Lady Emily's Guardian

Lady Emily’s Letters

11 January, 18—

Dear Tatiana,

It feels so wonderful to be able to freely write to you at last! I have so much to tell you, my friend, but I will begin with a greeting to my precious Mina, as it is her 10th birthday today. My little darling! Though this greeting with reach her late, let her know that Mummy was thinking of her, as I do every single day. Give my children an extra kiss for me, dear, and tell them that I love them so.

My dear friend! Many congratulations at all of your recent blessings, as my dear husband has filled me in. And to think, you are married and have bore a child with the twin brother of the man I have known quite intimately. Such a very small world indeed! My husband says that you were delighted to hear that your brother- and sister-in-law were both safe and well, and would be coming home to you soon. Though I must admit, I do not yet know when this will be.

I must tell you straight, my friend, as I’ve always been able to be so with you, that I am with child myself. And yes, the father is your own brother-in-law…making my new child your own son’s cousin. The idea of it makes my head spin. Though I know I will love this child, I am ashamed of how complicated I have made things. But I could not resist my urges, and I know that you understand that better than anyone.

My husband understands. He has been so forgiving of me. Indeed, he has begged forgiveness himself, for “allowing” your sister to fool us all. I cannot bring myself to write to her directly, but do tell her that I understand why she did it. I am still willing to consider her my friend, after all that has passed. I do not wish to write more on that; I will speak on it with her when we return. Do be sure that she is well in her pregnancy. I would prefer that you all were home, at Wainwright Hall, but my husband insists that you all stay where you are for the time being. It is him that we must all obey.

You aided him in his darkest moments, and for that I cannot thank you enough. I can admit to you that I find him more irresistible than ever. Imagine my mortification when he came upon me, waiting for Joseph in his bed! But we quickly came to terms with our respective indiscretions, and have agreed to forgive one another, and to raise each other’s children together and to be happy again. After our reunion in Joseph’s bedroom, and our long talk as we lay under the covers afterwards, I would have given anything to be home again, to begin all over. But my dear husband reminded me that we still had much to be done.

Mr. Singer says that he shared with you the letters that I had sent, so I will assume that you are familiar with my situation with Mrs. Morrison. We both agreed that killing her simply would not do, even if we could get away with it. I have so many reasons to hate her, and I often do, but…well, my friend, you know a little that my relationship with her was always quite complicated.

Well, I saw the truly ugly side of Lydia late on Christmas, two years past. That was the night that I was driven into Joseph’s comforting arms by a tragedy. Natasha, my one-time lover and one of Lydia’s prostitutes, died alone in her bed, where she was resting alone after serving a client. At least, that is what we were all made to believe. I had a suspicion that the man, an overly enthusiastic dominant, perhaps, had killed her in play, and had stowed the body upstairs when no one was around.

I was sitting alone in the garden when I heard the commotion, when Natasha’s body was found. I had been smoking marijuana (my husband says that you laughed heartily when you read that in the other letter…no, dear, I won’t be bringing any back with me!), and was sitting alone, just staring up at the night sky, I believe, allowing my thoughts to wander, but pleasantly. They did not plague me, but rather drifted, and I did nothing to chase them, just allowed them to float away without further reflection. I may have been humming a tune to myself, perhaps.

But I was snapped from my little reverie by shouting from the back door. I turned and saw Joseph coming out toward me. “Mrs. Singer,” he said, “There you are. Something has happened.”

“What is it?” I asked, reading the panic on his face. I instantly imagined a brawl too huge for him to handle, the police arriving to make arrests (or more likely, take a larger payout). Things had never gotten out of hand at the place before.

“It’s Natasha,” Joseph said. “Mrs. Singer, she has passed away.”

I was confused…surely I had not heard correctly? Joseph told me what had happened, that a wagon was coming for her, but the doctor had already declared her to be dead. I may have been hysterical, I may have been perfectly calm…I admit, I cannot remember, as I was quite high still. But I did eventually begin to cry, and Joseph comforted me until I had calmed myself.

By the time he accompanied me into the parlor, the police had come and gone, and only Lydia and a couple of the girls sat there, the clients having taken off into the night. “Oh, there you are, have you heard about it, darling?” Lydia asked, coming to embrace me. “So tragic and sudden! The doctor believes she was using laudanum…”

I allowed her to hold me, but I was struck by her words. I knew Natasha to use her marijuana, but I never knew her to drink, let alone use opium. “Is that true?” I asked Maggie and Nancy, who were sitting by. Neither could answer.

“Lydia, who was with Natasha before…before she was noticed…” I could not bring myself to say the words.

Lydia looked thoughtful. She told me the man’s name, but I never did remember it. He was another one of the wealthy clients, whom she bent over backwards (quite literally) to please. Or rather, she had the girls do that for her. I quite imagined that the man had somehow caused her death, but Lydia brushed aside my concerns.

I had to wonder, as Lydia chased the other girls from the room, if Lydia knew more of what had really happened. Natasha had been so young. And she was healthy, never complaining of illness or headaches as the other girls sometimes did. I do worry for the health of these girls, Tatiana. I have sometimes imagined that you would enjoy a little time in this place, with some of the wild clients, but all the time, with so many men…it cannot be healthy, I am sure.

Lydia sat beside me on her hideous overstuffed pink couch and held me. “This is such awful luck, my pet,” she sighed. “And everything’s been going so well, too. What an awful thing to spoil our Christmas!”

“Poor Natasha,” I whispered.

“Indeed,” Lydia said. She sighed again. “Well, my little pet, I assume that you want to take care of the funeral arrangements yourself?” I nodded, for who else would make sure that the poor thing was properly buried? I knew that she was not Catholic, but I could think of no way to give her a ceremony honoring her heritage, for I knew nothing of Dine funeral rites. I correctly surmised that my priest and confessor would aid me in at least providing her with a respectable funeral and praying over her.

“Don’t be tempted to spend so much on her,” Lydia teased, cutting into my thoughts. “It’s not as though the girl had any family.”

“Lydia, please,” I snapped, for Tatiana, as you know, when I was just a tiny girl the same could be said about me. “Natasha has died, you really must be more sensitive.”

Lydia laughed lightly. “I’m sorry, my pet. I know she was your little playmate.”

“She was no playmate,” I said, and I stood from the couch. “Do you have to be so cold, Lydia? She worked for you, she died under your roof…”

“I know this well, Emily,” Lydia said, rising as well. “Do you think I enjoy having the police coming in here asking questions? Oh, but I should have expected something like this to happen. She was a troubled thing…all these types are. I wanted to have fun and adventure, my little pet, and this has all been a terrible inconvenience.”

“A person’s death is an inconvenience to you?” I asked. Tatiana, my dear friend, I have never killed anyone (by the by, I will be concealing this letter quite cleverly within a package to Oakridge Manor, so do not worry for our privacy), so I do not know what it feels like. I do remember the look on your face, that summer night (so long ago!) at Wainwright Hall. Shock and despair, even in your victory. You did not revel in what you had done, but you knew that the ends, somehow, would justify the means. I wonder, do you feel this way anymore, after all that has happened? It is all so tangled, my friend…if we all come out of this well, I daresay that it was all worth it, that everything does happen for a reason, as my dear Mr. Singer has always been fond of saying.

But dear, I never saw any such mixture of emotions on Lydia’s face whenever she spoke of killing her husband. She only seemed to glow, as though killing him had given her some kind of high. It is somewhat like the look that she always gets when she has dominated me (those days are now over, as I will very soon explain). I used to be enraptured by that look, I thought she was so lovely and powerful, but now it scares me. She has no remorse for anything that she does, and I knew that she would not shed one tear for Natasha.

I left her in frustration, going back out into the garden. I intended to sit alone, perhaps to cry again. Poor Natasha! But I found Joseph there, sitting on the bench that I had previously occupied. He stood to greet me. I said, “She is a cold, callous, heartless thing!”

“Yes,” Joseph agreed. “Mrs. Singer, will you sit with me? I have something to tell you.” I joined him, and he revealed what he had witnessed. Lydia had gone down to the cellar with the client and Natasha; the three of them had been down there alone. “I was standing by the cellar door just outside the parlor, when Mrs. Smithwick came upstairs. Natasha was hanging on the client’s arm. I asked Mrs. Smithwick if she was all right, and she said, ‘Oh, she’s quite fine, just had a little too much to drink, I believe. We’re going upstairs for a little more playtime.’ And she pinched my cheek in that obnoxious way of hers and…I did not see Natasha again until the men from the morgue were carrying her body down.”

I was reeling from the news. Lydia herself may have been…probably was…responsible for Natasha’s death! Had she done this on purpose, because she knew that I had feelings for her? Conflicted as I had been over Natasha, I knew that I could have loved her, if I had let myself.

“Mrs. Singer,” Joseph said after a moment, after allowing me to gather my thoughts, “I have not yet shared this information with the police. I do not know if any of the other girls know what happened, more or less than I do…I believe that she threatened them not to say anything. But I didn’t want to go to the police until I had spoken with you.”

I was to decide! Well, my friend, I was in quite a bind then. If Lydia were sent to jail for her crime, I might be free of her. Then again, she might reveal our secrets, or order her coconspirator (I still cannot believe that it was Beatrice all along!) to go to the police in our county, and we would be ruined. How could I run that risk, especially when I knew that you were married, and that my husband and children were still waiting for me?

“Please, Joseph,” I said, “Do not go to the police. I…I cared very much for Natasha, I hope that you know this.”

“But Mrs. Smithwick is your friend,” Joseph said, and I did not contradict him on this point.

“It would do more harm than good to go to the police,” I said, and I never did explain this to him further. He’s up to speed on everything now, thanks to my dear husband’s arrival, but until that day, I had not told him everything.

He trusted my word, and he promised not to go. “I am planning her funeral,” I said, and he allowed me, in my shocked and grief-stricken state, to talk on about the types of flowers that I might purchase, and where I might find a decent coffin for her. How we went from that morbid talk to his bed, I cannot clearly remember, either, for much of that night remains a blur.

The next morning, I was so ridden with guilt that I wanted to die. That guilt, in many ways, has stayed with me since that day. I am still not entirely rid of it, though my husband has assured me that I entirely forgiven. You know that I regard my dear Mr. Singer as my owner, my master, and this has never ceased to be so, even in our time apart.

Well, when I told my dear husband about that awful Christmas night when Natasha died, and when I covered for Lydia to keep ourselves out of trouble, he was amazed. “And you have been seeing Joseph regularly since then?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, ashamed again. “Almost every day, these past two years.” I cried, for it has pained me to carry another man’s child, though I always knew that the risk was there. I did not yet know that I was pregnant when I’d sent that package off with Billy Mosley, back in September. I had not told Mr. Singer that I had been seeing another man. A part of me believed that he would not come for me if he knew this.

He laughed at me when I confessed my fear. “Not come for you?” he echoed. “Emily, you belong to me. I came halfway around the world to have you back, and I do not regret the journey.” Oh, he is the sweetest man, Tatiana! I owe him everything!

“A long time has passed since that happened,” my husband went on. “Has anything else come of Natasha’s death?”

“No,” I said. “I tried to speak with Lydia about it a couple of times, but…she would always brush me off.”

“What about the other girls?” he asked.

I remembered one brief conversation with Maggie, perhaps a few months after Natasha’s death. We were alone in the kitchen. She had come upon me putting a kettle on, and had cried out, “Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Singer!” and had started to back away.

I laughed lightly at her timidity. “Come in, Maggie, dear, you are not bothering me,” I said, beckoning to her, and she joined me hesitantly. “How are you today, dear?” I asked kindly, and she sat with me at the table for a cup of tea. She seemed particularly nervous that day, and she revealed that she’d had a confrontation with Mrs. Smithwick, something that always left her shaken. I knew that Lydia liked to pick on the poor girl, knowing how timid she was. I do detest a bully, and I know that you share my sentiments in that regard.

“I try to stay out of her way,” Maggie said nervously, as though afraid that I would chastise her myself (as if I ever have!).

“I know,” I said comfortingly. “You know how Mrs. Smithwick gets. She has her moods…you mustn’t take it personally, dear.”

“She was nicer for a while, after Christmas,” Maggie said. “I thought she liked me because I helped her.”

“How did you help her, Maggie?” I asked lightly. I felt that she had something significant to say, but I didn’t want to scare her.

Alas, she caught her error. Her pale face lit up in a flush. “Oh, just by calming down all the clients, you know, and talking to the police,” she said. She was eager to leave then, and I allowed her to back away. I sighed, knowing that she would never tell me any more.

I did not think I would have any more luck with Nancy, so I did not make the attempt. Nancy is a bit bolder than her friend (cousin? I’ve known these girls for some time now, and I still have not been able to determine this one way or the other), but when backed into a corner, she becomes just as skittish, though she does not kowtow to Lydia as Maggie does.

My husband began to ask me questions about the place since that night. I told him that Amalia was no longer with us, as she had run away to Los Angeles, but Jiao, Maggie, and Nancy still resided and worked in the house, as well as Ester, a young girl who also came from a family of migrant workers to San Francisco. “And, how does Lydia get along with the girls now?” he asked.

Her relationship is much the same with them, if not worse, I believe. Maggie still cowers; Nancy still avoids her. Jiao silently despises Lydia’s oppressive ways, and Ester is almost as timid as poor Maggie. “Not loyal to her, are they?” Mr. Singer asked. I would daresay that they are not; they are loyal to the generous pay that they receive, which, again, is in my control. “Darling,” my husband said, “I have a very wicked idea for our old friend, but it will require the cooperation of the girls.” He revealed to me what my role would be in this, and after we hesitantly dressed and went downstairs, we spoke with Joseph about it, and he (hating Lydia as much as anyone else) was eager to go along with it.

It was beginning to darken outside, and if I were to begin my part in the plan, I had to leave my husband for a while. I kissed him, right in front of Joseph (for though I care for your brother-in-law very much, he is not my dearest love). “I really will see you again in a few hours?” I asked, not wanting to go from him.

He smiled encouragingly. “I’ll come to you, darling. It’s all right, Emily. Do you want to go through will this?”

I did. It was an excellent plan, and I had no doubt that Lydia would fall right into my husband’s trap. I was laying out some very temping bait. I kissed him again, and parted, leaving the men to begin their part of the plan (namely, gathering the girls one-by-one to meet Mr. Singer and explain everything, and convincing them to go along with it) as I sought out Lydia.

I found her in our bedchamber, of course, in front of her vanity. “Ah, there’s my pet!” she trilled. “Did you have a fun afternoon with your little boy toy?”

“Yes, Lydia,” I said, sitting on the bed. She knew of my relationship with Joseph, of course. She was jealous, especially when she found out that I was pregnant, but she still allowed me to be with him. Still, I knew that it hurt her, and though I am ashamed to be so petty, I enjoyed making her feel badly. And I was going to be using that against her that very night. “We had a long talk this afternoon. About you.”

“Oh, I’m sure he had much to say on the subject,” she laughed. She knows that he loathes her; she pretends that she does not care.

“Oh, yes,” I said earnestly. “You know, Lydia, he’s always shown an interest in the games that we play together, but I have never been able to convince him to play along with us…until now.”

“What’s that you say, pet?” Lydia said with interest. She’d had her eye on handsome young Joseph for some time.

I forced a giggle. “Lydia, he wants to join us tonight in the cellar, after the clients have all left for the evening. Oh, say yes! It would be so much fun.”

Lydia looked thoughtful. “It has been so long since Mother and her little pet had someone else to play with,” she said. “Would this make my horny little pet excited?”

“Oh, yes, Lydia, I would love it,” I said. My enthusiasm was not at all forced, for I was imagining a scenario quite different than the one I was painting for her.

Lydia kissed me softly. “Naughty pet,” she murmured. “Now I will be thinking of this all night. Well, so be it, dear. We will have our little playtime with Joseph in the wee hours of the morning.”

“Oh, thank you, Lydia,” I said. I beamed. “I don’t think we’ll ever forget this night.”

I will describe it all to you in detail in my next letter, Tatiana. I plan to write as soon as possible, though our plan is still in motion, and it keeps us quite busy. My husband is calling for me, so I must join him in the cellar.

Take care, my dearest friend. Give my love to my children, and to your own little boy. And to Beatrice as well…I do still love her.

Much love,

Lady Emily

12 January, 18—

Dear Tatiana,

I had only just sent out the last letter (tucked into a package of clothing for the children), when, upon arriving home, my husband met me in the kitchen of the house. We have been staying in the room that Lydia and I have shared. She is alone in the cellar, as she has been for the past week. It was all fun at first, my friend, but now…I do wish that it were all over with, and that we were on our way home!

My husband bade me to rest alone in “our” room; I believe that he is now in the cellar, having a talk with Lydia, perhaps trying again to convince her to do what is right. My husband is trying to be lenient with her; he only asks her to let me go, sell the house and her business, and just go far away. He doesn’t even wish to turn her in for killing her husband (the poor, dear man). But she is being stubborn. I daresay that she is enjoying what we are doing to her.

Allow me to explain. That first night (only a week ago already!), I did as my husband instructed and went about my normal business while Lydia’s place was open. I sat in the office and pulled out the books, but I certainly could not concentrate on any of the numbers. It would not matter soon, anyway, as my husband would be barring the doors the following morning. I did not care if Joseph even collected any of the open tabs that night.

At one point, around midnight, Maggie came in to see me. I don’t believe she has ever come into the office to speak with me on her own, though Nancy frequently takes her breaks there. “Mrs. Singer?” she asked softly.

“Yes, dear,” I said, “Come in and close the door, will you?”

She did so, and came to my desk. Her face was difficult to read. Usually, she walks around looking frightened, but she didn’t look afraid as she came to me. “I…I just met your husband?”

I smiled at the mention of him (for just the idea of him never fails to brighten me). “You had a chance to speak with him, then?” She nodded. “What do you think, Maggie?”

“I…I want to help,” she said shyly. “Nancy will go along with it, too, I’m sure. She’s with a client now, but Joseph is going to grab her when she’s finished…”

“I’m glad you’re on my side, Maggie,” I said. I stood and went to her, taking her gently by the hand.

“She’s a nasty old bitch,” she said, and hearing such harsh language from her was surprising. “She did such terrible things to you.”

“She’s done terrible things to many people,” I said sadly. “She has not been very kind to you, either. Did my husband tell you how he would let you get your revenge?”

“I can’t wait,” she said, and I saw a strange glow in her eyes, something I hadn’t seen before. She looked quite beautiful then. I always thought that Maggie was lovely, in a very delicate way, but she looked less delicate that night. “Mrs. Singer…Lady Emily…your husband…”

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” I sighed, and she nodded in agreement. I had no doubt then that he would be able to get all of the girls to see things his way.

So as to not arouse Lydia’s suspicion, Maggie left me, and I anxiously waited alone. I even attempted to lie down for a nap, as I might usually do. No chance of that, though that was not unusual in itself. But that night, I was so excited for what was going to happen. I was soon up and dressed again, just in time for Lydia herself to pop in on me.

“Oh, my pet,” she murmured, approaching me, and as I stepped into her embrace, I feared for a moment that she had found out our plans. But she kissed me, and I knew she was clueless still. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you tonight, Emily. Touch Mother, pet, feel how wet I am…”

Because she wore only a slip and her robe over her corset, I had easy access to her pussy. I did not hesitate in reaching down and stroking her, feeling her clit peeking out, and I swore I could feel it pulsing lightly. She was, indeed, soaking. The lightly groomed hair on her pussy was completely wet. Before I could begin fingering her, she took hold of my wrist.

“No, naughty pet. Taste Mother.”

Again without hesitation, I put my moist fingers to my lips. She smelled strong, musky, not at all unpleasant. I admit, my friend, I do take comfort in her scent, in a strange way. I put my fingers in my mouth and sucked away her tangy juices, and she grinned madly. My nipples hardened as I imagined what my husband and I had in store for her.

She kissed me again and said, “You’ll meet me in the cellar in two hours, pet? Do not keep Mother waiting.”

“I won’t, Lydia,” I said. “I promise.”

She left me again, and I was alone for only a short time. Another knock came on the door. I sat at my desk again, and called, “Come in.” I stood abruptly when Joseph entered with my husband, and I went to him as Joseph closed and carefully locked the door. I stepped into his loving embrace, feeling so relieved. A part of me had been afraid that the whole thing was a strange dream.

“All the young ladies are on board,” Mr. Singer said triumphantly. “They are kindly, wretched little creatures, aren’t they?”

“I want to help them, sir,” I blurted. “Oh, sir, can’t we sell the house and give them all the money? Couldn’t we?”

My husband laughed and kissed me softly. “My charitable darling. We’ll help your friends any way we can, if they are so willing to help us.” It seems to me that my dear husband has not changed at all, Tatiana, and I am so relieved of this! He is the same wonderful, handsome, strong, kindly man that I have loved all of my life. I am afraid, though I do not tell him so, that I am much changed. I still do not know how much, and I am very afraid of finding out.

Mr. Singer explained the next part of the plan. He would stay in the office with me while Joseph kept watch. He knew that Lydia would be with a client upstairs very soon, and when she disappeared, he would usher us to the cellar, where we would wait for Lydia to close up the house and join us. He would overtake her, and…well, from there, I will explain in a bit more detail.

When we were in the cellar, I showed my husband the implements of torment and pleasure that Lydia so often used on her clients (and on me). To the wall, she’d had built a large upstanding rack, with crossbars to allow for neck or head restraint. There was also a small platform that folded out from the wall, about three feet from the floor, which forced the bound prisoner to stand on his or her toes. My husband helped me up and I demonstrated for him, stretching out my unbound arms (the tips of my fingers hardly brushed the sides of the rack) and standing uneasily on my toes. Mr. Singer braced himself before me, ready to catch me if I were to fall. In fact, he encouraged me to jump down into his arms, and he caught me, placing me easily on my feet again. I am so safe with him.

I pointed out the various chains hanging from the ceiling, and showed my husband the tall bed with the thick mattress and the tall, sturdy bedposts. I refused to allow Lydia to place me on that mattress, knowing how many strange men had cum on it. The bed was covered with cotton sheets, faded from their frequent washings. My husband, grinning, stripped the bed of these, revealing the old mattress, covered in many nasty stains.

“Yes,” he said, “this will do for her.”

I also showed Mr. Singer her trunk of toys. Much of these are similar to the ones that he and I have played with so often (and you are no stranger to, I know), though she does possess a number of wicked flogging devices that my dear husband wouldn’t have the heart to use. At least, I thought he wouldn’t have the heart to use them.

He looked thoughtful, and I knew that his imaginative mind was forming plans for his enemy. I was excited again, and because we had some time, he stripped me and tied me to that same rack, and fucked me quickly. I longed to tear open his shirt and feel his warm chest against my tits, my swollen belly against his bare groin. I even whispered, “Oh, sir, please take off your shirt, sir, I want to feel you…”

He continued to fuck me gracefully, but he grinned at my request. Slowly unbuttoning, not ceasing in his rhythm, he murmured, “You do love me, don’t you, Emily?”

“Oh, sir, of course I do,” I moaned. He was bare-chested but leaning away from me a little, still fucking me, but just out of reach of my tits. Oh, you know as well as I that he can be a cruel master at times! “Sir, I love you, I need you, sir…”

He looked at me almost gravely for a moment. “I need you, too, darling,” he whispered. He leaned into me, and I wriggled in my restraints, rubbing my tits against his broad, smooth chest as he nibbled on my earlobe. “Oh, Emily, I love you so much. You can’t leave me again, darling, you must promise me.”

“Oh, never, sir!” I cried, and moaned as he pounded me harder, rubbing against my clit. I continued to wriggle on the rack. “I promise, sir, I promise, I promise…”

“You’re mine, Emily,” he grunted insistently, fucking me so hard that his face turned red. I had not been fucked so hard in so long and I groaned, screaming, knowing that nobody upstairs would hear us. He stared into my eyes, and I saw that familiar wicked glow, intensified as he said, “Say it, Emily, tell me that you’re mine!”

“I’m yours, sir!” I cried, and screamed as I came. Oh, Tatiana, I swear it was the most intense orgasm of my entire life, it felt so wonderful that for a moment I wanted to die, believing that it couldn’t possibly ever be so passionate or fantastic ever again. My husband filled me with his warm love, and it dripped from me when he extracted himself. He buttoned up his shirt calmly, though his hands trembled a bit, and he smiled at me lovingly.

“I think you’ll just stay right there for the time being,” he said, and I giggled as he stepped to me and ran his hand teasingly down my bare side. “Where does she keep the gags, love?”

“They’re in the same trunk,” I said, and was disappointed when he stepped away. He dug out a gag to meet his needs, but it was not for me. No; when he returned to me, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed that into my willing mouth. He touched my face tenderly.

“My pretty Emily,” he cooed. “My sweet, sweet darling. I have dreamed of being with you again. We’ll be home soon, little girl,” he whispered, massaging my tits. I moaned and leaned into his touch. “We’ll be home with our children, and our friends, everyone who loves and adores you. And you’ll be all mine again, little Lady Emily, all mine. We’ll have our playmates, but you’ll only belong to your old friend, won’t you, love?”

I nodded eagerly. Oh, you don’t know how good it felt to hear these words. Nothing else that he could have said would have given me more comfort, would have made me feel more loved or wanted or understood. He put his hands on my waist and kissed my neck slowly as I quivered. For a little while, he rested against me, his lips brushing against the most sensitive part of my neck, and he held me, pulling away only when Joseph returned to the basement.

“We are closed up,” he reported. “Lydia will be along shortly. The girls will be standing by.”

I let out a declaration of excitement, muffled by the gag, and my husband laughed at me softly. Joseph did not look surprised to see me in that state. I will tell you that he is not inclined to such games, though I have had him restrain me at times. I admit that I have not made much effort to indoctrinate him. I have only sought him out for the physical and emotional comfort that he has generously offered, and while he is a more than suitable lover, he…well, he isn’t my dear husband, now, is he? Still, I do care for him.

You might be wondering what Joseph’s feelings are about Mr. Singer’s sudden arrival. Well, I had the chance to speak with your brother-in-law, the father of the child I am carrying, a couple of days ago. I know that he loves me, for he has told me so many times, and I can see it in his eyes. He is an honest man, much as your husband is, as Mr. Singer reports. If your husband has half the good-heartedness of his twin brother, then you are very fortunate indeed.

I have not made it a secret to Joseph that I am devoted to my husband. I am so glad that my leaving will not mean leaving him behind, for he and Alice are my dear friends, and I do love them so. On the subject of Alice, she no longer stays at the cabin with her brother. She has been enrolled at a boarding school in the city, though she still attends services with me on Sunday and joins the both of us for lunch at a restaurant afterward. She never comes to the place anymore, thank God, and we have decided to keep her in her school until we depart from San Francisco (and I still am not certain when this will be!).

Anyway, Joseph knows that I belong to my husband. I would never even take off my wedding ring when we were together. When we discussed the matter a couple of days ago, he said, “I knew this day would come. I mean, I didn’t think it would happen like this, and I certainly did not think that your husband would be connected to my family.”

“He’s convinced that this was all destined,” I said. “If you were concerned that he might have hard feelings toward you, you may cast your fears aside.”

Joseph nodded uneasily. “Your husband is a good man, Mrs. Singer, I can plainly see that. I do believe that he deserves you.” He sighed. “I suppose that this would mean that my child will be raised by him.”

“It’s the only way,” I said, taking his hand comfortingly. “Oh, but you will be no stranger to it! Your sister-in-law is my very best girlfriend, and she lives very close. I think that you would like the countryside, Joseph. I hope you will love it as I do and you will decide to stay with your brother.”

Joseph smiled at the idea as I continued to describe our lovely homeland for him. I recounted my husband’s story of how you taught your husband to ride, and he was so awkward at first, but now he must ride every day or he is restless. I was not at all displeased to learn that my husband had loaned you two of my favorite horses, and I invite you to keep them as a belated wedding gift, my friend. I told Joseph that we would all ride together. The thought of it, riding freely as we did when we were young, makes me ever more anxious to return home again.

I believe that Joseph is hurt that he will not be raising our child. Ah, but what can I do about it? I do not wish to seem heartless…it is just that we have so much else on our hands right now, and our troubles will not cease once we leave San Francisco, I am certain. I hope that with time, he will accept the situation, and that his happiness at being reunited with his family will dull the ache. These ideas did not stop me from crying alone after our conversation.

But back to the night in the cellar, when we captured Lydia. The three of us (me, bound to the rack; Joseph, at the bottom of the steps; my husband, hiding to the side, waiting to strike) waited in silence, and the tension in the cellar was thick when Lydia opened the door and descended the stairs alone.

Noticing me on the rack, she grinned at Joseph. “You’ve prepared her for me…thank you, Joseph,” she said, pinching his cheek. “I did not know you liked to play this way. Oh, we are going to have such fun tonight.”

“Indeed, we will,” my husband said, stepping to her sight. She balked at him, taking a step back in surprise.

“Aaron Singer!” she cried, unable to believe it. Joseph took hold of her, forcing her to face my husband. He calmly assessed her.

“You look quite well, Mrs. Morrison,” he said. “Yes, quite a proper whore you are. My Emily’s told me all about you.” He stepped closer to her, and Joseph held Lydia fast, so she was unable to back away. “You had to know that this day would come,” he said, still speaking calmly. “You couldn’t have believed that I would let you get away with taking her from me.” I thought for a moment that he would slap her, but no…he continued to speak calmly, so cool that even I was frightened, and for a moment I almost pitied Lydia.

She did look afraid, for a moment, but even as Joseph held on to her she laughed coldly. “You’re a fool, Aaron. Beatrice Gainsley…”

“I know all about that,” my husband cut her off. “I have Mrs. Gainsley quite under my thumb.” His confidence in this was a pretense, I know. He still fears that she may betray us yet. But I am not afraid that she will. I have full confidence in her, and I do hope that you tell her so.

“I should have known better than to trust that ninny,” Lydia spat bitterly.

“Be fair, Mrs. Morrison,” my husband said lightly. “She kept your secrets faithfully for all this time. Emily herself came into contact with me, and I had to force the truth from Mrs. Gainsley.”

Lydia looked over at me, and I saw the hurt in her eyes. I don’t believe that I felt guilty about it, not quite, but I was not entirely pleased. “Yes,” Mr. Singer continued, “Emily knew the risks involved, but she was so unhappy that she took the chance. And here I am. So, Mrs. Morrison, how are we to work out this situation, hmmm?”

Lydia said nothing; she had even stopped struggling against Joseph, though I saw that he did not relax his grip on her. My husband sighed impatiently. “I am taking Emily…”

“Then I will be contacting the police,” Lydia said, trying to be calm, but I could note the tone of threatening hysteria in her voice.

“Must it really come to that?” Mr. Singer asked softly. “Come now, Mrs. Morrison, your crimes surely outweigh ours…”

“I don’t care about that,” Lydia declared, and she laughed, almost manically. “If I cannot have Emily…then I will ruin you both!” She glanced over at me; I am certain that I cut my eyes at her. How could she?

But my husband was far from upset. He was ready to set our plans into motion then. “And who will aid you?” he asked. “Joseph?”

“Not me,” Joseph said, still holding fast to his former employer. “I’m with you, Singer.”

“As are the other ladies of this house,” my husband said. Lydia stared as he went quickly up the stairs, returning a moment later with Maggie, Nancy, Jiao, and Ester. The girls glanced over at me, in my bondage, momentarily, but united beside my husband, facing their oppressor. “I knew you would be stubborn, Mrs. Morrison, so I’ve asked these young women to assist me in persuading you to see to reason. Ladies,” he said, addressing the girls, “Why don’t you help Joseph secure her to that bed?” The girls all giggled excitedly as they and Joseph forced a struggling Lydia to the dirty mattress, using heavy chains that Maggie retrieved from the trunk to secure her to the posts.

My husband untied me as they went about their work. “You get to go first, Emily,” he said, taking my hand. He led me (still naked) over to where Lydia lay bound, with the gag that my husband had selected for her firmly in place. She muffled loud protests that we all ignored as we conversed. “This bitch has hurt all of us, so we’ll all get a fair chance to teach her a lesson,” my husband announced. “But I feel that she has wronged Lady Emily most, so she should have the first go at her.”

Everyone agreed, except me. “Sir,” I said, “I’d like to allow Maggie to go first.”

Mr. Singer looked disappointed. “Are you sure, my love?”

“Yes, sir.” I looked right into Lydia’s furious eyes as I added, “She’s been horrible to these poor girls, and Maggie’s gotten the worst of it. I think it would be right.” I looked at Maggie, my friend, and asked, “Would you like to?”

She certainly did, and my husband consented, perhaps seeing how eager she was for vengeance. “Very well,” he said. “Maggie, the whole trunk of torments is at your disposal.” As she eagerly selected her tools, I dressed with relief. As much as I have hated Lydia these years, I didn’t know if I was ready to hurt her. I did remember how much I enjoyed tormenting old Colonel Faulkner, but he had enjoyed it as well. In fact, when I encountered William Mosley here in San Francisco, he said that for the rest of his days, the colonel would often mention that rainy morning wistfully. I remember that my husband had predicted as much, that the old man would remember my kindly cruel treatment of him for the remainder of his life.

Still, I have always been a submissive one, and I have always enjoyed receiving more than giving the punishments, as you well know. But Maggie…she looked so excited. My husband whispered to me, “You were right about Maggie and Nancy, my dear. They both told me of how they are lovers.” Ha! My husband just met these girls, and I have known them for several years now, and they have opened up their hearts to him! I was certainly not surprised.

Indeed, as though to verify my husband’s words, Nancy and Maggie kissed briefly before Nancy encouraged her friend to approach the bed. We all stood back a respectful distance; Maggie’s continence became quite serious as she stood over Lydia’s bound body, staring down at her, holding the riding crop that she had selected.

“When you’re ready, Maggie,” my husband encouraged her kindly. “She knows why she’s being punished…I daresay she’s smart enough to know how much she deserves this.”

“I should hope she does,” Maggie agreed quietly. She didn’t take her eyes off her victim. Lydia stared back up at her, with pure hate in her eyes. Maggie still said nothing for a moment, before she burst out with, “You’re a horrible, horrible woman! If it weren’t for Nancy or Mrs. Singer, I might have killed you a long time ago. I didn’t even know of half of your crimes until this night. You’re a monster,” she declared solemnly. She raised the riding crop and let it fall viciously on Lydia’s breasts. But slapping the whip against her clothed form did not satisfy Maggie, and she proceeded to tear off Lydia’s slip and corset, with Nancy’s assistance.

When Lydia’s pale skin was exposed, there was nothing hindering Maggie from whipping her without mercy. Lydia did not want to give her the satisfaction of hearing her scream or cry, that was clear, but she wasn’t so tough. Never on the other end of the whip, I daresay she didn’t have an idea of how real and intense the pain of being beaten is, only the high of inflicting such pain upon another.

Watching Lydia’s perfect skin desecrated with furious red gashes was incredible. My husband stood behind me, his arms around my waist, rubbing my belly comfortingly. I could feel his hard cock against my lower back, and I wondered what he would do to relieve it. But for the time being, he seemed satisfied in simply watching Maggie at her work, and she seemed determined to lash at every inch of Lydia’s body. I was afraid, though, that she would not limit her blows to Lydia’s torso, arms, and legs, and would aim for her head. I bit my lip a couple of times to hold back protests, and when I tensed up, my husband’s embrace tightened around me.

But considering the circumstances, Maggie showed a surprising amount of restraint. It was even fun, at first, to watch Lydia writhe and moan in torment. But then, when Maggie stopped to catch her breath (for she had been whipping Lydia nonstop), she suddenly burst into angry tears! Still staring down at Lydia, she cried, “I wanted that baby! I would have been a good mother!” And proceeded to beat Lydia more cruelly than ever, her tears flowing, sobbing and beating Lydia until she nearly collapsed, with Nancy there to hold her.

“What does she mean?” I whispered to myself in wonder. I wanted to go forth and comfort Maggie as she sobbed in Nancy’s arms on the floor. I wasn’t even thinking of Lydia, crying and uncomforted on the bed.

My husband turned me about to face him. “Maggie told me about an incident that happened a couple of years past,” he said gently. “She had been pregnant, and when Mrs. Morrison found out, she pushed her down the stairs.”

I gasped aloud, my face burning furiously. How had I not known? Why had nobody told me? And there I was, flaunting my pregnant belly around the house (not exactly flaunting, you know, but nonetheless…), while poor Maggie…

Well, if I’d any pity left for Lydia in my heart, it was gone at that moment. Dear Mr. Singer…even after so much time apart, he knows me better than anyone. Seeing how upset I was, he said, “Why don’t you take Maggie upstairs and have a break, darling?” I nodded, and my husband involuntarily stroked his cock through his trousers. I smiled a little; I knew what he would do while I was gone, and though I wanted to watch, I was more eager to speak with my friend.

Maggie, Nancy, and I went upstairs to the office. Nancy helped Maggie sit on the couch. Maggie was still in her “work clothes,” dressed as skimpily as Lydia herself had been, and her exposed skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. Silent tears ran down her face as she told me the whole thing. She had no way of knowing who the father of her baby was, but what did that matter? She and Nancy had both been planning on leaving together, taking the money that they’d saved and finding a place to take care of the child. They had not told anyone their plans; but Lydia somehow found out.

“She…she said that I was nothing but a stupid whore,” Maggie sniffed. “We…we were at the top of the stairs, on the second floor, and she slapped me and said that I hadn’t been careful enough, and I’d never be a fit mother, that it would be better just to…” Maggie was unable to proceed.

“She only did it to keep us here,” Nancy continued bitterly. “Amalia had just gone, and Ester hadn’t come yet, so it was just us three girls.” She addressed me directly and said, “When she’d…when the baby was…well, what else could we do, Mrs. Singer? She even took our savings…”

“She did what?” I demanded.

“She said she’d keep it safe,” Nancy said bitterly, “But she doesn’t give us a dime if we ask for it.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to be calm, but my head was spinning. “You’ll get every last dollar back, and more.”

We didn’t seem to know what else to say. Maggie couldn’t stop crying, the poor dear, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of her loss in so long. She really is a delicate thing, and it had taken all of her strength to punish Lydia the way that she needed to. Before Nancy helped her to bed, I embraced her. “Thank you, Maggie,” I said. “You are quite a remarkable young woman, and I hope that you regard me as your friend.”

My words caused her to cry again, but she was smiling as she bade me goodnight. I made my way alone to the cellar, and found that Lydia had been moved. She was now dangling from a chain the middle of the room, and Jiao, laughing with wicked glee, was whipping her back and ass. She was taking her time, enjoying herself. She caught my eye and winked before lashing Lydia again, right across her already abused ass cheeks, and I could not help smiling a little to myself.

My husband and Joseph stood together against the far wall, leaning casually against it, watching Jiao with interest but still having their own conversation. It seemed that, for the time being, they had both been satisfied. Upon further inspection of Lydia, I could clearly see cum seeping down her bloodied thighs.

“There she is,” Mr. Singer declared, and came to me, wrapping me in a warm embrace. “And how are our friends?”

“They’re fine,” I said. “Maggie is off to bed. I am certain that Nancy will stay with her.”

My husband nodded. “We’ve skipped your turn again, I’m afraid. Perhaps you’d like to punish your wicked old ‘Mother’ when she’s spent?”

I looked over at Lydia. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face stained with her tears. Her white-blonde hair, usually so neatly and carefully arranged (even after an encounter with a client or playtime with me), was in disarray. With the deep cuts all over her body, she looked most pathetic. She did not even scream behind her gag anymore, only moaning loudly with each new lashing. Still, I did not pity her.

I decided to hold off on punishing Lydia that night. Not out of mercy…no, I needed to plan what I would do to her. I never intended for this all to be dragged out for so long. I wanted to give her one brutal punishment, and have it be enough to teach her. I explained this to my husband, and he nodded. When Jiao was satisfied with a job well done, he declared, “We should all be off to bed, I think.”

He and Joseph were ready to move Lydia back to the nasty mattress, but I said, “No, sir…let’s keep her there tonight.”

My husband grinned at me and put his arms around my swollen waist. “Wicked thing!” he murmured in my ear. He nibbled on my earlobe. “As you wish, my love. Now, show me to your bedroom.”

We bade our friends goodnight (for a moment, I felt more than a little awkward as I watched Joseph leave the house and return to his cottage alone), and I led my husband back through the office, to the bedroom. It was very late; indeed, the sky outside the large window was turning dark blue. I closed the curtains as Mr. Singer took off his clothes.

He undressed me gently, and we lay together on the large bed, the bed that I had shared with Lydia alone for too many years. We did not make love again that morning, but before we fell asleep, we kissed softly, sweetly, under the covers. My friend, nothing feels more natural than my husband’s arms around me, our bare skin touching. In spite of all that has been happening, I haven’t slept so peacefully since we were parted.

I will describe the one and only punishment that I gave to Lydia in my next letter. My best to all; my one wish is to be home with my loved ones again!

Much love,

Emily

14 January, 18—

Dear Tatiana,

The whole situation has gotten quite out of control here. I am still trembling so much that I can scarcely hold this pen. But my husband has a plan…he always seems to know what to do. Oh, God, if this had happened, and he weren’t here, what would I do? Though I wonder if it would have happened, if he hadn’t come…not that I would wish that!

I need to sort through my thoughts, and so, my friend, you will know everything first. Allow me to explain. You see, after more than a week of physically punishing Lydia, depriving her sexually, humiliating her, torturing her, and starving her, we came to the conclusion that these methods simply will not work on her. But they did cause her to bend, a little. The other day, only about an hour after concluding my last letter to you, I sat alone in the cellar with Lydia and had a long talk with her. In spite of everything, all of the people she has hurt and the terrible things she has done, I do still love her, in some way, and I was my gentle self with her.

I promised to explain how I had punished her before, and I will now. I admit that I felt guilty when it was over, but while I was in the midst of it, I found myself understanding why Jiao had been laughing, and why Maggie had cried. I had wanted to hurt her in a way that she would never forget, perhaps to make her pay for all the pain she’d caused me, and our family, and others.

After a very restful sleep in my husband’s arms, I woke much later than usual. Mr. Singer was already out of bed. I left the room, and the office, and followed the sound of voices into the kitchen. I found my husband sitting at the table, talking with Nancy and Maggie as they made breakfast. They frequently cook together, and are very generous about sharing (especially since I’ve never made any of the girls pay for food in the house out of their salary). They all seemed rather cheerful; indeed, the late morning sun was shining through the windows, and it was a very pleasant scene.

Everyone greeted me warmly, my husband rising to kiss me softly. “Are you well-rested, darling?” he asked, touching my stomach gently.

“Yes, sir,” I said, smiling. He is still the same kind, loving guardian who has cared for me since I was a tiny, orphaned girl.

The four of us sat together and had a pleasant breakfast, not speaking of our activities in the cellar. Mr. Singer said that he had closed up the house, locked the doors and put up a sign to ward off the usual clients. “Joseph will be at the door tonight,” my husband said simply, indicating that our continued activities would not be interrupted.

It being a lovely morning, with only a hint of winter chill in the air, Mr. Singer insisted that the girls go out and enjoy themselves that day. When they were gone, and I was seeing to the dishes, he said, “Joseph, Ester, and Jiao will both be out of the way today as well, so we’ll have Lydia all to ourselves.” When I glanced at him, he smiled. “If you don’t wish to punish her yourself, Emily, I won’t make you. We can just talk with her…let’s see if she’ll come around.”

But I had plans of my own. I took the leftover food and put it on a plate. “Best not to let her starve,” I said, and my husband followed me silently to the basement. He seemed to know what I would do, and he stood back and let me deal with Lydia myself.

For a moment, I almost pitied her when we came into the cellar. Her head was hanging woefully against her chest. Her painful wounds were a garish red against her otherwise pure-white skin. From the smell in the air, it seemed that Lydia had urinated herself. I thought of that evening after Lydia had taken me, when she forced me to piss on myself in her bed. Well, she’d gotten hers back for that, at least.

She looked at me with red, bleary eyes as I placed the plate on the floor. “Good morning, Lydia,” I forced myself to chirp merrily. She moaned softly behind her gag. “Rough night, dear? It’s all right.” I carefully removed her gag.

I was surprised when she murmured, “Oh, you are a naughty pet, aren’t you?” I smiled at this, until she added, “But you never would have done this on your own.”

For some reason, I felt a flash of fury. My hand went to her throat. She stared at me, more in surprise than in fear, as I threatened to squeeze. “Bitch,” I snarled, with a viciousness that I’ve never felt before, that scared me even as I was feeling it. “How dare you? I’m not your weak little pet, and I never have been. True,” I admitted, removing my hand from her throat, “True, my husband has brought this about. But it was a long time coming, Lydia. You lived in India for years, you know the Hindu concept of karma, I am sure. This was coming.”

Tears in her light blue eyes, she demanded, “What did I do to you, Emily? I only loved you.”

I shook my head at her in disbelief. “You can’t…you won’t…you’ve hurt me more than anyone ever could! How do you not see that? How can you justify anything that you’ve done?” And I did slap her then, so hard that I could feel her teeth rattle in the follow-through. I backhanded her across the other cheek, and hit her again, and would have gone for more if my husband hadn’t taken me gently by the arm.

“That will do, Emily,” he said tenderly. “That will do for now.”

I nodded. I know that he was more eager to see what I’d planned for her. He wanted me to keep my cool, to be in control as I punished her. Knowing that he was right, I took a deep breath and steadied myself as Mr. Singer retrieved a glass of water from the small sink in the corner. I took a trembling drink before holding the glass to Lydia’s lips. “Drink,” I said, and she obeyed, water dribbling down her chin.

I managed to get her down from the ceiling without removing the chain. She moaned loudly as I moved her strained shoulders down, and her wrists were now chained behind her back. I kept a strong hand on her arm as I lowered her to her knees. I pointed to the plate. “Breakfast!” I said, forcing the same cheery tone.

She looked up at me wearily. “No, thank you,” she said calmly. One of her eyes was beginning to swell shut from where I’d struck her.

“Oh, but you must eat,” I said, taking on the same mocking, falsely kind tone that she has frequently used with me. “Come now, Lydia, all the times you’ve treated me this way…haven’t you wondered what it’s like to be treated like a dog? Let’s see how fun it is for you from the other end.”

I forced her on her hands and knees and sat down on her back and arms, pushing her down onto the cold dirt floor. I seized her by the hair, and forced her face into the plate. “Eat!” I commanded. I did not let go of her hair, but I did loosen my grip enough to allow her to raise her head slightly, so that she could maneuver about the plate. If she hesitated for only a moment, I said, “Every bite, bitch, let’s not be wasteful now.”

For only a brief moment, I looked over at my husband. He stood watching, and he looked very pleased. I returned his smile, so glad for his approval. If it weren’t for him, it wouldn’t have felt right, but with him watching, I was enjoying wielding this power over my oppressor.

When she’d licked the plate clean, I stood up and helped her back up onto her knees. She gave me a hateful look as I stood before her. Mockingly, I asked, “What do we say, bitch?”

“Thank you, Lady Emily,” she responded automatically, and I was confused to see a glimmer in her eye, for only a moment. Something like…pride? Could she really be proud of me for this? It made me feel ashamed, for a moment, and that shame made me feel angry again. What have I ever done, to be really ashamed of? Plenty, I know…but you are not one to judge me for it, and bless you for that.

Again, had it not been for Mr. Singer’s presence, I might have left the cellar right then. But with him watching, I was encouraged to continue with my plans. I knelt before her, as though she were a small child whom I was about to scold. “Now, Lydia, you know that you’ve been very bad, don’t you?”

She looked me boldly in the eye and said, “I’ve only ever done what I’ve had to do. You cannot say any differently about yourself.”

“So, then, you had to kill your husband?” I demanded. “And Natasha? And Maggie’s unborn child?”

“Natasha was an accident,” Lydia sniffed, not looking the least bit remorseful. “And he was the one who straggled her, not I. What else was I supposed to do, Emily? I have a business to protect.”

“Not any more,” I said. “The place is closed now, indefinitely. Do you understand your situation, Lydia?” I asked, my tone more serious than before. “I am asking you to tell me the truth: what did you want from all this? Why did you do all this? Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” she said, and refused to say more. My frustration was mounting, and my husband stepped in to comfort me.

“This bitch isn’t ready to cooperate,” he declared. He grinned at her. “I guess her punishment last night wasn’t enough. That’s quite all right. We all have more in store for her, Emily. What would you like to do now?”

“Can you put her on the rack, please, sir?” I asked. “Facing the wall?” While my husband fulfilled my request, I found a large leather phallus in her trunk. I knew exactly what I wanted to do…and I would use no lotion to aid me. You see, while we both have had more than our share of experiences with ass play, Lydia has not ever taken a man in her ass before. Not once; she confessed this to me not long after she took me, as she gleefully raped my ass with a phallus. I don’t know what I could have done to her to cause her more pain…

I did not even have her gagged. I wanted to hear her screams, I wanted her to beg for mercy. Her back facing me, I stood behind her. Remembering that Joseph and my husband had played with her last night, I briefly fingered her asshole, feeling for any tearing. None! My husband, reading my thoughts, said, “We kept it for you, my love. I knew what you wanted to do.”

I turned to him and kissed him, briefly but passionately. “Thank you, sir,” I said. “You really do know me better than anyone, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he said with confidence. My fears about him noticing any adverse changes in me vanished at that moment. I had already explained to him, shamefully, my affair with Joseph, and the evidence from that is quite clear. And still, my husband does not judge me. He has seen the worst in me now, and he still believes me to be his angel. Oh, I love him so!

I put my head to his chest for a moment, comforted that he was there. Goodness, only 24 hours had passed since we’d reunited, and so much had happened! I didn’t want to let go of him, but he gently stepped away from me. “Go play, darling,” he encouraged me. “I will watch.”

I nodded and went to Lydia again. I briefly ran my free hand over the wounds on her back, ass, and upper thighs. She moaned at the contact. “We’ll put a little cream on those later,” I promised. “But for now…” I resumed fingering her asshole. “I remember that Mr. Morrison enjoyed ass play, a little. Didn’t you used to shove your fingers into his ass, like this?” I did so then, sticking two of my fingers into her tight anal regions and wiggling them about. Even that caused her to moan and whimper, and I hadn’t even really started yet.

Putting my mouth to her ear, I whispered, “But you never gave up your ass for anyone’s pleasure. That’s been your one little sacred place, hasn’t it, Lydia? You’ll have your ass licked, certainly, but not penetrated. Now, that’s not really fair, I think. After all, you’ve expected your partners to give so much, and yet…” I forced my fingers further into her; my knuckles were against the opening of her asshole. She did not scream, but she moaned again.

I removed my fingers, and without a word, put the tip of the dry phallus to her asshole. I briefly felt her pussy…God, she was wet, soaking wet, and her clit was pulsating gently! She was turned on by all this! All the better, I thought. I had every intention of denying her pleasure. I did not even finger her pussy or use her wetness for lubricant. “Relax, bitch, it won’t be so bad,” I lied. I had difficulty shoving the phallus in, and she screamed and tried to push it out.

My husband came to my aid. As Lydia’s legs were already forced apart on the rack, all he had to do was hold her ass checks apart, allowing her asshole to stretch a bit. This, along with brute force, got the phallus in. And did she ever scream! My husband and I grinned at each other as she cursed at us, and I began to fuck her ass, slowly. I swear, even over her screams, I could hear the lining of her asshole tearing!

Encouraged by her screams of rage and pain, I increased the rate of fucking. I couldn’t stop pumping that phallus into her, going as deep as I could with each cruel thrust. I was sweating profusely after a couple of minutes of this, but her screams drove me on and on, her cursing turning to begging. My husband came up behind me.

“Take a break for a moment, Emily, and let your friend have a crack at it,” he suggested. I nodded, and as soon as I removed the phallus from her ass, my husband whipped out his hard cock and shoved it into her. Of course, though Mr. Singer has a more than respectably sized cock, it is not nearly as big as that monstrous phallus, and so her screams dissolved into helpless whimpers of pain. Wanting her to scream again, wanting her to know pain, I seized the back of her head and slammed her face into the stone wall, twice, perhaps three times. She screamed again, blood running from her now broken nose, as my husband pulled out from her and sprayed his cum all over her back and ass.

She was quite disgusting to behold. After my husband came, she’d shat all over herself. Her thighs and ass were covered in shit, dried piss, cum, and blood; her face was bloody and swollen. Just the previous night, I’d been very concerned for her as Maggie had beaten her, not wanting any blows aimed at her head. But at that moment, I wanted to take the riding crop and beat her upon the head a few times myself. Instead, I merely stood beside her, and asked, “Well, Lydia? Will this game be continuing?”

“Is that the worst you can do to me?” she demanded. Though her voice sounded strange, wheezy from her broken nose, she still had her same confident, mocking tone. “You should have sat in on a few more sessions with me and my clients. I might have taught you a few things.”

“Bitch from hell!” I declared. My husband took hold of me, calm as always.

“She’s stubborn now, but she won’t stand for this long,” he said. He put a vicious gag on her, the same type she’s used on me, the kind that goes all the way down one’s throat. “We’ll let her think on it for a while, Emily. She knows there’s no way out of this. She’s hasn’t a friend in the world. Let’s leave her be.”

I followed my husband from the cellar. It was early afternoon, and it didn’t seem very strange that the house was so quiet. When evening came, there would not be the same bustle about the place to prepare for a night of business. But for now, nothing was out of the ordinary.

My husband and I sat together in the small dining room, and I began to cry. I had felt high while punishing Lydia, strangely out of sorts, and coming down from it left me feeling exhausted. And hopeless…after all the beatings she’d already received, and the vicious raping that my husband and I had provided…and she still refused to be cooperative? I couldn’t think of anything worse to do to her myself, and since that morning, I have not directly participated in her punishments.

But the girls, and Mr. Singer himself, have quite relished using Lydia as their pain slut. Joseph participates as well, but not with the same enthusiasm. He is a tame one, Tatiana, and I know this intimately. He is not exactly a boring lover, just…tame. Not to my taste, and I’m able to admit this after knowing the complete pleasure and satisfaction of being with my husband, my master, again…though perhaps his own sister-in-law might train him…

Nancy shoved needles into Lydia’s tits (including several stuck directly into her nipples), and those stayed put for days. The girls (and I, I will confess) have forced Lydia to pleasure us repeatedly, squatting over her face just as she’s done to me countless times. The first time Ester squatted on her face, Lydia had refused to comply, so Maggie had viciously beaten her with the deadliest whip in the collection. After that, she did not refuse to cooperate any more.

Still, even as the girls (for after a while, they took over the business of punishing and using Lydia, as my husband and I supervised) have done their worst to her, Lydia still refused to budge. She would hear nothing of letting me go, nor would she agree to close her business. She even seemed to be enjoying her punishments, the cruel depravity that was heaped upon her. The only time that she truly seemed hurt by her treatment was when I refused her. Jiao had been leading her about the basement with a chain around her neck, forcing her to crawl like an animal. When they came to me, Jiao asked, “Mrs. Singer, would you like this bitch to please you?”

Though Lydia had been bathed since I’d punished her, she was still a disgusting mess. I even felt some guilt as I looked down at her. She looked up at me so eagerly that I coldly had to reply, “No, thank you.” The disappointment in Lydia’s eyes was very real.

I expressed my frustration to my husband the other evening. “All of this is getting us nowhere!” I said, when we were alone in the bedroom. “I am glad that the girls are enjoying themselves, but it is enough now! I want to end this, sir…I can’t…”

“You can’t bear to see her like this?” he asked gently. He knows my complicated feelings for Lydia; he’s always known them. They used to make him feel jealous and ashamed, but now I think he really understands, or at least respects that I have no control over these feelings.

“And it’s doing no good,” I said, not denying his words. “She’s loving this, sir.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a sigh. “I did not quite anticipate that part. She’s such a proud, haughty thing, I thought that degradation would break her quickly.”

“Perhaps she knows she deserves it,” I said softly. I could not allow myself to believe that she, or any human being, could be completely without remorse. “What are we to do, sir?”

He had no answer for this. I resolved to talk with Lydia, alone, and that is what I did. In the basement, there were now several chairs, as Joseph had brought these down for us to sit and watch each other pummel Lydia. I untied Lydia from the bed and helped her to sit in one of the chairs. I didn’t even bother to restrain her. She was too weak, too bent, to fight against me. She had been refusing food, and the girls had not been too concerned about this.

“Lydia,” I said gently. “I want to talk with you, as a friend. We were friends once, weren’t we?”

“I only ever wanted to be your friend,” Lydia said, the tears coming easily.

“But darling,” I said kindly, “You weren’t a very nice friend to me. You know that.”

She sobbed, covering her swollen, now ugly face with her dirty hands. “I’m sorry, Emily,” she finally managed to whisper. “I’m sorry, I really am so sorry…”

I held her gently, in spite of her stench, and let her sob against me. My pity for her came flooding back as she tried to explain her reasons to me. I’d already heard it all before, but for the first time, I really heard the regret in her voice as she talked about Mr. Morrison. “I only wanted to be happy again, Emily,” she said pathetically. “I was only happy with your mother, that’s the truth, and when I met you…I knew I could only be happy with you!”

I listened to her confessions, letting her cry, comforting her. She finally knelt before me, sobbing into my lap like a helpless child, clinging to the folds of my skirt. “Please, Emily, please forgive me. Your love is the only thing in the world to me…nothing else matters. Oh, Emily, what can I do to make you love me again?”

I admitted, “I’ve never stopped loving you, Lydia. It’s true,” I added as she looked at me in surprise. I stroked her face gently, wiping her tears. “But I cannot ever love you as much as I do my husband, or our children. Can’t you let me have my life with them back?”

“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, Emily, you may go home to your family.” She sobbed again.

“And the girls?” I said. “You must make things right with them. Sell the house, Lydia. We’ll leave you with enough to go and begin again.”

“Where will I go?” she asked hysterically. “There is nothing for me, Emily!” But she agreed to all that I asked of her, and when I left her alone in the basement again (tied to the bed, but loosely), I felt exhausted but triumphant.

“She has agreed,” I told my husband, and he praised me and kissed me. We decided to leave her alone for the night, to rest, and to clean her up and begin our business in the morning. We made love in her bed and went to sleep, waking the next day, determined in our plans.

I wanted to prepare a nice breakfast for Lydia. I asked Mr. Singer to bring her up, and I was in the kitchen alone, preparing our meal. The house was otherwise quiet, and I imagined that the girls, having gone out and enjoyed themselves the night before, were asleep in their rooms.

My husband came back into the kitchen alone, his face very pale. “Something’s happened, Emily,” was all he could manage to say. I hurried to the basement, my heart pounding, and perhaps I knew what I would find before I got there.

Lydia was not on the bed, where I had left her. She was dangling again from a chain in the middle of the room. She was covered in blood; her throat at had been slashed. She was dead, murdered. And upon a search of the house, Nancy and Maggie, and their few possessions, were gone.

You’ve always been good at drawing conclusions, my friend, so you understand the situation that we now find ourselves in. I’m certain that you can imagine the obstacles that have now been placed before us. Needless to say, our homecoming with be delayed somewhat, but as I write this, my husband and Joseph are already setting the new plan into motion. I will have to stop writing now and, once again, play my part. I have not yet mourned Lydia’s death. I am trying to turn off my feelings and do what must be done. I cannot forget my goal, to come home to you all, so we will do what we must. I will keep you up to date on what happens. God willing, I will see you soon.

Much love to all,

Emily