Chapter 14
"...With bended knees I daily worship her,
Yet she consumes her own idolater.
Of such a goddess no times leave record,
That burnt the temple where she was adored."
There was a silence in the room as Richard finished reading, broken only by the
crackling of the fire and the keening of the wind outside. More and more of his
evenings at Lady Briddington's estate had been ending this way, with him and his
mistress sitting quietly together by the hearth. Or rather, with her sitting in
her wheelchair while he knelt naked at her side. At such times she might play
languidly with his body, or have him massage her, or administer a slow and
sensual spanking that seemed almost loving despite the inevitable pain and
humiliation; but more often than not she preferred quiet conversation or a bit
of romantic poetry. Richard didn't care much for literature of any sort, let
alone the weepy and melodramatic stuff his mistress seemed to find so
inexplicably moving, but reading to her was definitely preferable to doing
housework or being creatively tortured by her and Ms. Reynolds.
"Would you like to hear another one, ma'am?" he ventured.
She started and glanced in his direction as though she had forgotten his
presence. Perhaps interrupting her thoughts had been a mistake, but it could be
incredibly difficult to tell whether she was lost in introspection or merely
waiting for him to say something. Even after months of serving her and hanging
on her every word and gesture, he still found her pale, coldly beautiful face
almost impossible to read unless an extreme of anger, contentment or excitement
had made her forget herself. But now her lips curved into a fond smile.
"No, darling, no more just now. But your reading is improving - you are finally
beginning to develop some dim understanding of metre. You didn't like that last
piece, did you?"
"No, ma'am, not really."
She laughed, and reached out to toy with the chain that was locked around his
neck, the one with the leopard emblem that marked him as her property. He wore
it nearly all the time these days, although often - as now - the hated control
belt stayed downstairs in the Playroom. Lady Briddington had come to appreciate
his cock too much to want it locked up out of sight all the time, or so she
said.
"Then again, you don't like any of them," she murmured. "Too frothy and flowery
for you, I suppose." Idly, she pulled back on the collar until it was choking
him, just a little. "But that is really the essence of your servitude, you know.
What you enjoy or do not enjoy is simply irrelevant; you exist only to please.
Does that infuriate you, Richard? Do you hate being a helpless little plaything,
a slave to my whims as much as to my wishes?"
"No, ma'am, I don't," he replied earnestly. Where the hell was all this leading?
"I want to please you, ma'am, I really do."
"Of course you do, my dear. And you please me very much, when you remember to
work at it. But I wonder sometimes if you do it only out of fear, because after
all I do punish you quite harshly when your efforts are less than satisfactory.
Lads like you need a firm, strong hand to keep them on the straight and narrow,
hmm? But do you obey me only because of the punishments, or is there something
else involved - a glimmer of genuine devotion, perhaps? Are you finally learning
that your natural place is at my feet?"
"I learned that a long time ago, ma'am. I know you have to punish me sometimes,
and it makes me afraid of disobeying you, but it isn't just that. When I please
you I have a sense that I've accomplished something worthwhile, done something
positive in the world - I didn't feel that way very often when I was free, I
guess. Mostly I just went around indulging myself."
"Why, I think that's a very good way of putting it," she said, in a tone that
suggested pleasureable surprise. "I think most men will come round to that way
of thinking, given half a chance. Not all of them, but most - a great majority,
perhaps eighty or ninety percent, and the world will be better for it." She
sighed. "I'm not naive, Richard, or even terribly idealistic. Even with women in
charge of things, I don't pretend we'll stop needing to fight wars, or stave off
epidemics, or struggle through economic convulsions every few decades. But I
hope we'll do it all a little more sensibly, and less egotistically, and we'll
have our husbands to pamper and comfort us when things go badly. That will be
your role after you're released, I hope - a humble assistant, a pillar of
support, and of course a wonderful male toy. Kept firmly in hand, but greatly
appreciated. Does that sound good to you, Richard?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am." And it did, that was the odd part. "I'll do my best to make
Claire happy."
"Oh, Claire," Lady Briddington sniffed. "That girl really doesn't deserve you.
She's such a vain, vacuous little thing, not to mention sadly undereducated. To
be honest, I rather doubt she'd be able to manage you properly if you did put
herself in your hands. Why don't you stay with me after you're released? You
look rather nice with my leopard around your neck, you know."
Richard was completely taken aback. "But ma'am, I love Claire," he protested.
"And as for managing me, I'm sure she'll do quite well, especially considering
she has that Clive bloke to practice on in the meantime. I'm going to marry her
after they let me go - that's always been the plan."
"And what about me," said Lady Briddington in a hurt, petulant tone he'd never
heard from her before. "Don't I mean anything to you, after all the trouble I've
taken to train you and teach you to be a proper slave? After all the nights
you've spent in my bedroom? Has Claire ever made you scream in pain and moan in
pleasure and weep tears of gratitude, all in one evening?"
"Oh, ma'am, I'm so sorry," said Richard, really meaning it. "I know you've put a
lot of time and effort into training me, and it's because of you and all you've
done to me that I've come to accept that I need to be owned and controlled by a
woman. Of course you mean a great deal to me, ma'am. But Claire - well, I fell
in love with her a long time before I was conscripted, and I don't think that's
ever going to change. I can't help how I feel. But don't let's talk about it,
ma'am. I won't be released for a long time yet."
He glanced up at her to see what effect his words might be having, and to his
amazement he saw tears starting in her eyes. The rest of her face was still
inscrutable as ever, but the harsh, cold and utterly masterful woman who kept
him so perfectly under her heel was unquestionably about to start crying.
Without really thinking about what he was doing, he reached up to put a
sympathetic arm around her shoulders.
"How dare you!" she screamed in sudden, hysterical fury, and slapped him away.
The tears were running freely down her face now, but obviously in anger, not in
sadness. "You stupid, wretched, ungrateful boy! Get down on your belly!" He
scrambled to obey, and listened apprehensively as she whirred over to the
intercom.
"Ms. Bonner!" she almost shouted. "You and Ms. Reynolds are to come up here at
once. Richard requires very severe correction. Very severe indeed!"
"Ma'am, I'll be up in a moment, but Ms. Reynolds is off duty and asleep. I'm
sure I can-"
"Wake her!" shrieked Lady Briddington. "Wake her and tell her to be ready when
we come down with the boy. Damn your impertinence!"
"I'm coming, ma'am."
Richard waited trembling on the floor, his nervous sweat trickling onto the
Persian rug in front of the fireplace. He wasn't sure his mistress had ever been
so angry with him, not even after he'd broken her antique nutcracker while
preparing a snack for her and Mrs. Lewis. All too soon he heard Ms. Bonner's
heavy footsteps enter the room, and felt his wrists seized and cuffed together.
She hauled him very roughly to his feet and drove him out of the room with a
stingingly hard slap to his bottom. She was always like this when he had a harsh
punishment coming.
Ms. Bonner marched him to the elevator, followed closely by Lady Briddington in
her wheelchair, and down from there to the Playroom. Ms. Reynolds was waiting
for them, a bit dishevelled and obviously irritated at being hauled out of bed.
She glared at him murderously as Ms. Bonner shoved him through the door.
"Put him on the punishment bench," snapped Lady Briddington. "He has displeased
me greatly. I want him flogged with the sjambok." The what? Richard shuddered
inwardly.
"But ma'am, I was under the impression that was only in here to enhance the
atmosphere," Ms. Bonner said a bit worriedly. "Marike warned us that it was far
too severe for actual use."
"You do as I say! He deserves to bleed a bit. Strap him down and start the
whipping at once."
"But ma'am -"
"At once, or I shall be forced to dismiss you immediately and permanently."
There was a moment of hesitation, and then Richard felt himself seized by both
arms and propelled toward the punishment bench in the middle of the room. Ms.
Bonner leaned close, so that he could feel her warm breath against his cheek.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, too low for Lady Briddington to hear. Yet again,
Richard was completely thrown off balance; more than once the woman had beaten
him till he lay writhing and screaming at her feet and then dragged him upright
so she could beat him still more, but never once had he heard her express even
the slightest regret or sympathy. But he had no doubt that she was sincere, even
as she helped Ms. Reynolds bend him over the bench and strap him into place with
all of her usual firmness. He turned his head to watch apprehensively as Ms.
Reynolds took down the sjambok and slashed it through the air with a nasty grin.
It was a whip of some kind of white, heavy leather, perhaps four feet long and
so stiff it hardly bent under its weight as Ms. Reynolds brought it over.
"As hard as you can, Ms. Reynolds. Hit him all over, and continue until I give
the order to stop." He expected her to begin with his buttocks, but she
surprised him with a sharp blow across the backs of his calves. He moaned and
clenched his fists, shocked at the fierce, bruising pain. The thing was heavy,
and just flexible enough to make the end whip savagely against his flesh in Ms.
Reynolds' capable hands. She did go to his arse next, and then his thighs, and
then a flurry of blows across his upper back as Lady Briddington urged her on
impatiently. He began to scream and pull helplessly against the leather bands
that held him in place, writhing and bucking as the rhythm of the flogging
seemed to become more and more wild and frenzied with every blow. When next he
caught a glimpse of the descending sjambok he saw that the white leather was
stained red. His vision, already dimmed by tears and the cold sweat that poured
down his forehead, began to blur. He heard Lady Briddington screaming "Harder!
Faster!" in exactly the same tone she sometimes used in the bedroom, felt the
pain burning through his limbs and cutting deep into the core of his body, and
then the darkness became complete.
* * *
Amanda stalked along the line of gasping women, strap at the ready. She had
assigned nine of her twenty-nine remaining recruits to remedial physical
training, while the others tidied up the officers' quarters, and she wanted to
make sure they were being worked with the necessary rigour. The sight of their
straining through a sequence of slow push ups was anything but inspiring;
everywhere she looked she saw dripping sweat and flabby, jiggling flesh. She
paused to flick her strap across a black woman's enormously wide and rounded
posterior.
"Come on, bitch, you can do better than that. Keep up with the count. Are you
trying to slack off, recruit Mputa?"
"No, ma'am!" she moaned. "I'm doing my best, ma'am!"
Amanda hit her again. "Well, do better." She moved on to where the hapless Mrs.
Bradshaw - recruit Bradshaw, Amanda reminded herself - seemed on the point of
collapse. Amanda rested a booted foot on the small of her back, although she
didn't put much weight on it. Not to start with.
"Remind me why you need extra PT, Bradshaw."
"Because I'm fat, ma'am," the woman gasped without hesitation.
"That's right." Amanda leaned on her a little harder. "And because you're weak?"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"And soft?" A little more weight; Bradshaw gave a grunt of effort, arms
trembling as she tried to push herself up off the ground.
"Yes, ma'am!" she wailed.
"And slow? And stupid? And lazy? And pathetic?" Amanda moved the other foot up
onto her back, and the woman simply collapsed with a groan of pain. She stood on
her for a moment, grinding brutally with her heels as Bradshaw whimpered and
squirmed, and then reluctantly stepped off. "Back to work, bitch." It was almost
too easy; her pain threshold had improved a little since the first day, when a
bare-handed slap on the bottom had been as likely as not to make her cry, but
she was still willing to wallow in humiliation rather than take the least risk
of corporal punishment. On the other hand, she had surprised Amanda by declining
to drop out of training when given the opportunity after the first hellish 72
hours. She had moved as if to join the group who were already shuffling toward
the storage buildings to retrieve their clothing before being put on a flight
back to England, but then had taken a deep breath and turned back to stand at
attention with the other recruits who had decided to stay. Amanda had rather
admired her at that moment, as she had stood naked and shivering in the chilly
dawn air with a look of stark determination on her pasty, pale face. Admired
her, and enjoyed making her scream with a sudden blow of the strap a couple of
minutes later, when it was time to drive the remaining girls off for their
morning visit to the latrine trenches.
But making Bradshaw scream was like playing one of those ridiculous computer
games that let you use "cheat codes" to make yourself into an unbeatable demigod
- fun for a little while, if you enjoyed that kind of thing, but not in a way
that lasted. Amanda was rapidly discovering that breaking in these women was at
least as much fun as introducing the male conscripts to the delights of slavery,
but she preferred victims who could give her a bit of a challenge. Victims like
the one who awaited her back at the officers' quarters, come to think of it.
Amanda had told her officers to be ridiculously picky and demanding about the
clean-up job: every surface had to be spotless, every piece of clothing and
equipment put away neatly in exactly its proper place, or the offending recruit
got the strap. The night before, they had amused themselves making as much of a
mess as possible, and now the hapless recruits had to deal with the aftermath.
As sergeant, Amanda had her own private room, and she had arranged with
Christine Yarrow - her most trusted subordinate, and something of a soulmate -
to make sure recruits Adaka and Trisk were made responsible for cleaning it.
Adaka was easy to keep in line, unfazed by pain but so easily shamed that she
whimpered and squirmed desperately whenever an officer touched her private parts
and always cried over the lack of privacy when she had to use the latrine
trenches. As with Bradshaw, Amanda was surprised that she hadn't left when given
the chance. But Trisk, unfortunately, was another matter entirely. Neither pain
nor humiliation nor hours of discomfort in the punishment cages seemed to bother
her, she positively enjoyed being groped by the officers, and worst of all she
had become a kind of heroine to the other recruits in Amanda's training unit.
Not only did many of them try to emulate her saucily defiant example, but she
did her best to offer them what encouragement and protection she could -
whispering comfort when they were beaten (Amanda had caught her at it four
times) and throwing herself into the hardest tasks to give the others a little
slack. She even tried to shield Adaka's body with hers when they were at the
trenches, to make it easier for the Japanese woman. A challenge indeed.
The great cleaning operation seemed to be well underway as Amanda breezed into
the officers' quarters. Some poor recruit was protesting and whining as she was
strapped for putting an officer's underwear away in the wrong drawer, and
another was being driven to distraction by the way Officer Kalsah kept finding
excuses to step outside and then tracking fresh mud all over the floor she was
supposed to be cleaning. Amanda paused just long enough to make sure everything
was going well, and to do a little of the pinching, prodding and strapping she
had come to so enjoy, before heading into her own room and pushing the door
firmly closed behind her. Trisk was just making her bed while Adaka polished her
spare boots, all under Christine's smirking direction. Amanda folded her arms
and watched impassively as they finished, rather enjoying the worried glances
Adaka kept sending in her direction. Recruit Trisk, typically, ignored her
entirely.
"You've done well," she finally said grudgingly. "Trisk!"
She came to attention, slowly enough to give just the slightest impression of
insolence. Amanda cupped her chin with a firm hand, and tilted her face up a
little - at least the woman was half a head shorter than her. "You've been doing
a lot of things well lately, Trisk. I think you deserve a little reward. Do you
think recruit Adaka there is pretty?"
"Ma'am?"
"You heard the question. Come on, Trisk, we all know you're a lesbian. Look at
Adaka kneeling there. Do you think she's pretty?"
She shrugged. "Sure."
Amanda let the insolence pass, for the moment. "Good. So do I. And Adaka, you'd
like to help us reward Recruit Trisk for her outstanding effort, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Adaka whispered worriedly, without taking her eyes off the floor.
She hated being made to talk to the officers, although her charmingly accented
English seemed fairly serviceable.
"Ma'am, I don't really deserve a reward," said Trisk, ever the protector. "Don't
make her do anything."
"Oh, she won't do anything. You will." Amanda unclipped the handcuffs from her
belt, and handed them to Trisk. "Take her over to the bed and cuff her to it,
face up."
"Ma'am, I really -"
"Okay, if you don't want to do it, we will. Why don't you go ahead, Christine."
The tall officer laughed. "My pleasure." She grabbed Adaka by her short black
hair and jerked her brutally to her feet, then shoved her over to the bed. Adaka
didn't offer the slightest resistance, but Christine was very rough with her
anyway, kneeling on her chest to pull her arms over her head and lock them into
place. She ran her hands quickly down Adaka's taut, wiry body before stepping
away, and the Japanese woman pulled helplessly at her cuffs and bit her lower
lip as if trying to hold back tears. After four days of severe training, she was
no longer quite so elegantly beautiful: her hair was tangled and matted, her
body streaked with sweat and grime, her legs and armpits coarse with black
stubble. Trisk watched her with concern.
Amanda pulled a length of nylon rope from under her bed - it came in handy,
around here - and offered it to Trisk. "You want to tie her ankles, or should
we?"
"I'll do it."
"Good girl. I want them widely spread, of course." Trisk obeyed reluctantly,
painstakingly gentle even when Adaka began to squirm and try to press her legs
together. The poor little bitch simply couldn't stand having her genitals on
display. But Trisk forced her ankles apart and tied them to the foot of the bed,
knowing Amanda or Christine would do it a lot more roughly and unpleasantly if
she didn't.
"She's nice, isn't she? Such lovely tears. Now give her a nice little kiss."
"Please, ma'am, she's crying! Do anything you want to me, but don't make me
torture her. Go ahead, strap me, kick me, I don't care. Just leave her alone."
"I don't think so, Trisk," Amanda sneered. "If you don't want her, I think
perhaps I'll sample her charms myself." And she grabbed Adaka's pert little
breasts, squeezing hard enough to hurt, one cupped in each hand. The woman
wailed and began to sob, pulling helplessly at her bonds.
"Please, ma'am," she moaned. "Stop touching... stop grabbing..."
Amanda laughed. "Why don't you join me, Christine?" A moment later the other
officer was massaging Adaka's thighs as roughly as she could, working up toward
her vulva. Her tears redoubled when Christine finally began to pinch and knead
the lips of her vagina.
"This is how it will be from now on, Trisk," said Amanda pleasantly. "When you
don't follow orders, when you show a flash of that attitude of yours, someone
else is going to get punished for it. Maybe I'll pinch Adaka's tits, just like
this, or give poor Bradshaw a smack or two, or lock Rico in one of the cages.
It'll be something the girl really can't stand, don't worry. How many times will
it have to happen, Trisk, before they all start to despise you and your stupid
childish antics?"
Trisk looked stricken. "But, ma'am, that's not fair. If I do something wrong,
then -"
"Are you trying to argue with me, bitch?" Amanda kept her tone fairly mild, but
pinched Adaka's nipples between her fingertips for emphasis. "Things are going
to get very unpleasant for Adaka here if you keep that up." As if on cue, the
Japanese woman moaned and struggled convulsively.
"I'm sorry ma'am," she replied, obviously forcing every word. "Please just stop
torturing her. Please!"
"Oh, if you think this is torture, just wait till you see what we do to her when
you really fuck up. Or, of course, you could just try acting like a good girl
for a change. What's it going to be, Trisk? Are you going to do what we tell you
from now on?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And drop that stupid adolescent attitude?"
She bowed her head and swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am."
"Okay, let's give it a try." She stepped back from the bed, signalling Christine
to do the same. Adaka, suddenly left alone, looked from one of them to the other
with wide, nervous eyes. "Go over there and give her a kiss, like I told you.
She'll hate it, but I promise she'll like it a lot better that what will happen
to her if you don't do as you're told."
Trisk sighed apologetically, knelt by the bed, and brushed her closed lips
quickly across Adaka's.
Amanda gave her a tight smile. "Nice try. Now do it properly. Rape her mouth
with your tongue. Hold her head so she can't get away."
Anger flashed in her eyes, but she bent her head before it could turn into a
proper glare. She might have whispered something to Adaka as she took hold of
her, perhaps an apology, but Amanda decided to let it go. Then Trisk pressed her
mouth to Adaka's, holding her gently but firmly when she tried to squirm away,
ignoring her tears. "Now her breasts," Amanda directed. "Just work your way
down, but slowly."
"Stop it, stop it," moaned Adaka as soon as her mouth was free, but Trisk
resolutely ignored her. Amanda let her get down between Adaka's legs before
grabbing her hair and jerking her head suddenly upright. "How is she down
there?" she hissed. "Nice and wet?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Maybe she's enjoying herself more than she's letting on. Quite the little slut,
isn't she?" Adaka mumbled something unintelligible through her tears, and shook
her head violently.
"It's just her body, ma'am," said Trisk in a tone of sympathetic anger. "She
can't help it."
"Oh, so she's just a filthy little animal, is she? A sow in heat who can't
control herself? Kiss her on the lips again. Make her taste herself. Just pinch
her nose if she won't open up." Now that really made Adaka cry and struggle. And
wonder of wonders, Trisk had started too, tears of sympathy and helpless rage
trickling down her face to mingle with the other woman's.
"All right," said Amanda after a moment. "Point made, I think. You can be quite
obedient when you make the effort, Trisk, and I hope for the sake of your fellow
recruits that you continue to behave. For the moment you can go back in the
other room and help them finishing cleaning up."
"Yes, ma'am," sniffled Trisk in a low, defeated voice, satisfyingly free of
sarcasm. She started for the door.
"No, not like that! Down on your hands and knees. Crawl in there, kneel up in
front of the first officer you see, and ask her to give you something to do. And
remind her, in front of the other girls, that they're going to be punished for
your misbehaviour from now on. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am." She got down and started to crawl, and even nodded gratefully when
Christine opened the door for her. Amanda kicked her lightly between the legs,
just for good measure, and was surprised to see her wince and flinch away.
Amanda laughed.
"It hurts a little more when you're not allowed to be brave, doesn't it? Better
get used to it."
"Well, I'd call that a successful operation," said Christine brightly, when
Trisk was gone. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, toying idly with Adaka's
hair.
"Absolutely. I think she's going to hate us by the end of the week, though, if
she doesn't already."
"She'll get over it. After all, do you still hate the women who trained you?"
"No, I guess not. Not now that it's done with." She turned to Adaka. "Are you
going to hate us? I know that was hard on you."
The poor girl swallowed hard, obviously trying to pull herself together. "I know
it is professional, ma'am," she replied with surprising dignity.
"Yes, professional... I suppose that's a good way of putting it. Christine,
could you let her up and have her finish tidying in here? Just don't make too
much noise. I have to try Her Annoying Greekness again."
Christine eyed her doubtfully. "Maybe we should put on soothing music or
something. Last time they could hear you in the dormitory tents, you were
swearing at her so loudly." That had to be an exaggeration, Amanda thought.
"Not this time," she said wryly. "I talked to Major Stevens, and she says to
just go ahead and pay what she's asking."
"The whole thirty-five thousand?"
"Yeah. The longer we wait, the more expensive it's going to get, I think. She
knows how badly we want him back. But apparently his father is putting up a
large proportion of the money - Major Stevens can be very good at exerting
pressure, or so I've heard."
"Sounds promising. I hope they make him regret all this nonsense, when they
finally get him."
"When I finally get him," Amanda corrected. "They've agreed to put me in charge
of transporting him back to Britain, and he'll go into my training unit when the
next round of conscripts come into the system in April. Sort of a reward from
high command, even though I've really made a bit of a mess of things." She
paused. "And yes, he'll be a very sorry young man when I get my hands on him,
don't worry."
* * *
"Well, he won't die," said Dr. Lancaster flatly.
"But will he be all right," asked Lady Briddington anxiously, dabbing at her
eyes. "Will there be any permanent damage?" Richard was lying face-down on a bed
that had been specially made up for him in one of her guest rooms, heavily
sedated and unconscious. The whole back side of his body, mercilessly displayed
in the room's bright light, was a livid mass of bruises, welts, and more than a
few open lacerations. Lady Briddington couldn't believe what she'd done to him -
it had been nearly two days since his collapse under Ms. Reynolds' savage
beating, and in all that time she hadn't slept or eaten. She'd tried to
apologise to him, over and over, but she wasn't sure he'd understood through all
the things Dr. Lancaster had given him for the pain.
The woman sighed and brushed her unruly brown hair back from her face. "Nothing
serious. Quite possibly some light scarring on his thighs and buttocks, but
nothing a little cosmetic surgery wouldn't take care of. The psychological
aspect worries me a lot more, to be honest; being whipped that badly must be
traumatic to say the least. I wish you'd tell me exactly what happened."
"It's not important," Lady Briddington replied distantly. "Can you arrange the
surgery?"
"Of course I can. But I still wish you'd tell me."
"That's a very private matter between Richard and me," she replied with a flash
of frosty temper. "Understood?"
"I could recommend that he be removed from your custody immediately, you know.
You've exceeded the guidelines by a long way."
"That would be most inadvisable." Lady Briddington fixed her with a level,
penetrating stare, until she finally blushed and dropped her eyes. "Kindly
arrange for the best possible care, and whatever surgery is necessary to restore
his appearance. I trust you can have him fully recovered well before he is due
to be rotated elsewhere?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'll pay for everything myself, of course. Oh, and doctor?"
"Yes?"
"I know you're an intelligent woman, but in view of your last comment I fear it
may be necessary to remind you anyway. Anyone you bring in to tend my boy had
better be capable of keeping her mouth shut."
"Yes."
She turned on her heel and walked slowly out of the room. Lady Briddington
rolled her wheelchair up to the bedside and touched Richard's bottom, very
lightly, right on the left buttock where she imagined a leopard-shaped brand
would look particularly appealing. One way or another, she was going to keep
him.
