year-old girl, who turned out to be her daughter, Cindy.

"Here is a present for you Cindy. The personal maid of your own you have always wanted," she indicated Joan.

Cindy got up and came over to stand in front of Joan.

"Oh thank you Mama. It is a lovely surprise."

She turned back to Joan, "What is your name girl?"

"Joan, Miss".

This reply brought a heavy slap to each cheek.

"You don’t have a name until your Mistress gives you one. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," replied Joan meekly.

Peter and Helen looked at each other. All new slaves usually fell into that same trap. They had!

"Now let’s see. I used to have a pet dog whose name was Trixie. I think I’ll use that name for you too." Naming her after a dead dog would be very humiliating for her new slave maid.

"Now what is your name, girl?" Using the term ‘girl’ to an older woman was also calculated to demean her. Peter had to admire the expertise of someone so young, but he realised that she had probably had special training from the Management.

"My name is Trixie, Mistress", answered Joan in a subdued voice.

"Good! I’m very glad you agree."

She now turned to her mother to ask.

"Will it be all right if she just wears an apron without a dress under it, please?"

"Of course darling. She is your slave and you can dress her how you like, just as long as you don’t try to dress her like a doll in human clothes like ours. You must always remember what I have often told you. Just because ‘honkies’ look superficially like us, it doesn’t make them human beings. They are only animals and more akin to horses or dogs.

"Another thing to remember when you have to punish one is that they don’t have feelings like we do. They may yell and scream, but it doesn’t really hurt them like it would us. They are thick skinned and are really trying to control us by making a fuss. Actually they enjoy being whipped and would beg for a caning if you stopped doing so. Now why don’t you take your new maid to your room and start to get to know each other?"

"That’s a very good idea Mama. Once again, thank you very much for the present."

Now she looked back at Joan.

"Right Trixie, get that apron and dress off and then put the apron back on."

However, when Joan was naked, she stopped her and twiddled her finger in a circular motion. Joan understood what was wanted and presented her back to her young mistress.

"Bend over."

Joan obeyed and presented her buttocks for viewing.

"Oh what a lovely unmarked bum. I’m really going to enjoy this. Now stand and face me again."

Joan did so and got another two slaps across the cheeks.

"I understand that you are new to slavery, but that is to remind you that, when I give you an order, you curtsey before obeying and also when you have finished. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," said Joan as she curtsied.

"Good. Now put on your apron back on and come with me. Bring that dress with you. I have a nice new whippy cane I want to try out. It is a good job you enjoy being caned as much as I do using one, so let’s go and have some fun. Thanks again Mama."

Their mistress looked after her fondly.

"Isn’t it nice that they believe every word their Mama tells them at that age, but we know better, don’t we?" she remarked conversationally. She continued, "I understand that you are from the North and that you are probably better educated than the average honkie down here and that is why I’m talking to you like this.

"So let me tell you that I don’t believe that nonsense about you being thick skinned and enjoy being whipped, but I shall act as if I do. I also don’t have a nice new whippy cane like Cindy does, but I do have a very old antique one, which I understand is from England and is a real genuine Victorian Cane, whatever that might actually mean.

"What I do know is that is very old and is a very good cane with lots of use in it yet, as there are no signs of it splitting. Good quality canes last almost for ever with a little bit of care and so your bums might be joining a line of those of well-punished girls over many years.

"So let us now go and I will introduce you to it. Or as Cindy would say, ‘let’s go and have some fun’, except that I know that in this case, it will be me having fun and not you."

Peter and Helen glumly followed her out of the room.

Outside the door, their mistress turned to the right, but, from the left, came the sound of a loud yell, followed by loud sobs, and then another.

"Now isn’t that sweet? Cindy hasn’t lost any time has she? What she lacks in experience, she certainly makes up for with enthusiasm. Come along dears. It is your turn to sing now."

------

After two days of this sort of treatment, all three needed a day’s break before going on to their next fantasy. They were sitting on a hotel terrace with a drink and were comparing notes. Peter and Helen were very interested to hear of Joan’s reaction to her first fantasy scenario.

"That Cindy was truly a sadistic little bitch," said Joan "and a very inventive one too. I had a permanently sore backside and other things too." She raised herself of her seat and gave her buttocks a gentle rub. "It is still very tender. How about you?"

They then told her about Cindy’s mother’s genuine Victorian cane.

"It is the first time I have had one used on me and it really was something special," said Helen ruefully.

"As bad as that eh? But what exactly is a Victorian cane?" asked Joan.

"That’s funny," said Peter. "Although she sneered at us for being ‘educated honkies’, who she obviously thought well beneath her in every way, we were actually better educated than she was and she didn’t really know what a Victorian cane was either, although she knew its name and that it was an antique from England.

"A ‘Victorian’-type Cane is one made from a special top quality rattan and was the favoured punishment instrument of the Victorian and Edwardian governess.

"This top quality rattan, is denser, harder and heavier than the ordinary kind and is also more brown than pale yellow in colour, yet still quite flexible. For a young girl in Victorian times, it must have been quite an experience to have that used on you and it was really an experience to be dreaded. It’s very odd when you consider that these governesses had in their charge quite young, delicate, rich, upper-class girls and yet they found it ‘necessary’ to use these very severe canes to discipline them, which would probably not have been allowed in ordinary schools – at least not for everyday classroom use. It’s no wonder that those young girls went in fear and trembling of their governesses."

"I suppose that sort of cane is no longer available?" asked Joan.

At this cryptic remark, Peter and Helen looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

Peter added, "Well, ‘proper’ school canes of any kind are not readily available in these supposedly more ‘enlightened’ days anyway, but there are still suppliers, if you know where to look. In fact, there is at least one supplier in England who can still supply canes of that special quality, if they have any in stock.

The point is that this quality of rattan is no longer produced commercially and it has to be collected from the wild in Malaya, where it is fairly rare. Then the people have to wait until they have a large enough batch to make it worth-while to export and so this type of cane can be in even shorter supply and is more expensive than ordinary ones." (Peter was probably referring to The Wildfire Club in England, who sometimes can supply a cane of this quality, called ‘The Governess’)

He then added, "When we get home after this holiday, we are going to see if they have any available. They also have an even heavier Victorian one, called The Punitive Cane, which we will possibly also get if we can, but it apparently cannot be used too often, because it is a very severe cane and is not for everyday use. And we do cane each other almost every day at home."

Joan smiled at that remark, but didn’t say anything.

Now Helen asked, "All that aside Joan, how did you enjoy your fantasy and being treated like that? Are you still game for more of the kind, or will you chicken out now?"

"No way," said Joan enthusiastically. "In fact, I might even ask for a scenario where I get a Victorian cane used on me. In some very bizarre way, I really enjoyed myself for the past two days, even while having my bottom continually thrashed by that young ‘madam’ and being only allowed to wear an apron and having to keep curtseying to her. Yes, odd as it sounds, I really enjoyed it and want to do something similar very soon.

"Also, there was that bit where we were washed down and cleaned out. That castor oil and being hung there until the shit ran down our legs. Ugh!"

Helen then told her about the time when they had been babies and had been left in nappies and rubber pants after the castor oil.

"Believe me, hanging by your wrists like that, or lying down in a sodden, shit-filled nappy, is far worse than having it run down your legs."

"That sounds like something else I might try. Thank you both for all these ideas."

Once again, Helen and Peter raised their eyebrows at each other. Joan was really coming on fast.

Peter remarked, "Well that’s what you came to us for!"

Helen explained. "You have to understand that Peter and I are both not predominately dominating, or submissive. We ‘enjoy’ being both."

"And how!" added Peter.

Helen added, "I think you too are a bit of both, Joan, because although you have just enjoyed playing Trixie for Cindy, I couldn’t help noticing how much you also enjoyed whopping Peter’s arse with my strap the other day, nor how you did your best to make poor Rita howl her head off in the ‘duet’."

Joan grinned ruefully and nodded her agreement.

"By the way" added Helen, "I should tell you now that Rita is not her proper name and that she is a fellow guest here, who likes being an arse-tanned, submissive skivvy most of the time. You should also know that her opinion of you is much the same as yours of Cindy. ‘A sadistic little bitch!’ The exact same words!"

That brought another rueful grin of agreement from Joan.

Helen now said, "Well, Joan, as we told you earlier, tomorrow I am going to be an adult schoolgirl in Peter’s class for two days. There are going to be eight women ‘pupils’ there. Would you like to be one of them? But before you answer, I will warn you that Peter wields a mean cane and will not treat you gently and your arse will hurt just as much as it did over the past two days, perhaps even a lot more, but he will not be using a ‘Victorian’, because he will punish us all quite often."

Joan didn’t hesitate for one moment but raised her glass and said, "I’ll see you in class tomorrow."

 

 

 

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