BDSM Library - The Wards of Harwell Tusker

Preamble

In the second Victorian era, great strides have been made since the days of the first Queen Victoria. While steam power and gas lighting still rule, society has moved on in many ways. Amongst modern marvels, one man harks back to the values and traditions of the nineteenth century, using his skills in the service of those around him, offering a very unique set of services.

And it is he that we encounter, fresh from his success with the adjustment of Mrs. Nicola James, as he travels to a meeting with an old friend.

Chapter 1: A Country Visit

The weather was warm. The sun was shining. The journey was tolerable. The train was at least on time; an unexpected occurrence. I fear, that in this second Victorian age, the standards of the first have not always been maintained in the matter of rail transport.

It is not often that I venture far from my consulting rooms in Highgate, but on this occasion I had allowed myself to be persuaded by one of my clients. I found myself heading away from Highgate in a carriage of the Chiltern & Buckingham Railway Company.

So far I’d had no reason to regret my decision. The journey out of town had taken me through sunlit suburbs, giving me a view across neat brick dwellings with their slate-covered roofs and their quiet suburban families within. At the end of my travels I was to meet with a client that had been one of the first to avail themselves of my services and one that, now, I almost consider a friend.

The railway carriage compartment had been empty for most of the journey, allowing me to compose my thoughts in advance of my planned meeting. However, my solitary contemplation was interrupted at the station before my final destination when two young ladies joined me, bursting into the compartment, loud with boisterous chatter.

In less time than it took for the engine to draw our carriage as far as the end of the platform they had exhibited all of the characteristics that I have dedicated my professional life to correcting. Their manner was flirtatious; their dress immodest; their discussions irritating beyond all belief; their behaviour, in as much as it is possible for the fairer sex, boorish and without consideration for those around them. They were of an age that often proves most problematical: too old for school, too young to be of any use as a marriage partner. I imagined they were avoiding a day working at some dismal office task or, equally likely, absenting themselves from one of those, sadly misnamed, colleges of further education.

It was all I could do to prevent myself reaching for my bag, taking out one of my floggers and introducing the pair to the benefits of decorum and restraint at that instant.

The two continued to chatter, debating the rights and wrongs of this latest celebrity scandal; the performance of this, as they remarked, talentless musician; the delights of another new beauty product. I found it remarkable that they could hold such passionate views on so many matters that seemed to me of such little consequence.

It was clear to me that the two of them found my appearance strange. The velvet suit, beloved of the blessed Oscar, is hardly the normal garb of a man of these times and the young have yet to develop the skill of observing without revealing the fact that they have observed. A shared, nervous giggle told me that they thought me odd, old fashioned and possibly a little disturbing.

The taller of the two girls rummaged in her shoulder bag and pulled out one of the new portable music players. It was the size of a cigarette box. She swung it around her neck on a strap that carried a store of miniature music cylinders like a bandolier of cartridges, pulled one of the cylinders from its sleeve and pushed it into the machine. She wound the clockwork mechanism that drove it. Each girl plugged the tubes of their miniature earphones into the box and the pair sat back in shared enjoyment of the sound, silently mouthing the lyrics of whatever popular song was being played and staring blankly at a spot on the wall of the compartment somewhere above my head. The staff in Mr Edison’s laboratory had something to answer for, I felt.

Relieved by the cessation of their inane conversation, I closed my eyes, relaxed to the quiet pulsing of the locomotive’s cylinders, and waited for our arrival at Benfield Abbas.

The station at Benfield Abbas is as so many around the northern edge of the capital. It is hectic in the morning and evening as it conveys those unfortunate enough to have to commute from the suburbs to and from their place of work, but is virtually deserted for the rest of the day. The station's sole denizens were the employees of the Chiltern & Buckingham Railway Company that were required to attend against the unlikely event of some peculiar individual, such as myself, requiring their assistance. I alighted. The signal at the platform’s end clattered up, allowing the train to leave, carrying with it, to my great pleasure, my two compartment companions.

The porter made no attempt to assist me with my bag, instead taking pleasure in sucking the last remnants of nicotine from a thin hand-rolled cigarette while he leant against a brightly painted, newly polished, trolley that remained unsullied by luggage. The Station Master simply smiled as I progressed along the platform. The ticket clerk at the station’s barrier, disappointed that I appeared to have a valid ticket for travel, checked that it had been issued correctly for that day’s date and that I appeared to be using it in the manner for which it had been intended before reluctantly allowing me to leave his domain.

Outside the booking hall, a single, steamer taxi sat waiting, puffs of smoke emitting from its chimney, sighs of steam declaring its disappointment with life spilling from beneath its chassis. The driver leaned out as I appeared. "You for the Priory?" he called.

I nodded. He got down from his cab to help me with my bag.

"Said I should look out for a skinny looking party. Stringy beard, too, they said. That’s you right enough."

He heaved the bag up onto the rack at the back of the cab and strapped it in place.

"It’s not far but it’s hardly a good road," he said by way of explanation for the secure strapping of my luggage. He wasn’t to know that I am always at my happiest when things are well secured.

My driver’s assessment of the route turned out to be an accurate one. The Stanley steam taxi, heavy by virtue of its robust boiler and well-engineered mechanisms, found it difficult to negotiate the rutted tracks of the outskirts of Benfield Abbas with other than ill grace. The final half-mile, along a partly paved lane between ash trees and signposted to Benfield Priory, was a severe test of the vehicle’s suspension and of the passenger’s determination to reach his destination.

Benfield Priory showed little of its ecclesiastical past. A ruined arch in need of its own Gothic revival stood beside the road. It looked as though it was trying to prove that Benfield had once been a foundation of importance whereas, in reality, it had only ever been a minor house of a minor order. Apart from the arch, the only evidence remaining of its former status was the building that was once the Abbot’s lodging and now formed the home of my host and one-time client, Harwell Tusker.

I was aware of Tusker’s progress in the world. He had grown from a simple shop keeper in Southwark to his present position as the man who could acquire whatever his customers – and they were many and wealthy – desired. As with all of my clients, his success had directly benefitted myself. The contractual terms under which I supply my services see to that. Our relationship was in the early days of my professional career when I had yet to recognise the full value of my skills. Had I done so, I could have benefitted far more than I have from Tusker’s scaling of the heights of London’s social and professional scenes. Even so, the growth in his wealth had, through my share, provided me with the means to establish and develop my own enterprise.

His wife had, of course, been instrumental in Harwell’s success. My achievement had been in helping his wife to take that role. It was not one that she had felt naturally inclined towards and, indeed, it had required some compulsion on her husband’s part for her to undertake that which I required of her. But, considering that I was still developing my theories at that time, all had turned out well.

I should, perhaps, explain the services that I provide. In my youth I was fortunate to study with some of the great explorers of the human psyche. The Fritz Freleng College at Hamelin in Northern Germany brought together the great analysts of human behaviour. As a student there, I had the opportunity to observe treatments used to help with unbalanced minds. During my tenure, the idea occurred to me that, while such methods could certainly help the sick, they might equally be applied to bring about desired changes in behaviour among the well. Furthermore, certain dark aspects of human nature, especially in the fairer sex, could be taken advantage of for the benefit of the individual and those around them. In time, I refined my processes of behavioural adjustment, recognising that a market existed for the development of the skills and attitudes of their life partner amongst those that wished to climb society’s rungs. It was on this sphere of work that I had settled. The behavioural adjustment of Harwell Tusker’s wife had been one of my earliest projects. I had also hit on the idea of basing my fees on the future earnings of my clients, demonstrating to them that their success was of primary importance to me. The two ideas resulted in a business that had proved both profitable and a fascinating life’s work.

I was received into the Priory in a most efficient and welcoming manner. Its elegant, well-appointed and equally well-maintained surroundings all spoke of Mrs Tusker’s dedication to providing her husband with a home that reflected and reinforced his status in society. Once brought inside by the butler, attended on with tea by the parlour maid, and delivered of my luggage by others of the household staff, it was Mrs Amelia Tusker herself that arrived to greet me.

Politeness required that no mention would be made of the time that she had spent in my care. Neither the force with which she had needed to be brought to Highgate nor the lusty arousal generated by her treatment there could be the subject of conversation between us. Instead, she enquired how things were with my business; how my journey had been; whether – she remembered my fondness for the aesthetic artists – I had seen the latest works by Leighton and Whistler. Our discussions were the model of civilized conversation and a complete demonstration of her skills as a hostess. I was quite unaware of the passing of time and entirely failed to register the absence of my host until he appeared, a good half hour after my arrival.

"My dear chap!" He gripped me warmly by the hand as I rose from the chair. "I must apologise. Amelia has taken care of you, I am sure. I do apologise."

Before I could respond Amelia got to her feet "Please excuse me, gentlemen," she said. "I am sure you will want to talk and I am equally sure there is little I can contribute to your discussions. Unless you need me, Harwell, I should really attend to the arrangements for the dinner tomorrow."

"Of course, Amelia." He watched as his wife left us. I could tell by his glance that there had been no diminishing of the ardour that had led him into his relationship with her. The skills that she had acquired were still, evidently, satisfying him.

"Exceptional!" Harwell exclaimed, though whether it was his wife’s contribution to his success or the perfect form of her buttocks beneath her long skirt that he was admiring was far from clear.

I felt that it was time to turn to the matter of my trip. "I was wondering what the issue was that you wished me to help with. I assume that it is not your wife."

"No indeed. She, as you can tell, continues to demonstrate the success of your methods. No, it is another problem." Harwell Tusker took his place in the armchair almost opposite where I was sitting. A frown crossed his face as he seemed to consider how best to begin our discussions. Eventually he spoke. "Were you aware that I had a brother?"

"I don’t believe so."

"Regrettably he died just over a year ago. An unfortunate accident. Killed in an accident with his wife while driving through Hyde Park. Their vehicle skidded – the coroner blamed the results of a troop of Horse Guards passing that way a little earlier and the excessive speed of my brother’s motor on what by then was a rather slippery surface."

"You have my condolences."

"Thank you. We were not close but such a loss inevitably casts its shadow. In this case it casts two shadows. He had two daughters: twins; my nieces. Now I find I am their guardian. This is not a role I have taken with enthusiasm, I will confess." Tusker leant forward in a confiding manner. "It is late in life to suddenly need to cope with the vagaries of two young women. And, I must confess, they display none of the characteristics I would hope to find in daughters of my own, were I to have had any."

I recalled the two girls on the train. I found it easy to understand his point of view.

"They are nineteen," he said. "Their twentieth birthday is in only a few weeks’ time. To me, they seem unprepared for the future, lacking any sense of how they will make their way in the world. Their father’s estate involved only debts, I fear, and they lack the means to support themselves independently. I suspect, too, that they are lacking any of the skills that they will need." Tusker looked worried. I could see that, in the circumstances described, the daughters represented a considerable responsibility for him. He went on, "My question is, whether you believe that your methods could be applied in the preparation of girls for marriage rather than for a woman already married. It seemed to me that with the attributes you can develop, a girl might be made a more attractive prospect, and thus able to be placed more easily in an advantageous marriage."

I thought for a few moments. It was a matter that I had considered before but had never been asked about. Most of my clients were too concerned with the progression of their careers to concern themselves with progeny and so the issue had never arisen. "There is little doubt," I replied, "that my methods could be applied and could have the desired result. There are, however, a number of difficulties that I perceive. First, there is the question of consent. For a married woman, I insist that she gives her complete, wholehearted and informed consent to the course of actions she will undertake with me. Where the woman is already married and can see the direct benefits of my programme, she is highly motivated to achieve success. Your own wife, for example, was well prepared to endure the restraints and humiliations because she had her eyes on the goal of your success and the benefits that would confer upon her in turn. For a girl as yet unmarried, such objectives might seem somewhat remote, somewhat abstract. There has to be consent and there has to be motivation for my methods to succeed. However, I assume that you were not planning to have these girls delivered to me by carrier, enclosed in a crate, so let us imagine that informed consent can be given. The issue, then, is one of motivation. And of course there is also the question of how we would manage the fees."

"Of course."

"It is not a trivial matter," I continued. "In the case of a husband and wife, I am dealing with a known proposition. In your own case, for example, my research confirmed that in the very worst case I would cover my costs. If things turned out in your career as I expected, then a tidy profit would accrue to me as your own fortunes prospered. Under your proposal, I would be buying, if not a girl in a crate, then certainly a pig in a poke as far as her future marriage partner was concerned. There would also be the question of whether her no doubt much improved attributes would compensate for the fact that she would be presented with a debt entrained. The bride might be golden but for the groom the benefits might not be apparent while the costs most certainly would be."

"Yes, I can see your points, but I think that all of these can be resolved in one way or another."

"There is one other issue that I have just thought of. Some of my techniques require the use of penetrative stimulation as part of the sexual acclimatisation. I suppose that in this case this would be unacceptable. Disruption of the hymen beyond that which has already occurred could hardly be seen as desirable in a woman intended for the path to the altar."

"You are right, of course. But, again, surely alternative methods can be employed?"

"Oh yes. It will require some experimentation but I suspect it is the least of the challenges that face us."

"So you can assist me in this?"

I had to admire Harwell’s assumption and also his confidence in my ability to overcome what I saw as significant hurdles, but I did not feel able to confirm my acceptance just yet. "Possibly. I shall review my approach in the light of your proposals and identify whether and how we could proceed. It would help if you could let me have some information on the young ladies in question, something to provide a jumping off point for my thoughts."

"Of course," Harwell smiled and reached for a small box file standing on the desk in one corner of the room. "I think this will assist. I have tried to provide the basic details, some copies of their last school reports, for example, which I think will provide insight even though they have, of course, left school now."

"May I ask how they spend their time?"

"In idleness and self-amusement, is my view," Harwell responded grumpily. "In the words of an old colleague of mine, they seem to have developed all the usual vices and a few unique ones of their own."

I opened the box file. Two daguerreotypes in heavy gilt frames stared up at me. It was a scandal that Mr Fox-Talbot’s methods had never caught on. How tragic that the French should dominate the art of the automatic image as they had once done the image created with brush and paint. The silvered surface of the picture seemed to me to call out for the traditional dress of the first Victorian era, but these pictures showed, to my regret, two girls dressed in the modern style. However, one thing did surprise me about the pair of images. Without doubt, they were the girls that I had encountered on the train.

"They are up to London for the day today," Tusker ventured as I peered at the pictures. "Some art exhibition or other. Saw them down to the train myself."

I placed the daguerreotypes back in the box. They may indeed have got on the London train, I thought, but from my encounter with them it was clear that they had alighted after one stop and were now heading in completely the other direction. I was pleased. It was evidence of duplicity and where there is duplicity we often find the need for atonement and thereby we find at least one of the levers on the human psyche.

"I cannot tell you how obliged I am to you," Harwell beamed. "This will be a weight from my mind. You have no idea of the problems that two …"

"Of course," I had no wish for Harwell to prolong his exhortations. I took my pocket watch from my waistcoat. "Perhaps if you could call me a Stanley, I can get to the station in time for the next train. This portfolio demands a careful examination."

"My driver, Didsbury, will take you." Harwell reached for the bell pull. His butler appeared and after a few words from Harwell, disappeared again.

I thanked my host, wished him well, and promised to call him within the week. In exchange, I asked that he should give consideration to how he might engineer his wards’ informed consent if the arrangements were to go ahead. That was likely to be, I felt, by far the bigger problem.

My journey back to London and the sanctuary of my consulting rooms in Highgate was peaceful. I had plenty of time to contemplate the challenges that Tusker’s proposal might present but I was little closer to the answers I needed by the time the train slid under the welcoming comfort of the canopy of Marylebone Station.

Chapter 2: Practical Considerations

In common with my usual practice, I had breakfasted simply and was seated in my living room, taking in the news of the day from that morning’s edition of The Times. It told the usual combination of political obfuscations, celebrity excesses and the absurd behaviour of prima-donnas engaged in the sport of Association Football or soccer, as our American cousins refer to it.

There was however some real news. The value of production in our manufacturing industries had once again increased which was, I considered, an encouraging sign. Furthermore our cricket team1 had once again triumphed. Even a combined Southern Hemisphere XI had proved no match for the combination of spin bowling and straight hitting from ourselves.

Of passing professional interest was an account of a police raid in the east of London that had freed twenty young women from the clutches of a gang of Eastern origin suspected of planning to traffic their captives into the slave markets of the Formosa. Scurrilous though this plan was, a detailed explanation of the way in which the gang had solved the challenges of restraining twenty captives held against their will would have been of relevance to my own work but no such detail emerged. Instead the article focused on the uninteresting expressions of relief from one of those abducted. I put the paper aside impatiently and turned to the day’s work.

The portfolio that Harwell Tusker had provided me on his two wards certainly gave me the basis for an assessment of the task in hand. The school reports were helpful. My own experience of women below the age of, say, twenty-five was limited but the assessment of the girls’ tutors in their final year at school seemed to indicate they had qualities that could be built on. "Amanda demonstrates an independence of thought that always contributes to class discussions," said her history teacher while Estelle’s PE teacher had commended her "energy and enthusiasm as a member of the long distance and cross country running team."

Good, I thought, physical endurance is always a useful attribute in those that I work with.

By way of explanation, I should remark that my methods depend on confronting the subject with a series of situations designed to increase the levels of sexual and emotional stress. These can include the use of prolonged physical stimulation, excessive generation of endorphins through acute pleasure and pain, mental disorientation through confinement, restraint, and humiliation, as well as a number of other tools. Together, these techniques tend to drive a desire for compliance and a wish to please. This predisposition is then focused on the needs of the subject’s partner, so achieving the desired behavioural adjustment. In principle, the approach is simple. In practice it is rather more difficult, since each human being proves (to my continuing fascination) to be a unique combination of attitudes, complexes and characteristics that need method balanced against personality.

Both the girls seemed, from the reports, to be in good physical health. The school medical orderly had found little to comment on, although Amanda was chastised for paying insufficient attention to her weight. In addition, the typical diet of today’s youth, coupled with the lack of exercise resulting from too much time connected to Mr Edison’s music device (saving Estelle’s activities on the running track), meant that both suffered from the complexion problems common in young adults.

As far as their intellectual well-being was concerned, Amanda was an enthusiastic consumer of literary fiction, albeit the works of Miss Austen and the like that have been dubbed "Chick Lit", and Estelle had demonstrated some artistic skill in her handling of watercolours and in her abilities as a needlewoman. Amanda had become proficient in the playing of the cello, a particularly suitable instrument for a young lady, I feel. Something about the way it is clutched warmly between the thighs, I suppose. Estelle, on the other hand, had shown herself accomplished in dance, dramatic interpretation (whatever that might be) and in the highly relevant skill — from my perspective — of gymnastics.

I was encouraged. It seemed to me that although the two, no doubt, suffered from the usual limitations of youth, they appeared to possess attributes that, with careful management, could be translated into the skills recognised as useful in a wife.

They were also, without doubt, physically attractive. I could vouch for that on the strength of my own encounter with them on the train to Benfield Abbas. While I might have regretted their choice of apparel from the perspective of my own preferences, it had allowed me to appraise them physically: Estelle taller, slimmer, more athletic; Amanda with a fuller shape but with the bearing that allowed her to make much of it.

The words of Mr William Morris "Have nothing in your houses which you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful," are meant to apply to the choice of furniture or décor but I see no reason why they cannot refer to a wife. Against those criteria, Estelle and Amanda seemed able to qualify and consequently might benefit from my attentions.

The personal qualities of the two young ladies were not, however, the only matters that concerned me. The other issue of concern to me was the extent to which I could accommodate two participants simultaneously in my programme. For all my previous projects, I have only needed to work with one individual at a time and the proposed change would create some practical difficulties. The cage, for example, that I use to accommodate participants certainly had sufficient space to accommodate two but, were it to be used so, neither would feel the sense of isolation that is currently the experience of those imprisoned within it. Equally, I only have a single one of some of my favourite restraint devices. It was clear that additional investment in facilities would be required.

It has often been the fact that English enterprises have welcomed an expansion in their business without considering the additional investment that such expansion requires. I had no intention of repeating those mistakes, especially in a project where the outcomes were so unpredictable and the funding so indeterminate.

My late afternoon studies were interrupted by a ring on the door. A smartly uniformed employee of the General Post Office saluted in the customary fashion as I answered it.

"Special delivery, Sir," the boy announced holding out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. I took it from him and signed his receipt book. I noted the time and place of posting: Benfield Abbas, some four hours earlier. I have heard it suggested that private companies might improve on the delivery services offered by Her Majesty’s Royal Mail. What an absurd suggestion! I handed the receipt book back. The delivery boy saluted once more and left.

As I opened the parcel I saw it bore Harwell Tusker’s distinctive handwriting. Inside, a short letter read, "You will remember I said, ‘All the usual vices plus a few unique ones of their own.’ Found these in their rooms. From the fact that they were concealed with some considerable care I will allow you to draw your own conclusions. H."

Wrapped in the parcel were two bundles of slim books, one labelled "E" and the other "A". From Amanda’s bundle I took out the first few volumes. I knew the general type although I had not encountered the specific editions before. It seemed that her literary tastes extended beyond Austen. These volumes, while not having the literary qualities of the author of Mansfield Park, possessed other attributes. "Penny Dreadfuls" I believe is the popular term for them. The editions provided in Tusker’s parcel all explored a similar theme, if their lurid covers were anything to be judged by: a collection of stories of the mystic East, all seeming to focus on the abduction and enslavement of white girls for the amusement of their oriental masters. It is a common enough fantasy, hence the demand for stories of this kind. It suggested to me that Amanda might be enticed into giving her consent for the plans Tusker had for her, if only as an opportunity to realise some of her own fancies.

Estelle’s collection also gave cause for optimism as to Harwell Tusker’s quest. It was an interesting selection of erotica for a young lady that I would rather have expected to be found in the room of a young man. There were two sporting magazines, but rather than representing the prime of young sporting prowess in the fields of cricket or football, for example, they showed some of the English women’s weight lifting and athletics team displaying their, in my view, rather unladylike physiques. It was evident to me that Estelle’s tastes tended to the Sapphic, not uncommon in a girl of her age, but potentially interesting. Two further journals collected a series of lithotype engravings of American origin depicting two young women engaged in a range of bondage and disciplinary scenarios. The pictures were ones that I was familiar with. They were examples of the oeuvre of Miss Bettie Page and others that I had seen first in an exceptional magic lantern display in a San Francisco club that catered to those with similar interests to my own. The two ladies showed great expertise in the creation of dramatic scenarios as well as in the authenticity of restraint. The lithotypes were faithful representations of the pictures as I recalled them. I assumed, without any real evidence, that Estelle saw herself in the dominant role but in any case an enthusiasm for the fetishistic world of sadomasochism would make my own task easier. It might even help Harwell in his mission to obtain the girls’ consent to their programme.

I considered the collection. The two women had evidently found themselves a focus for erotic musing that explored the darker side of human sexuality, a territory familiar to myself. Their interest in the yin-yang balance of domination and submission would, of course, play to my methods although such familiarity is by no means a precondition of success in my work. I have found such interest to have been both a help and a hindrance in the past. Some of those who come to my techniques after some other experience may find the differences more apparent than the familiarities. However, I thought it likely that neither Miss Estelle Tusker nor Miss Amanda Tusker were likely to have encountered much of the realities of sexual submission beyond perhaps those so often found within our English public schools. Of course, such places have long been the breeding ground of the dominant and the submissive personality. The confining of those of the same sex, in close proximity, for long periods under a regime of often arbitrary and arcane rules serves to create a sound foundation for sexually deviant behaviour in later life. I, of all people, should know that.

Amanda’s choice was interesting. From others I have known who have shown interest in such literature, I would have expected an interest in the world of the harem, of veiled white slaves, in thrall to a desert potentate. Instead her interests ranged further east — to the world of the opium den and the fiendish Chinese. However, it was no doubt that the same drives would be at work — restraint, compulsion, punishment and humiliation: the usual cards from the deck that I regularly shuffled and dealt for the education of my students. The collection of documents from the twins’ room was also both informative and diverting. I was certainly pleased to have the opportunity to renew my acquaintance with Miss Page’s facility for portraying acts of sadomasochism as both pleasurable and, in some way, enriching.

I had considerable food for thought. The best course, I felt, was to spend some time in relaxation. I find that my most useful ideas come upon me when I am least expecting them. An evening listening to the gramophone (I still believe that the use of shellac as a recording medium provides a more lively sound than anything done with more ‘modern’ materials) and indulging in one of my limited number of vices – the consumption of burgundy wines – would, I was sure, provide me with insights into the other aspects of my problem.

Luckily, one of my trainees — Arianna, a woman in her thirties just approaching the conclusion of her ‘adjustment’ — was on hand to cater to me. She had shown herself to be an attentive and easily schooled pupil. Her inherent willingness to please was complemented by considerable sensitivity in her skin (especially her nipples) and a tendency to claustrophobia which had meant that she had been quick to take on all those skills whose neglect might result in her earning close confinement by way of punishment.

She had just brought me a glass of the finest wine and had placed on the turntable of my gramophone the first of Herr Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. Now, taking advantage of her presence, I found myself seated in the buttoned-leather embrace of my favourite armchair with my feet resting on her naked back.

As an aside, I find that this sort of objectification is of distinct help in the adjustment process. Placing the subject in the role of a footstool, as here for example, or a table or other item of furniture, provides them with the opportunity to ponder just what their presence brings beyond that which could be provided by wood and metal. In this world of speed and hurry, opportunities to reflect are few and far between. A few hours spent acting as a hat stand, for instance, provides the chance to consider without the distractions of everyday life.

My footstool was demonstrating that she had come to value these moments of reflection as she knelt motionless, her back perfectly positioned to accommodate me in the greatest possible comfort. And of course, beyond the conventional horse-hair stuffed variety of footstool, I could rely on her continued attentions to such matters as refilling my glass, exchanging the recording disks and winding the gramophone player.

Such are the consolations of my role. On this occasion, the selfless assistance of my trainee allowed me to turn my thoughts to the conundrum of how this project could result in an appropriate financial remuneration for my skills.

1 For the benefit of our colonial readers, the game of cricket is one in which two teams engage in a trial of strength, skill, and guile in matches that may last as long as five days (after which it is still possible for neither team to be the victor). It is felt by the British to be particularly good for forming the character, embodying as it does, false hope, real despair, physical pain and the opportunity for gloating triumph in victory, abject humiliation in defeat and severe frustration as a result of achieving neither.

Chapter 3: Sponsorship

The conundrum I faced was two-fold. There was, of course, the matter that I wished to be suitably rewarded for the efforts that the project would undoubtedly require. Although I enjoy my work, it is, nevertheless, the way by which I make my living and it has always been my view that a fair day’s work deserves a fair day’s pay.

The second problem was the issue of fairness to my other clients. Without exception, they make a substantial investment in my services, staking a significant part of their future wealth on the delivery of a life partner entirely able to support them. To provide my services for Harwell Tusker without some similar arrangement would be a betrayal of those I had helped in the past.

Slowly, the bones of a proposition began to form in my mind. My thoughts turned to Brankston Tusker, Harwell’s unfortunate brother. He was, I recalled, an experienced and capable engineer. As such, he was a member of a profession whose practitioners had both the means and the need to take advantage of my services. Perhaps, I thought, rather than an individual commission, I could convince the Institute of Practicing Engineers that a speculative investment on behalf of their members would be of value to the Institute. Perhaps it would even be a fitting memorial for one of their members or some inducement for their younger members? In any event, it was clear that I had a way forward. I would suggest that Harwell and I should call on the President of the Institute.

I was keen to put my thoughts into action at the earliest possible opportunity, but in order to do so I needed time at my writing desk without the danger of distraction. It is not often that I put my own needs ahead of those of my trainees, but I must confess that I did so on this occasion. Arianna should really have spent the evening in coming to appreciate the delights of my mechanical stimulator. However, I really did not have the time or attention needed to make a success of the encounter. Instead, when she presented herself for the evening, I took the opportunity to give myself the quiet that thinking required.

Arianna was dressed in a simple outfit designed to make easy those acts of punishment and penetration that were currently such a feature of her existence. A loose, off-the-shoulder blouse recalled the dress of those peasants of central Europe and provided simple access to her breasts should I require it. Her black, embroidered, peasant skirt, knee-length, full, circular and gathered tightly at the waist could be easily pulled up to give access to her sexual parts. “Good evening, Sir,” she said, anticipating some task or other.

“Please stand still,” I instructed. I had some lengths of rope to hand and, without comment, set to work using them to secure both her wrists and elbows. Although Arianna has come to accept being bound, she still has difficulty with being silenced. Accordingly, and given my need for a quiet evening, I applied one of my larger ball gags. Her whimperings as the ball was forced between her jaws, spreading her mouth wide, would have distressed me had I not known it was for her betterment.

I must confess that I prefer the use of the ball gag as a general rule. There are some silencers that achieve better quieting, some that impose a greater humiliation on the subject, and, indeed, some that present a more visually appealing effect but the ball gag to me provides the best all-round solution to the problem. A heavy rubber ball – I favour the Malaysian rubbers which are of greater density – threaded upon a strap or head harness imposes on its wearer the discomfort of distended jaws, the distortion of speech accomplished by compressing the tongue and filling the mouth, and the humiliation of contending with the incontrollable stream of drool that results from having the mouth held open in this way; a useful tool indeed!

With Arianna secured and silenced, I made use of the small cupboard beneath my staircase, where cleaning materials and other items are kept, as a convenient space in which to stow away my objecting captive. With Arianna pushed inside the small space, I bound her ankles to prevent her moving. She looked up at me, irritated at being abandoned. I smiled at her and shut the door to the cupboard. Her gagged objections, further muffled by the heavy wooden door, subsided as I walked back to my room to start on my plan.

Chapter 4: A Meeting With The Wards

“Estelle, Amanda, here is the gentleman I spoke to you of.” Harwell Tusker’s tone was brisk. He had never developed the art of conversation beyond the needs of the immediate with myself or with his wife; I hardly expected him to have managed to acquire it for the benefit of communicating with his two wards. “I’ll leave you to talk. Things to do,” he said as he left us.

The two girls stared at me, aware that they knew me from somewhere but uncertain of where. I hardly expected them to remember our encounter on the train and I saw no reason to dispel their confusion.

Both were dressed for the warm summer’s day with loose smocks of linen in the style favoured by those of an aesthetic disposition, their hems embroidered with flowers (in Amanda’s case) and animals (for Estelle). Their arms were bare: Amanda’s slightly puffy and covered with fair, downy hair; Estelle’s more muscular and tanned. Both wore their pale-blonde hair loose, hanging down to their shoulders.

Estelle cocked her head to one side. “Have we met before, Sir?”

“Yes, we have,” I responded shortly, leaving her to consider when it might have been.

The simple response evidently bothered her. “Then, Sir, you have the advantage of me.”

I assumed that her reaction was intended to provoke an explanation but I continued to hold my confidence. “Yes,” I said, “I believe that I do.”

Throughout this exchange Amanda had looked uncomfortable as though anxious that our discussions should not take on an argumentative aspect. “Please, sister,” she interjected, taking on the role of peacemaker, “it is of no consequence. Let us hear what the gentleman has to say.” She turned towards me. “Uncle Harwell tells us that you have something to say to us.”

“Indeed,” I responded. “Please sit down both of you. Your uncle has asked me to help with ensuring that you make the best possible match as you choose your partner for life,” I turned to look squarely at Estelle, “of whichever gender you believe to be appropriate.” Estelle blushed and looked towards the floor. “Now you may not think this an urgent matter but let me ask you, is this is a matter to which you have given any thought?”

I turned towards Amanda. Her stuttering response told me rather more than her words. “Well, err, perhaps.”

“Of course,” Estelle interjected. “But I suppose that you imagine girls spend all their time pondering how to land some unfortunate man or to be landed by one.”

“Quite the reverse. It is my experience that very little thought is given to how it might be achieved and that rather too much thought is given to the delights of having succeeded. What I have agreed with your uncle is to assist you with the practicalities of achieving your desires in that area. How you benefit from that will be entirely up to you.” This last statement was, perhaps, misleading but as children of the second Victorian era they, of course, had an exaggerated idea of their own freedom of action that it would do me no harm to indulge for the moment.

“Uncle suggested that your approach was rather unorthodox.” Amanda’s curiosity had obviously been aroused.

“It depends on your definition of orthodoxy,” I responded. “For example, would we consider the villainous approaches of Sax Rohmer’s Fu Manchu unorthodox? Or the deviant sexuality of American vaudeville performers?”

The two girls looked at one another in disturbed embarrassment. “What are you?” Estelle snapped.

“I am someone who needs your agreement to what is planned for you. Without your active consent, there is little chance of the success that you are entitled to expect in exchange for what you would undergo.”

“You make it sound like some sort of endurance test.” Amanda leant forward, her embarrassment at my knowing of her interests now overcome by her curiosity as to where our conversation was leading.

“That is one way of thinking of it. Let me be blunt. I think you are entitled to that. I use a range of methods involving restraint, submission and control.” I could see that Amanda was experiencing some measure of arousal at my words and that Estelle, too, was more than intellectually engaged in our conversation. “And my purpose is to enable you to acquire a husband of the standing that would provide you with a comfortable existence.”

“You talk of marriage as if it were some commercial arrangement.” Estelle’s piercing eyes showed how much she disapproved of the concept. “And as though we are in need of assistance.”

“In a world dominated by the needs of commerce, there is no reason to suppose that the marriage bed need be excluded. Also, with your background and in the absence of a dowry, I suspect that a conventional marriage will be difficult to arrange. Also, Miss Estelle, I can assure you that your own interests will be easier to pursue within a marriage that provides you with a socially acceptable framework for your life.” Estelle blushed and dropped her eyes. She suspected, correctly, that I was alluding to her interests in the Sapphic muse. “And, Miss Amanda,” I went on, “it may be that you could realise your fantasies by standing on a corner in Limehouse1 at the dead of night. I would not recommend it. You would be better seeking the fulfilment of your desires in safer waters.” Amanda looked for a moment as if she would object but the moment passed and she simply nodded her head. “Both of you will need to make your way in the world. That may be as independent, working women but I suspect that your upbringing has not equipped either of you for that life. You have both been educated and conditioned to a life of dependency, previously on your parents, now on your guardian and in future on your husbands. Without property, without influence, without an income, you need to follow a path by which these may be gained. The alternative is a harder furrow for a woman these days, I fear. And it is unnecessary. I offer both of you the opportunity to gain a position where your comfort is assured and you are able to pursue your dreams. All that is required is your acceptance of a period of residence at my property in Highgate and the whole-hearted agreement with the use of restraint and corporal punishment in line with an agreement that I will leave with your uncle.”

The two girls sat silent and open mouthed. It was exactly the effect that I had hoped for. By confronting them with the reality of their situation, they had little option but to embrace my offer as the way in which to make the best of it.

“Do you really expect us to agree with this monstrous proposal?” Estelle got to her feet. Amanda reached out to pull her back.

“I think, Miss Estelle, that when you have given it consideration you will see that it represents the best way forward for you and your sister. But, of course, the decision is yours. You will wish to discuss it with your uncle. He will let me know your decision. And, now, I will wish you good day.”

I left the two girls staring at me as I withdrew from the room and sought out Harwell. He was busy at his desk, tapping away at the sender of his personal telegraph machine. He claimed it more convenient than having to depend on the Post Office telegraph boys, finding it valuable to be able to be in immediate contact with his business associates. He used it sufficiently to have developed a fluency in the Morse code, but I fear if I had such a device the sending would be so slow and inaccurate as to negate any benefit of having it in my own home. Besides, it has been my experience that there is always a passing telegraph boy in Highgate if I needed to send an urgent message.

“How did they take it?” Harwell looked up from his sender. There was a moment’s pause and the machine started to click. “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” He turned back to the apparatus, listening closely to the dits and dahs of a response to his original message, scribbling the letters that the sounds represented onto a pad beside the machine. At length, the clattering stopped and Harwell turned back to me.

“I think as well as I might have hoped. I suggest that you leave them for the evening to their own thoughts. Provide them with a copy of the agreement after dinner this evening and suggest that they consider it before lunch time tomorrow. If all is as I suspect, you will be able to tap something out to me on that device,” I nodded towards his home telegraph, “by two o’clock at the very latest.”

It was as I anticipated. In fact, his response arrived shortly before noon. A telegraph boy knocked on my door. “Approval unequivocal,” the telegram read. “Agreements signed. Advise next steps. Thanx. H.” My pleasure at being proven correct was a little leavened by Harwell’s absurd use of the letter x but I was able to advise the telegraph boy of my reply there and then. “Well done. Please meet me at the Institute tomorrow at 11:00. I have arranged to meet with the President in the expectation of consent.”

The boy scuttled off with all the speed that I have come to expect of our diligent postal staff. The telegraph had disturbed me in the midst of a disciplinary session for Arianna which had unfortunately left her, buttocks upturned over a punishment bench, for a good half hour. I returned to my labours feeling encouraged that I would indeed be able to help Harwell Tusker’s wards.

1 A sordid corner of the capital renowned for its Opium Dens and low-life haunts. Those unfamiliar with the geography of our Capital are encouraged to explore the helpful Map, included at the end of this tale.

Chapter 5: Tea At The Institute

Whitworth House, the home of the Institute of Practicing Engineers, overlooks the Thames not far from Westminster, adjacent to Mr Tait’s splendid new gallery. It is a building that I find intriguing. The combination of fine Portland stone topped with the two towers of cast iron girder-work speak of both the stability and the innovation that the Institute seeks to promote. Members of the Institute have been at the core of our country’s economic growth. The projects that they have initiated and led around the world (the Glasgow-Belfast tunnel for the Great Northern Railway, the Telectroscope1 installation between London and Hong Kong and the Madurai to Colombo causeway linking the island of Ceylon to the Indian sub-continent spring to mind at once) have shown the quality of their work.

The Institute’s president, Sir Bristow Merriweather, had been knighted for his work at Buckingham Palace East on the shores of the Indian Ocean after the completion of the Ganges-Indus Canalisation. He had steered the Institute to its current pre-eminence. His office was on the first floor, directly over the portico of the main entrance. Harwell and I sat waiting for our appointment in a comfortable ante-room.

Exactly at the time agreed for our appointment, the door to Merriweather’s office opened and a tall, negro woman – I adjudged her to have come from the southern African colonies – emerged. She cut an imposing figure, dressed very much to my own tastes in a high-necked blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves and a long straight skirt that clung closely to her hips and thighs. About her neck she wore a thin gold chain from which hung, like a medallion, a heavy piece of gold in the shape of some Chinese character or other. Her height was evidently contributed to by the heels on the boots that could just be seen beneath the hem of her skirt. The trimness of her figure owed something, I was certain, to boned underpinnings that were an effective combination of the engineer’s and the couturier’s arts.

“Gentlemen,” the woman announced, “Sir Bristow is able to see you now.” She clasped her hands together in front of her waist, waiting as Harwell and I got to our feet. “Please,” she said and turned to open the office door. To my amusement, I saw as she did so that one of the buttons that ran up the back of her skirt was not fastened, allowing a flash of white underclothing to be seen in the gap where her skirt stretched across her buttocks. I suspected that the disarray was the result of some fumbled exchange with Sir Bristow, abruptly ended when the pair had realised that the time of the meeting was upon them. My suspicions were reinforced by Sir Bristow’s florid countenance and breathlessness as he stood up from his desk to welcome us.

“Remarkable girl, Ngoya,” he said as the tall negress left the office. “Remarkable. It is a revelation how some of the girls from the colonies understand so much better what is needed around the office than some English girls.” He turned towards me with a smile. “But, of course, with your methods we might change that, mightn’t we?”

“You know of my work?” I was surprised. I had expected Sir Bristow to be aware of Brankston Tusker but not of my own activities.

Sir Bristow smiled. “Of course. I always take efforts to research those who wish to make use of my time. I was fortunate in this case to have the intelligence of one of your clients to depend on. You will remember Meriel James, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“He has advised me on some of the Institute’s business methods. I was keen that we should embrace all that Mr Babbage’s engine could do for us. Mr James has a useful combination of talents in technical know-how and business understanding, a rare ability. He speaks highly of how you were able to help him and his wife. I must say that I spent a most agreeable evening in their company when Mr James was proposing how he might help us.”

“I am pleased. I found great satisfaction in being able to help them. And it is about my services that I wished to speak.”

Sir Bristow suggested that we should all sit. Ngoya reappeared with a tray of tea things and saw to our need for refreshment. I noticed as she left that she had closed the unfortunately unfastened button.

Harwell Tusker took up our story. He explained about his unfortunate brother and the tragic accident that had befallen him and his wife. Sir Bristow offered condolences and sympathies but was, I could see, anxious for Harwell to come to the nub of the matter. “Then,” Harwell continued, “there is the matter of his daughters, my nieces. Two young ladies of marriageable age who, without careful guidance, may fall foul of any of the temptations and moral pitfalls that we find around us.”

At this Sir Bristow’s attention became more focussed. I took the opportunity to seize the story from Harwell. “It is proposed that these two young ladies,” I passed across to him the daguerreotypes of the two girls, “should undergo the same programme of adjustment that has succeeded so well for my other clients and that the results of this programme would then be made available to whosoever should invest in the programme. The proposal, Sir Bristow, is that the Institute should underwrite this funding, thereby providing two of its members with life partners who would most assuredly strengthen their position in business and, by extension, that of the Institute, too.”

Sir Bristow put down the two framed pictures. “Underwrite?” Sir Bristow leant forward. “How do you imagine this would work?”

“I seek solely to gain the level of recompense for my services that I normally would realise, a percentage of my client’s future income. I propose that the Institute should seek out two of its members that it believes would benefit. We would put in place the necessary agreements with them but the Institute would undertake to cover any shortfall between the future income of those you choose and, let us say, the average income of all members. In the event of your choices being more successful than the average – which I can assure is highly likely if you choose well – then the additional funds would be shared between us. If there were to be a shortfall, the Institute would be liable. The arrangement is rather like a bursary for two of your up and coming members in which they receive wives most ably equipped to help them in their future careers. And, of course, the Institute is able to stand by the children of one of its erstwhile members and, possibly, gain monetarily at the same time.”

“Or lose.” Sir Bristow appeared to be considering my suggestions but was by no means entirely persuaded.

Ngoya arrived to clear the tea things. She smiled at each of us as she collected our cups and saucers. Harwell, I could tell, was taken with her dark attractiveness. It perhaps reminded him of trading visits to the southern African continent in his youth. He appeared quite oblivious to my discussions with Sir Bristow. It seemed to me a perfect example of the strength of my proposition.

“But such a small risk, Sir Bristow. You surely understand the value that support of the kind I offer can give to someone making their way in the world. The way in which their persuasive and negotiating abilities are enhanced by the support of a capable and attractive wife or,” I looked at Ngoya and Harwell in turn and then back to Sir Bristow, “other partner.”

Sir Bristow Merriweather beamed and laughed loudly. “Capital, sir, capital! You are indeed correct. If I had a guinea for every client that Miss Mbute here had distracted, I would be a wealthy man. Ha! And I am! An original proposition, my dear chap, and one I am happy for the Institute to be party to. Miss Mbute will see that you have access to our legal and commercial staff in order to finalise the agreements.”

“Well, thank you, Sir Bristow,” I said, getting to my feet and offering my hand. “I shall take no more of your time.” It has long been my practice to leave as soon as possible after successfully concluding a negotiation, so avoiding the risk of any change of heart. I was well pleased with the outcome of our discussions.

1 An astonishing invention that, in some way, manages to send moving pictures over telegraph wires. The experimental service has proved popular but I am not clear whether it will prove to have any lasting value.

Chapter 6: The Student Body

When Harwell Tusker asked me how the girls should come to Highgate, I had assumed that he was referring to the mode of transport. I had been unconcerned saying that I suggested he should ask them. As a consequence, I was not expecting the manner of their arrival.

At the appointed time, Harwell’s Stanley Countryman – a vehicle more suited to rural lanes than the bustle of London streets – pulled up outside. Two of Harwell’s staff were sitting in the front and the driver immediately got down and helped out one passenger. It was a woman, Estelle I assumed, dressed in a long cape and a wide-brimmed hat. While she stood on the pavement, the two men went to the back of the car and lifted down a large trunk.

The group approached the front door, one of the men leading Estelle by the arm. A ring on my door bell announced them. When I answered the door the first man offered me a clipboard. "Delivery for you, Sir. If you could just sign we’ll put these inside."

As I took the clipboard and pen, the man guided Estelle inside and then returned to help his colleague with the trunk. I returned the pad, he passed me a copy of the form, took one look at his delivery, and shook his head. Moments later, after the door was closed, a hiss of steam announced the departure of the Countryman and I was left with what, according to the delivery slip, was Miss Estelle and Miss Amanda Tusker.

It was extraordinary. Never had any of my students been delivered in such a manner. I could see at once what was in the mind of whichever of them had thought of this (I did not imagine for a moment that this was Harwell’s doing). By so doing, no doubt, they sought to take the initiative in the matter of their involvement with me. It would have to be dealt with, of course, but in one way I was pleased that the two appeared to be embracing what was planned for them.

Estelle stood motionless. I looked at her closely. Beneath the brim of her hat she wore dark glasses. Behind the high collar of her heavy bombazine cloak I could see a scarf that seemed to cover the lower half of her face. The puzzle of Estelle’s silent and statuesque appearance would, I felt, only be solved by removing her cloak. I unfastened the catch at her throat and drew the cloak from her. The puzzle was immediately resolved.

The girl was naked above her skirt. Her hands were fastened behind her back. The scarf was pulled tightly across her lips and, when removed, revealed a further cloth stuffing her mouth. I removed her dark glasses and saw that they were completely opaque. She would have seen nothing of her journey from Benfield. I draped her cloak over a chair. She made no effort to move nor did she try to expel the cloth filling her mouth but stood passively, half naked, still wearing her wide-brimmed hat.

I turned my attention to the trunk which I assumed would contain Estelle’s twin sister. I was correct. She was entirely naked, lying face down in the trunk, her arms and legs tied in an unpleasant hogtie whose ropes extended to her head forming a cruel gag of knotted strands. I loosed the ropes between her wrists and ankles and helped her to her feet. The restriction imposed by the rope that gagged her forced her to hold her head back so that she was almost facing the ceiling. This combined with the fact that her legs and knees were still tied and that she was stiff from her journey meant she could stand only with the greatest difficulty. I could hardly start our programme with the girl as she was, however much she (or I) might wish it. I freed her ankles and knees and unfastened the gag. I pulled the wad of cloth from her sister’s mouth and told the two girls to follow me into my consulting room. They followed obediently. A good sign, I thought.

My consulting room is a comfortable space. A heavy leather chesterfield provides seating, usually for my clients. I have my desk, my chair and my books. It looks out onto the small garden at the back of the property, a small patch of green in the yellow-grey brick of the Highgate terrace. I sat on the chesterfield and had the girls stand to one side where the afternoon light from the window fell across their nakedness.

Twins they might be but they were still physically quite different. Estelle was tall and rangy, a good three inches taller than her twin sister. Evidence of her physical exercise showed in muscular development on her arms and shoulders. Her breasts were quite small but with pronounced dark brown areolas. Her navel protruded slightly. Amanda, on the other hand, was more compact. Not fat exactly, but well covered; her tits rounder and fuller; her hips swelling with the promise of ample buttocks behind.

They seemed uncomfortable from the first with my survey of them, becoming more restless by the minute as I sat gazing at their bodies. In part, I will confess, this involved some self-gratification but it had a relevance to their adjustment as well. It is of value to me in helping me to plan the use of physical restraints and of punishments and it is of value to them in introducing them to the need to be viewed as sexual objects without objecting.

I decided to break the silence. "Tell me," I said, "whose idea was it that you should arrive as you did?"

"We thought it appropriate," Amanda volunteered, looking straight at me. There were still red scores around her chest below her breasts where the rope had pressed against her in her trunk.

"I think it self-indulgent," I replied with a snap. "You will not find the changes you need to make in yourself by pursuing adolescent fantasies of abduction and enslavement here. This is not the scenario of some romantic or Gothic novel," I could see that Estelle had managed a smirk at her sister’s discomfort, while still trying to keep her gaze cast down in the way that they had evidently decided would be appropriate. "Nor is it one that might grace the photographic studios of some colonial pornographer." Estelle blushed in response. "No matter. I must confess it amused me and I suppose I should give you some credit for entering in to what you imagined would be the spirit of your time here."

The two girls said nothing. That encouraged me. Too often my students in their early days feel it necessary to respond to rhetorical remarks. I was happy to have their embarrassed silence.

"Well, ladies, let us start. Let me explain how things are here. You will, as you both obviously expect, find that your movement is restricted. You will remain here until I consider that you have finished your adjustment. That process will involve a number of tasks which I will set you. You will carry them out. There will be no discussion on that score. Each task is an important part of the process and you will complete it. You are here voluntarily are you not?"

The two girls nodded.

"Please," I said, "I would prefer it if you spoke in response to my questions where possible. It avoids the risks of confusion between us. It would be most unfortunate if I mistakenly thought I had your consent when I did not."

"Yes, Sir," Estelle volunteered.

"Sorry, Sir. Yes," Amanda agreed.

"Good. In which case, you will accept what is done to you here. You will also accept that, in the event of poor performance, I may need to take steps to improve or correct your behaviour and your attitude."

My words, in some ways intended to pander to their fantasies, brought a short intake of breath from the two. Each, I noticed, experienced a stiffening of her nipples in response. I train myself to observe these small indications of a woman’s state of arousal, a critical means to determine the impact that my adjustment programme is having.

Amanda and Estelle, each recognising that I had observed their response to my words, lowered their eyes in embarrassment. "Please, ladies," I continued, "you need have no concerns over my seeing your innermost thoughts. This will soon seem second nature to you. Now, perhaps you wish to see your accommodation?"

There was a wary "Yes, Sir," from the two girls. Amanda sounded rather more eager than Estelle, I judged. I showed them the way to the cellar door and invited them to take the wooden steps down into it. The pale light from the cellar’s gas mantles lent a softness to the girls’ skin as they descended the staircase with diffidence. Amanda stopped, about half-way down the flight of steps, staring at the instruments arranged on the walls of the room below. The sight of the lengths of rope and chain seemed to have stopped her in her tracks as readily as if I had ensnared her. Estelle stopped behind her, looking intently at the other wall on which were hung the whips, crops and paddles that were my routinely used devices of correction.

"This will be where you will spend your sleeping hours and where, in the likely event that you need some form of correction for your behaviour, punishments will normally be administered." The two girls were listening attentively. Amanda’s tongue slid over her lips unconsciously at the word ‘punishments’ betraying once more her sexual orientation. "You will be accommodated within these cages," I continued. "You will come here willingly, as and when I instruct you to. You will follow my instructions without debate or argument. You will accept any sanctions that I apply as being for your benefit. Do you understand?"

I was simply restating the terms of the original agreement that the girls had already consented to but I feel repetition always ensures complete clarity and, given the rather different nature of the behavioural adjustment project, I considered that it was important to reiterate my conditions.

The girls nodded to demonstrate their acceptance and declared that they did.

I had solved the problem of accommodation but not, I had to confess, in a manner that made it easy to treat my new students equally. The cage that I used normally for a single student was still available to me. I had considered using the one cage for both girls but in the end concluded that, while the close confinement of two girls within one cage might well increase the intensity of experience in some respects, the need to be able to control inter-personal contact outweighed this. As a result I had arranged for a second cage to be fabricated.

Because of the limitation in space available to me within the cellar, compromise was needed in the design. There was little floor space available. I had considered a suspended cage but I was somewhat concerned with the need for pulleys and other lifting gear and the complication of trying to place an unwilling student within. It was the artisan that had constructed my original cage that suggested the solution which I finally adopted.

Along one side of the cellar was a low couch which I have variously used for my own comfort while observing my charges and as a place where punishment or interludes of sexual use of my students occurred. This couch was reworked to provide a cage beneath it. It was, it was true, very cramped. The occupant could do little more than lay flat within it. Feeding was difficult, although possible, as it was just high enough for the head to be raised over a bowl or plate and provision of liquids was solved by attaching a water bottle designed for feeding pet animals to the bars of the cage at one end. Entry to the cage was only possible by sliding forward on the belly, either with the arms at the side (where, because of the cage’s narrowness, they would remain) or reaching forward in front. Compared with the cage under the couch, my original student accommodation seemed luxurious indeed.

There then came the matter of which of the twins should occupy which of the cages.

There were two difficulties in my mind. Firstly, it seemed hardly fair to condemn one or the other of the girls to the small cage on a permanent basis. Secondly, I did not want to associate the smaller cage with my usual arrangement of sanctions for non-compliant or inappropriate behaviour since there would most certainly be times when one or other of the girls needed to use the smaller cage when neither had committed an offence deserving of punishment.

I decided to resolve the matter by having the girls draw lots each night before retiring. On this occasion, the toss of a sovereign, the Queen’s head uppermost to favour Amanda’s choice, placed Estelle in the low cage and her sister in the relative comfort of the other.

Before the two were confined to their accommodation for the night, I explained the simple rules that would apply during their residency.

They would, I told them, follow my instructions exactly and promptly; they would accept whatever restraint or other imposition I deemed necessary in order for them to achieve their objectives and they would do so willingly.

I also took the opportunity to show them some of the instruments of restraint, correction and control that I had available to me. I think they had expected the ropes, chains and fetters but it was some of the more innovative iron-ware that they found more surprising and, no doubt, more disturbing.

I am lucky enough to have access to a small foundry and engineering works that has proved happy to produce equipment to my specifications. Some of these I am especially fond of employing in my adjustment programmes. One item, for example, helps greatly in posture training. A solid steel rod connects a waist band, wrist cuffs and neck band with a short ankle chain used with a pair of ankle cuffs. With the device locked in place the wearer has little choice but to stand erect and straight backed. Another has a wide collar with chin support, again in steel, to which shoulder-wide rods have been welded to carry the wearer’s wrists high at either side. This device I particularly favour, since it keeps the wearer’s limbs from providing any form of protection against punishment to the buttocks, breasts, back or other parts while keeping the head pushed up and back, making it difficult for the wearer to see what is about to happen to them. The girls looked disturbed by these devices which were evidently quite beyond their fantasies.

They were obviously questioning their own ability to withstand the course that I intended them to run, when I opened the cupboard containing the majority of my smaller items. This seemed to bring about an even more agitated response but, to their credit, they made no remark on any of the items I showed them, preferring to maintain wide-eyed and open-mouthed silence. There is an impressive selection; thumb cuffs that so easily and fully immobilise with such little effort; the bit, ball strap and panel gags that offered a range of silencing (or at least muting) options; the canes, crops, straps and tawses drawn from so many traditions.

(As an aside, I was delighted to discover in South London that the Horniman (yes, I know, it amused me on first hearing it as well) Museum of Ethnography has a collection in a secure gallery open only to a few selected scholars, which assembles examples of punishment devices and sticks from many tribes across the Empire. It is said that Her Majesty was given a private viewing on one occasion and declared herself most fascinated. Whether or not this was the case, my two newest visitors seemed somewhat quietened by the range of devices arrayed for their discomfort.)

I was content for them to have taken in some of what their time with me would entail and set them to their cages for their first night.

"Well," I began, "it is less than convenient for me and excessively uncomfortable for you for your wrists to continue to be bound so cruelly with rope. You will find, I am sure, that the hemp will abrade your skin most painfully and that the tightness may well restrict the flow of blood to your extremities. I will, with your permission, remove your restraints and replace them with those of my own. Would that be acceptable to you?"

The two girls blinked, confused by my offer, and then nodded warily. Remembering my earlier request they both added, "Yes, Sir," though I must confess with little enthusiasm.

I took a pair of shackles for each girl. Designed to fit above the elbow with a chain running behind the back, the chains were short enough to pull the elbows slightly behind the back, so that, when I unfastened the rope about the girls' wrists, their lower arms were free but effectively useless. Amanda whimpered as I snapped the shackles tight about her chubby upper arms.

Estelle gasped as I jerked her elbows closely together to facilitate fastening her cuffs. I span her around and told her that I needed to remove her remaining garments. She shook her head and protested with a vehement, "No!" I suppose that it was at the suggestion that I should be engaging in such an intimate act so early in our relationship but I did not allow her objections to deter me.

"Please," begged Amanda, coming to the aid of her sister as I began to unfasten the buttons that held the waist band of her skirt.

"Do not concern yourself that you are in some way to be neglected," I said, deliberately misunderstanding her, "you will have many opportunities to learn compliance to my will over the coming time we will spend together.

I continued my efforts with Estelle and had soon removed her skirt, slip, and underdrawers. She was left in her stockings, tied off above the knee with garters, and boots, her skirt and other clothes on the floor about her feet.

"There, I said, "that is almost all but I need you to submit to one final act before you can be considered ready for your cages. I must ensure that your bowels have been completely emptied." The girls’ wide-eyed looks of distress turned to expressions of distaste.

"Surely, Sir, such an intervention is unnecessary?" Amanda began.

"Quite the contrary. For whichever of you is secured in the smaller cage any attempt to relieve yourself would be most unfortunate and, since it is hardly fair to impose on one and not the other, you will both submit to, what I believe is called, the bath of the bowels."

Since their hands were still bound behind them, there was no difficulty in administering an enema to each girl, in spite of their attempts to wrest free of my attentions. The warm soapy water I let flow down the rubber tube from its porcelain reservoir through the ivory nozzle that I pressed inside each girl’s reluctant anal bud and into their colon soon did its work. The girls were left to sit upon enamel bed pans until the fluid had done its work.

Their sobbing and humiliated blushes as their system expelled the cleansing water with its loosened fecal material was satisfaction in itself. I had not previously considered using this in my adjustment routine but could at once see the benefit. I left them moaning in discomfort for a few moments while I made a note in my diary so as not to forget this important finding.

On my return the two looked subdued, evidently distressed by being deprived of the control of their bowels. I left them shackled and put them into their cages for the night.

It had been a most instructive evening.

Chapter 7: A Shocking Practice

My methods depend heavily on the combination of psychological disorientation achieved through induced sexual arousal and the interaction that this has with endorphin release as a result of punishment, restraint and humiliation. As a consequence of the mental turmoil caused by endorphin overload, it becomes possible to mould the behaviour of the subject. Indeed, it has been my experience that given the correct combination of circumstances the subjects themselves devise the programme of their own best adjustment. The natural desire of the human female to please means that most of those I encounter are easily shaped to meet the requirements of my clients.

Two aspects of my work with Harwell Tusker’s wards surprised me, however. Firstly, there was the vigour with which they engaged with the programme. The enthusiasm with which they responded to the various activities I devised for them was most gratifying and the impact on their behaviour was soon noticeable. Perhaps this was a reflection of their schooling, so recently concluded, or perhaps it was some characteristic inherited from earlier generations of Tuskers. Secondly, I was pleased to note that induced sexual arousal achieved without vaginal penetration appeared to be as effective for the purposes of the programme as had been the case with the use of penetration for my other students.

This second matter was of some interest for me. I had agreed with Harwell Tusker that the girl’s virginal status should be preserved as far as possible. (Though I must confess that I doubted if it was a condition that would withstand medical analysis in Estelle’s case at least). Accordingly I required a series of sexual stimuli for my students that would not interfere with the integrity of the hymen. I also needed to take steps to ensure that the girls should only receive such sexual gratification as I felt relevant to their personal development.

On the edge of North London in the amusingly named district of Ponders End, is a small collective of specialist companies that it has been my good fortune to work with over the years. They combine ingenious design skills with an astonishing knowledge of materials and the ability to limit their curiosity over how the results of their endeavours will be put to use. I have also been lucky enough to find one engineer that has an understanding of the new science of electrostatics. Leaving the girls safely confined, I spent a morning visiting this ingenious collective of artisans in order to collect the results of their labours.

On my return, my two students were in a state of some distress, perhaps fearing that they had been abandoned or, more likely, resenting the fact that other matters had taken my attention from them. Estelle was most vocal in her objections when I opened her casket. Amanda had simply given me a look of sullen acceptance at her confinement.

“Please, ladies, if you would be so good as to place the cuffs around your wrists and to snap the links together so that your wrists are joined.”

Although the two of them had become used to various forms of restraint over the previous week, I could see that they regarded this instruction with suspicion. They complied, however, and gave no resistance when I connected the chains linking their wrists to cables that ran up to pulleys on the ceiling. I shortened each of the cables in turn so that the girls were first brought to their feet and then forced into a position where, hands above their heads, they could only just support themselves on their toes.

The application of a gagging rubber ball to each girl’s mouth completed the preparations of my students, leaving them unable to comment on what was about to befall them.

It was at this point I chose to unveil the machine that had been standing under a dark cloth on the table at the side of the room where I had positioned it on my return from North London. The two girls both looked with concern at the device. Their concern increased as I produced the two sets of rubber straps with their brass studs that were to be applied to their persons. The first strap circles the waist, the second bisects the crotch such that it passes over the sexually sensitive parts. The four brass studs on each crotch strap were positioned to deliver shocks where they would most contribute to a progressively building state of sexual tension. Two sat either side of the vaginal opening, pressing against the natural moistness of the labial lips, a third sat just above them directly over the clitoral hood, while the fourth, at the rear, sat just by the bud of each girl’s anus. The girls took no steps to struggle as I fastened the first straps, first Estelle and then Amanda, so that they fitted snugly around each girl’s waist. I tightened them and then took the second strap down across their sex and up between the buttocks to join the waist band again behind them. Estelle became agitated when she saw I intended to take wires from the machine and join them to four brass connectors on the belt and tried to avoid me but, pulled up on tip toe as she was, she could do little to resist. Amanda did nothing to resist but looked on in evident trepidation.

The machine had a small steam engine powered by a simple spirit burner. A drive belt from this engine was connected to a small generator that could charge a voltaic cell. It also drove a pulley on a small box containing a series of cams, gears and contacts that conspired to deliver short doses of electrostatic energy in a predetermined sequence and intensity to each of the leads attached to the belts that the girls wore. A small discharge tube connected to each outgoing line provided me with a visual confirmation of the power and frequency of the shocks.

Wishing to be confident that the device would run for some time on this initial use, I checked the water in the small steam engine’s boiler. I lit the burner. The sharp tang of the match’s smell and the softer scent of methylated spirits hung momentarily in the air of the cellar. The girls, evidently concerned by what was in prospect, began to struggle but the height at which their hands were held over their heads meant they could not get purchase on the floor with their feet. The small steam engine hissed quietly as it attained pressure. A flick of the finger on the generator’s flywheel was all that was needed to bring the machine into operation.

The first flash in one of the discharge tubes was accompanied by an immediate response from Estelle as she gasped with surprise at the shock from the belt. Amanda’s first shock followed a moment later.

I must confess to enjoying voyeuristic pleasures. I would rather go to a concert than play the piano, study a landscape painting rather than set up canvas and easel. The tableau presented was a fascinating one: the hissing and ticking of the steam generator; the smell of the steam and oil in the confines of the basement; the clicking from the box of gears, cams and contacts; the flashes from the discharge tubes and the accompanying bucking and muffled moaning of my naked guests as each shock jerked them in their bondage. Together the combination of ingenious invention, skilled engineering and the human response delighted all of the senses.

Amanda and Estelle twitched and twisted with each shock but, as the administration of shocks took on a consistent rhythm, the bucking gave way to a swaying and soon I could see that the girls were anticipating each shock, tensing themselves and thrusting their hips backwards.

It was while the two of them were lost in the stimulation provided by the electrical discharge tubes that I began to explain to them how their training would progress. I told them of how they would be required to act as servants in the household, acquiring the essential skills of housekeeping that they would need to either carry out or oversee as wives. I told them of how the errors that they would no doubt make would be rewarded with beatings and confinement and how they would come in time to crave this attention and the pain it brought. By now, their state of sexual arousal was such that they could only demonstrate how right I was by begging me for such treatment and more. They would, I told them, learn how to be the perfect hostess; how to take the role of the supportive wife, promoting the interests of their husbands; how to submerge their own interests and desires in pursuit of the success of their husbands in their chosen careers. They would be prepared for every sexual act short of vaginal penetration that their husband might wish them to indulge in. They would also, I told them, accept the choice of husband that their guardian and I would arrange.

This last piece of information I provided as the machine drove the two girls to an electrically stimulated climax. The distraction provided by the shocks combined with the disturbance to their mental state accorded by the extreme sensations of arousal left them yelping into their gags in such a way that I could tell they were begging me to make it so.

In this conversation, I felt like an orchestral conductor or choreographer of my students’ desires. At first I thought it most closely resembled the latter. I admire the skill of the dance master. The work of Diaghilev, for example, astounds and delights. His wondrous collaborations with Dante Gabriel Rosetti on the Blessed Damozel, presented at the Covent Garden Arena, was one of the highlights of last season’s cultural milieu. The set designs by Mr Hunt and the costumes by Mr Whistler quite rivalled anything that has been seen in St Petersburg, I am assured by those that have travelled in the Franco-Russian colonies. On further reflection, though, I determined on the role of orchestrator and conductor as the more descriptive one. My task is to encourage my students to get the very best from the instrument that they carry, like a cellist, between their legs.

Chapter 8: Preventative Measures

While my methods depend on sexual stimulation, I needed to take steps to ensure that my two charges would remain virginal until the completion of their training. In any matter related to my work I always like to consult the expert in the particular field. For assistance in this area I had chosen to make use of the services of one Giacomo Baptista.

His arrival at Highgate was a source of reassurance to me. Although at first glance his dark Mediterranean looks suggested that he was not the sort that two virginal girls could be left with safely, he was, on the contrary, the ideal person to help me ensure that the girls remained intact until their weddings.

I am a man with a rational turn of mind and so I have little interest in the fairy tales of supreme beings and everlasting life with which some console themselves. I admire the moral codes that some of the great religions have developed (and despair at their inadequacy in persuading their followers to embrace them) but have never found cause to join in their acts of assembly or rituals. Giacomo Baptista, however, was a representative of a religious order most oppressive in its attitudes to the sexuality of women. So fervent was he in his beliefs that he was easily persuaded to support my own project even though it had no connection to his religious aims. Baptista had been delighted to offer his services in ensuring that Amanda and Estelle preserved their maidenly status.

“Is simple,” he averred on his arrival at Highgate. “We must prevent both the penetration that disrupts and the stimulation that so enrages the senses as to increase the risk that penetration will be encouraged or even,” a look of great distaste crossed his face, “artificially procured. Please bring the young ladies to me.” He opened his case and began to unpack a number of straps, plates and measuring tapes onto the table.

My own views are diametrically opposed to those of Signore Baptista. I share neither his views on the dangers of sexual arousal nor his superstitious attachment to the existence of a supreme being whose favour must be begged for and whose wrath must be avoided. My sole interest was in preventing the penetrative act that would subvert my intentions for the girls. However, his methods suited my methods. As a consequence of the vigour with which he espoused the preservation of virginity, he had become expert in the creation of devices that would achieve just that. It was no mean feat to create a garment that could at one time prevent the penetration of the female sexual parts while allowing the continued function of those natural acts of waste elimination that are an essential part of the body’s daily round. Giacomo Baptista had, however, achieved it, constructing devices that could be worn for a long period of time while being secure and effective in use. I did not intend to explain to him my own theories, since my methods were firmly in contradiction of his views.

As I turned to go he called after me. “The girls. Are they of some religious faith do you know? Have they been shown the way of belief? I would like to speak to them of this if I may.”

“Please,” I said, concerned that Baptista’s persuadings might introduce additional, unpredictable and potentially uncontrollable vectors in my students’ behaviour. “I would rather you did not at this point. They have no opportunity to practice such beliefs while they are here and, since I believe your faith requires to be embraced wholeheartedly, any proposal to expose them to it while denying them the ability to practice it might be seen as unnaturally cruel.”

Baptista pondered my words and nodded. “I see this. You need fear no intervention from me. But please — when their stay here is finished — please then give them the opportunity to embrace my teachings.” I felt able to concur, safe in the knowledge that by the conclusion of their period of behavioural adjustment the last thing they would be inclined to pursue was Baptista’s brand of mumbo jumbo. For now, at least, the Tusker twins would be subject to the combination of Baptista’s restraints and the stimulation that so enrages from the little steam-driven electrostatic machine and its studs.

I was uncertain, and still am, as to whether Giacomo is simply a devout adherent of his faith or whether he holds some position of religious authority. It is hard to tell, you will understand, between the many ranks of the clergy in some of these faiths and the various, orders, societies and associations that the laity often create for themselves. Nevertheless, I knew him to be a skilful artisan and went to fetch the girls with a full expectation that he would solve my problems.

Anticipating some resistance from my charges I brought each from their confinement in turn, secured them with some excellent heavy duty handcuffs and supplemented these with the head harnesses with their heavy leather-padded, panel gags. These seemed to do an excellent job of muffling the girls’ protests. I took them by the arm, Estelle to my left, Amanda to my right and, ignoring their irritating struggles, presented them to Signore Baptista.

The two girls were surprised to see the newcomer. His dark eyes, staring piercingly from beneath thick, dark eyebrows that almost united over the bridge of his nose, seemed to skewer the two girls as they appeared. “So, I see your problem,” Giacomo said. “The risks are great. They must be averted.”

I could tell by the way that the girls reacted to him that Giacomo’s presence disturbed them. Dressed all in black, except for silver tips to his pointed shoes and a silver buckle to his belt, with his shirt buttoned to his neck, his severe appearance contrasted greatly with my own which, I have been told, can seem somewhat louche.

The way in which the girls hung back did not appear to concern Giacomo, however. He went to work with a methodical thoroughness, measuring each in turn, ignoring Estelle’s resistance as he pulled his tape between her legs, overcoming Amanda’s continuous struggles as he attempted to determine the appropriate width to be allowed for between her thighs.

To his credit, I never saw him place a hand anywhere other than was needed for the completion of his work, although, of course, that did give him considerable freedom in the matter of exploring the girls’ intimate regions.

Estelle and Amanda seemed quickly to understand Giacomo’s purpose and his plans were a source of consternation to them. Once he had finished his measuring and began the process of fitting the straps, their distress increased. The heavy shears that he needed to cut the steel-reinforced leather straps no doubt looked, to them, a fearsome implement. As he put in place the rigid panels that provided the required protection, he needed to physically restrain Amanda in order to carry out his will. In the process, she was wrestled to the floor, ending up on her back between Giacomo’s thighs, staring up at him as he clicked in place the securing padlock. Estelle, seeing that little would be gained from resisting the black-clad man, allowed him to complete his work without violence towards her.

Then followed an unusual spectacle. His work complete, Giacomo forced the girls to their knees. Standing between them, he laid his hands, one on each girl’s head. He closed his eyes and raised his head to the sky, muttering some low incantation in his own language. It was, I assumed, some religious tract intended to fortify the girls in the preservation of their chastity or some exhortation to an imagined higher power calling for the power’s assistance in the matter. Whichever it was, I felt considerably more confident in the powers of the steel plates over their pudenda than in Giacomo’s superstitious outpourings. Estelle and Amanda appeared as disturbed to be the subjects of unwanted supplications as they were over the fitting of their belts, which, after all, were simply an extension of the restraints to which they were already becoming used.

His simple service concluded, Giacomo turned to me and passed across the keys to the padlocks that secured the girls’ belts. “These will keep them safe. You were wise to call me. There is great danger in these two. I sense a disturbing current of feeling that will act against your plans. I suggest that you take great care to ensure that they have no opportunity to do any damage to their protection.”

I thanked Giacomo for his work. He replied that it was no more than his duty to prevent young women from being drawn from the path of maidenly virtue by the powers of illicit lust. I looked at the shackled, gagged and helpless sisters, now locked in the belts that covered their sexual parts, and felt some illicit lusts of my own.

Chapter 9: Reviewing Investments

Two days later, confident that the girls could be left without fears for their chastity, I found myself once more at the portals of Whitworth House, visiting the Institute of Practicing Engineers. Standing at the foot of the staircase that led up through the Institute’s splendid cast bronze doors, I had a few moments to consider the conversation that I was about to have with Sir Bristow Merriweather.

I was met in reception by Sir Bristow’s Bantu — as I had discovered — assistant, Ngoya Mbute. She was as pleasant as on our previous meeting, similarly dressed in high-collared blouse and long skirt. She moved through the lobby of the building as though gliding across the marble-paved floor, a beaming smile on her face as though nothing could bring her more pleasure than doing what she was doing right at that instant. She showed me to the elevator that would take us up to Sir Bristow’s office. I couldn’t help but feel, as we got in, that the elevator’s cage was only a little more comfortable than the accommodation which the Tusker girls were then enjoying.

The elevator’s cables creaked as we were winched upwards. Miss Mbute seemed unconcerned by the sounds of stretching wire and metal upon metal. Almost at once, we had reached our destination and stopped with a jolt, accompanied by a sighing from the cables. I found myself unconvinced of the benefits of this metallic cage over the more conventional stairs that I had used on my previous visit. Sir Bristow, who greeted us in the corridor, seemed anxious to praise the contrivance, however. “First rate,” he said. “Imagine, it will become possible to construct ever higher buildings now people can be whisked skywards in one of these.”

I kept my counsel on the matter. As far as I recalled, it was less than a week since one of the same devices had plunged to earth from a height of only three stories, killing a dozen souls within its metallic grasp.

In the doorway to his office, Sir Bristow continued to extoll the virtues of the elevator. To my disappointment, Miss Mbute abandoned us, withdrawing to another room that opened off the opposite side of the corridor. A few minutes passed, during which I thought I would learn more of powered lifting cages than any man has the need of. Then Sir Bristow suddenly stopped. His florid face took on a conspiratorial expression. “Here,” he said. “Enough of this talk of machines of iron and steel. Let me show you some even more remarkable equipment.”

He stepped across the corridor and, without pausing or knocking, opened the door through which Miss Mbute had gone minutes before.

No longer wearing her long skirt, Ngoya Mbute was sprawled on her back across the top of a large oak desk, one of her dark-skinned legs drawn up sinuously, the other draped over the end of the desk. Between her thighs, a naked, pale woman, hands bound crudely behind her back with thick rope, was applying her mouth and tongue to Miss Mbute’s sex. Ngoya Mbute was growling appreciatively with each application of the other woman’s ministrations. The pale back of the woman crouched between Ngoya’s thighs seemed familiar.

“Don’t let us disturb you, Miss Mbute,” Sir Bristow called. From her lack of response I concluded that her attention was sufficiently diverted as to be unconcerned by our presence. “I thought you would like to see this,” Merriweather went on. “You remember Nicola James, of course?”

“Indeed I do.” It was then that I remembered Sir Bristow speaking of his meeting with Meriel James.

“Meriel was good enough to help me out. Poor Miss Mbute has a particularly powerful drive in the matter of carnal desire. It was becoming something of a distraction for her and, I must confess, for myself. There is only so much time a man can spare for amusement during the working day. Anyway, the good Mr James obligingly suggested that his wife would help out. Most generous; most thoughtful. Exactly the sort of chap the Institute should be working with. I was very happy to extend his contract.”

I’m pleased to hear it, I thought, knowing that an improvement in Meriel’s fortunes would find its way in part to myself. As for Nicola, even though nothing in her original adjustment had prepared her for it, she seemed happy enough with her face buried in the moist, pale pink flesh between the dark brown of Ngoya’s labial lips.

“Well, come back to my office,” Sir Bristow invited. “Let’s talk about your latest project. I was hoping to suggest that some of our members might come and see how things were progressing.”

We discussed the idea. At first I was not keen. It seemed that Sir Bristow’s motivations were mainly voyeuristic and there was the danger that such a visit might disrupt the girls’ learning. As we talked though, I began to see the potential benefit to my working relationship with the Institute and the contribution it could make to the girls’ learning as well. In the end we agreed that a small party, four of the Institute’s Board of Trustees and Sir Bristow, would visit Highgate in the coming week to see both my facilities and the two Tusker sisters.

When I returned to Highgate, I felt it was the time to share my progress with the twins. Although my methods are strict, there is nothing in my approach that is intended to be brutal and it is often helpful to involve my students in the assessment of their own progress.

Bringing them up from the cellar, out of their cages, I took them into the study. I loosened the straps of their gags but left them hanging about their necks and left their wrists cuffed behind them but allowed the two girls to sit. They looked at one another startled by the grant of this favour but then, being convinced that I was serious and without ulterior motive, did as I allowed.

“Tell me,” I said speaking in a kindly tone, so as to emphasise my concern for their well-being, "are you finding your experiences here as you anticipated?”

The two girls first of all looked at me as though I was quite mad but then, evidently deciding that it was opportune to indulge me, decided to respond.

"It is, Sir, a singular experience to be sure," Amanda began. I was pleased by her tone. I had taken trouble to encourage the girls in a proper use of the English language, avoiding the slang expression and casual sentence construction that is so common amongst young people today. It was evident that my views on language were being heard. “I suppose we had both imagined that your methods would be much as they have been, but, in honesty, I believe neither of us anticipated the way in which we would find ourselves so deeply and quickly affected by them.”

“I agree with my sister,” Estelle volunteered. “I do believe that we are both making progress in the directions that you desire. Is it your view that we can achieve a good match as our guardian desires?”

“It is not usually my habit to discuss my students’ progress,” I said, “but I consider that you have both made significant strides and it would be dishonest of me to say otherwise. You do, however, have a significant test approaching. We shall be visited by representatives of those with whom you will be paired. A visit of inspection. To see whether you will be acceptable.”

Amanda had bristled at the word ‘paired’ and looked towards me with a rather stern expression. “You speak as if this were merely some matter of allocation. Do we not get some opportunity to express our views on the individuals concerned?”

The thought had not occurred to me for a moment, I fear, and neither had I expected the girls to wish it. “Goodness no!” I exclaimed, shocking them by the extent to which I obviously considered this an absurd idea. “You must trust in the good judgement of your guardian and myself in this matter.”

I could see that this was not well received by my audience. Estelle and Amanda exchanged looks that I viewed as the likely precursors of some expression of disagreement or even resistance. It was not my wish to engage in a debate upon the matter. I quickly returned each girl’s gag to its proper position, pre-empting any proposed dispute. Their muffled disputations were of little relevance. “You will be visited shortly. I suggest you try to give as good an account of yourselves as possible. The arrangements for your future marriages are particularly important. Your acceptance of them is an essential part of the adjustment you must undergo. Please reconcile yourselves to the choices being made for you.”

Beyond this confrontation with the girls, I made little preparation for the visit. I am confident of my methods and, as for the girls, I was sure that Merriweather’s trustees would see all that they needed, or wished.

They arrived with the precise timeliness one would expect of engineers. All five were dressed for a night at the Opera. Top hats, white tie, tail coats, all spoke of men who had become prosperous in their profession. The fact that each wore a black domino mask gave them a theatrical appearance but, as Sir Bristow explained, the Trustees felt that they did not wish to be identified by the young ladies. It seemed unnecessary to me but I was happy for them to dress as they pleased. As an appreciator of the aesthetic muse, it seems entirely correct to dress in an appropriate way for the experience before you and there seemed something appropriately sinister in the appearance of the five as we made our way towards the cellar.

“There is nothing special about this part of the house,” Sir Bristow commented as we made our way towards the stairs.

“No,” I replied. “What is special is what goes on here. You will, however, consider this more individual.”

The door to the stairway to where the girls were imprisoned lay between two large portraits presented to me by the artist Beardsley. Their stark black and white figure work and flowing lines spoke of the contrasts of sensation in pleasure and pain and the ebb and flow of desire that is so characteristic of those embarked upon adjustment by my methods. The subject of the pair was Andromeda about to be consumed by the kraken. I will allow those of my readers with a classical leaning to judge what they will of the symbolism.

Upon entering the cellar room, I lit the lamps to give us sufficient light. The girls stirred in their cages, unused to being disturbed once confined after the completion of their duties.

“These are the two ladies in question,” I said gesturing to the naked Estelle and Amanda. “I think you should be able to see that they both have the physical attractiveness to satisfy the candidate in this role.”

Amanda gave a muffled squeal of protest. Surprisingly, given her fantasies of eastern enslavement, she was finding the thought of being on display to this collection of masked, moustachioed, booted and suited worthies less attractive than the fantasies with which she once passed her days. She tried to turn herself away from the group, curling around as best she could in the small space on the floor of her cage.

Estelle, on the other hand, chose to brazenly display herself, standing up squarely behind the bars of her cage, her breasts thrust forward at my guests, her legs apart, clearly displaying the metal plate that covered her crotch.

The penguin-suited engineers studied the two sisters as though they were some strange creatures in a zoo. “You say that you can tame their youthful wilfulness by your measures,” one said, leaning forward to get a better view of the recumbent Amanda.

“And these are the tools of your trade?” another reached for one of the collection of paddles and crops hanging on the wall.

“It is not simply a matter of these devices and restraints,” I said. “Rather it is an entire programme, a combination of measures that together meet my – well, my customers’ –objectives. These other devices are every bit as important.” I drew the attention of my guests to the Orrery on which a few months before Nicola James had been impaled. Although it was quite inappropriate for the Tusker sisters, it would see use again in the future. The engineers seemed confused by it at first but then, as they recognised its purpose and mode of operation, puzzlement turned to intrigue. A tall thin man amongst their number seemed astonished by the size of the artificial members angled for vaginal and anal penetration. “Ha,” he said, with a laugh that seemed to relax his companions, “just like a penis but so much smaller of course.”

Sir Bristow smiled. I directed my visitors to the other equipment. Of more relevance to my current project was the electrical generator and its shock machine. This, too, excited considerable attention from my visitors. The girls had both endured an hour of its attentions just before my guests’ arrival, and a faint whiff of ozone still hung in the air around it.

One of my guests, a stout man with an improbable ginger toupee balanced on his head and watery eyes blinking behind his mask, stood forward to examine the devices more closely. “Extraordinary,” he exclaimed. “The workmanship is of the highest order. To see the accuracy of the clockmaker’s art combined with the robustness that is evidently needed by these devices is most unusual.”

“Tell me,” Sir Bristow turned towards me. “When these two young ladies have completed their training will they need continued treatment of this sort?” The group of black and white suited engineers came together to hear the answer.

I felt this was probably the best point at which to explain what my plan set out to achieve. “Not usually,” I replied. “although there may be value in continuing it.” The girls looked toward me with an expression of distress. “By the completion of the adjustment a woman is able to act in order to assure her husband’s professional success through support in all those areas outside the husband’s professional sphere. The purpose of their adjustment is not to breed women that crave deviant sexual treatment – though that does seem to be a by-product – it is to produce wives whose motivation is to please in every respect, such that their partners have the support that they need in order to fulfil their own potential in the workplace.”

“I suppose it is too much to ask for a demonstration?” the ginger-wigged man enquired, his own gaze falling on the ample curves of the young Amanda. She looked up, clearly upset by the proposal, but she need not have feared.

“I fear so,” I responded. “This is very early in their adjustment process. Their responses are unpredictable,” I looked across to Estelle’s cage where she was still standing defiantly, “and inconsistent, as you may observe. In time they will meet the required standard but to try to make them run before they can walk? Why you might just as well send a locomotive across a bridge before the track has been laid!”

The assembled group smiled, pleased by the allusion to their own sphere of expertise. I took the opportunity to shepherd the group back up to my consulting room where I was able to offer them a little refreshment before they parted. It occurred to me later that to have had Horatia Allenby or one of my other students to hand would have been beneficial but it seemed not to have mattered; the group departed in good humour and Sir Bristow conveyed his hearty thanks.

I went back to see my charges.

Amanda was pressed face down in the small cage but managed to turn her head towards me. Estelle, in the larger cage, was sitting up but got to her knees as I entered.

“Thank you, Sir,” she volunteered. “Thank you for not requiring us to show anything of what we have learned.”

In some ways I was pleased by her polite address but such self-centred feelings would not, of course, do. I replied sternly. “This was not done to spare your feelings but to prevent interference with your progress. And, I can see there is still much progress to be made. Had I thought it useful for you, I would have asked you to provide some amusement for one or more of them.”

Amanda shivered at the thought. Estelle exuded disbelief that such a thing might have occurred.

I looked at the pair of them. “You would each do well,” I said, “to consider how you will overcome this tendency to see yourself as the most important part of your life. Put it in the context of your own fantasies if you wish. Amanda, perhaps you should contemplate not the dashing young captain of a pirate junk, but the ageing, pox-riddled, lecherous opium magnate as your imagined master. And you, Estelle, consider how you would fare as the victim of one of your admired muscular athletic types rather than they as yours.” Estelle provided a most unladylike scowl in response. “Good night. Use your time to think.”

I left them, extinguishing the lamps in the cellar as I closed the door behind me. Neither of the two sisters made any sound.

Chapter 10: The Importance of Service

Once my charges have become acclimatised to their circumstances and have come to see confinement, chastisement and sexual stimulation as their general way of life, I further their behavioural adjustment by introducing them to the value of domestic service. A wife in even the wealthiest of families, supported by a troop of servants, needs the experience of having carried out those simple tasks that create a household conducive to a husband’s well-being. To aid them in this, I include, as part of their adjustment, the assignment of domestic tasks.

For Amanda and Estelle, I also took the opportunity to address their continued obsession with self. This is a particularly difficult aspect of my method, since the ideal behaviour is self-effacing, but inevitably the students see themselves as the centre of attention for much of their period with me. The twins, used to the indulgence of their now-deceased parents, were possibly more self-obsessed than others of their age but in all probability were not. Nevertheless the matter had to be addressed.

The idea occurred to me that, as non-identical twins, it might be beneficial for them to spend some time as undifferentiated individuals. So, when I announced that they would begin a period of domestic duties in the household, I took some additional measures beyond that of requiring them to dress in the uniforms that marked their roles.

Naturally the two objected when I introduced them to the idea. Domestic duties were beneath them, they said. Their father and their guardian had both had servants to deal with these matters. They had no experience. They would not, could not do as I ordered.

I ignored their objections. These are commonplace reactions based in a misunderstanding of the value of these duties. Instead I told them that they were to be given new accommodation and took them from the cellar to one of the attic rooms.

“You will act as housemaids.” I announced. “Your duties will roughly correspond to those of scullery and parlour maids. It is of little matter which of you takes which role and when, except that I will require you both to gain experience of all areas. You will wear an appropriate uniform,” I said, gesturing to outfits laid out for them on the room’s two beds.

A maid’s uniform is designed to be both utilitarian and to provide the invisibility that one expects of domestic staff. While in the great houses the servants have their own corridors and stairs to separate them from those they are there to serve, in houses great and small, the uniform of the domestic sets them apart as simply one part of a functioning machine. The long black or grey dress of the household servant declares simply, I am not of the house, merely I am here to see to its proper functioning.

This aspect of my charges’ training I intended to complement with a measure of appearance adjustment as well.

“You will both be corseted,” I said. I showed them two heavily boned, long corselets that would stretch from over the bust to down below the buttocks. “I require my staff to present a consistent appearance. Please, get dressed.”

The girls set to, trying to puzzle out the unfamiliar garments and not noticing the subtle differences between the two items of underwear. I watched, intrigued, to see when and if they would realise what I was doing.

Amanda’s corselet was boned more stringently than her sister’s, achieving a greater reduction in her waist. Estelle’s, on the other hand, had a more padded bust line and padding inserted over the hips and buttocks. Once they had succeeded in putting the corselets on, the two sisters presented a very similar silhouette: Amanda’s heaviness seemingly reduced and Estelle’s more sinuous figure rendered more rounded.

“Now, your hose and your uniforms.” I had provided the girls with two identical outfits comprising a long-skirted, long-sleeved, high-necked, black dress and a long white apron. These they put on without protest, although it was clear that it was done with some measure of distaste. White gloves followed next and then plain, black laced-up shoes. Estelle’s shoes were low heeled while Amanda’s lifted her a good three inches. With their shoes hidden beneath their skirts, the two girls now appeared of equal height.

The girls were concerned more by the tasks they would be expected to perform than by the outfits I had provided for them to wear. “Surely you won’t want us to clean or cook,” Amanda said. “We never have needed to do such things.”

“It is demeaning and humiliating,” Amanda added.

I ignored their protests, knowing that after they had completed their transformation their sense of humiliation would be far worse. “Next, you will be handcuffed. Please take these.”

I have been lucky enough to have the acquaintance of one of the members of the Metropolitan Constabulary and he had furnished me with a number of examples of the restraints used for the control of the more unruly guests of Her Majesty in the Newgate Prison.

“This makes any work impossible,” said Amanda as she twisted her wrists this way and that in the snugly fitting shackles.

“I’m sure you will find a way,” I said as I embarked on the completion of their transformation. Over each girl’s head I pulled a tightly fitting rubber hood, lacing them tightly behind each girl’s head. Inside each hood, a protruding plug of rubber filled the mouth, silencing the wearer. Outside, a doll-like face was painted. To finish, I had only to add to each girl a dark wig and a white maid’s cap atop.

I stepped back to admire the result. From two very different students I had fabricated two almost identical maids. I wheeled a full length mirror across the floor so that the two girls had sight of their transformed selves. Of course, with their mouths filled with the rubber plug gags in their hoods, it was hard to be certain of their response but it certainly seemed as though they found their appearance distressing.

“Please,” I said. “This is part of your training and you will endure it as I instruct. For the purpose of your work about the house, your individual selves are unimportant. What is of value is what you succeed in doing. One piece of advice, though. In the event of any deficiency in your work, since it may well be difficult to determine which of you is responsible for what, you will both be punished equally. Please take great care not to be the cause of unnecessary distress to your sister.”

With that I set the confused and humiliated girls to work. Amanda (or possibly Estelle) was set to dusting and cleaning in the downstairs part of the house while Estelle (or possibly Amanda) found herself dealing with the remains of the previous night’s dinner in the scullery. The process of them learning to be useful and unobtrusive was well under way.

Chapter 11: The Laying On Of Hands

An important part of the process of behavioural adjustment is the release of the student from the tyranny of self-concern. I bring this about by providing opportunities to endure discomfort and pain which serve as a distraction from lesser, more existential, matters. My students sometimes report heightened pleasure during some of these sessions. This is not, however, the purpose behind them. The purpose is to create in the student a separation from abstract concerns of self by focussing the mind on concrete matters.

To this end, I start and end each student’s day with the administration of some punishment or other. Sometimes this has been earned (my students soon discover that there are many ways in which they can transgress and so earn retribution) but, equally, on occasions it is arbitrarily applied.

In line with my usual practice, then, I found myself seated in the room at the rear of my house, looking out at the bright morning sunshine and the glowing colours of an English summer garden with the largely naked Miss Amanda Tusker draped across my lap, the globes of her buttocks presented pleasingly for my attention. Since the girls had started wearing their maid’s uniforms, the only time I was certain which I was dealing with was when they undressed and, in Amanda’s case, I could see her lower heels and the lack of padding in her corselet.

I say largely naked in two senses. She was both mostly naked (she still wore her corselet but her drawers had been lowered) and large in her nakedness. Although I feed my students adequately, I did not imagine that her diet would sustain the bulk she carried when first she presented herself to me. I was wrong. She was still wearing her maid’s corselet and hose but she had been stripped of her uniform. She still wore the hood with its doll face and slightly startled expression. She was about to undergo a paddling for a failure by her or her sister to complete the morning’s laundry. As she spread her weight face down across my lap, I wondered if I would need to arrange for greater padding in her sister’s costume to maintain the illusion of identicalness.

I had chosen a round leather paddle as the most suitable on this occasion. The paddle delivers a thick, widespread sensation of pain, quite unlike, say, the sharp, almost metallic sensation of being caned.

“Hands!” I ordered.

Amanda knew that she would be held while being punished and set her hands behind her back. I gripped her wrists with my right hand, pressing her down against my thighs. With my left I stroked, patted and pressed her buttocks, assessing how best to apply the punishment. I picked up the paddle and began.

Slowly slapping the thick leather down on alternate buttocks was not initially painful. Amanda wriggled on my lap, her buttocks and thighs rippling with each blow. As the strength of the blows steadily increased, the level of pain increased, the pinkness of her buttocks began to redden and her struggles increased. Although the gag muffled her cries to a series of inarticulate grunts, it was clear, from the way that she was shaking her head, that the blows were causing the required response. Although a cropping or whipping is useful for many punishments, I must confess to taking pleasure in the physical sensation of a struggling young lady across my lap. The erection was, I suppose, unfortunate but inevitable. Amanda, her attention focussed on the repeated impact of the paddle, appeared not to notice it.

After twenty heavy strokes, I could feel the heat of pain in her buttocks with my hands. Her own struggles had weakened as she had become disoriented, lost in sensations of pain. I released her. She stood and curtsied as I require at the end of each punishment. Normally I require my students to thank me for the benefit of correction but, of course, with her hood’s plug gag so firmly in place, she was unable to do so.

I told her to dress and watched as she became transformed once more to the appearance she shared with her sister. She curtsied once more when I told her to return to work and disappeared just as Estelle presented herself for the same treatment.

Beatings of various descriptions form an important part of the adjustment programme. I had imagined (correctly, as I later discovered) that corporal punishment had been a feature of the girls’ education prior to my arrival on the scene. I believed that its continued use would benefit from drawing a direct line back to their earlier formative experiences. Of course, such punishments did not represent the entirety of the measures that I employed, the wide range of behavioural adjustments needed meant that an equally broad range of training approaches have to be used. Even so I needed to ensure that punishment and restraint formed an important part of the girls’ daily routine.

One example is in the area of posture. I had noticed that, in common with many other young people, both girls were slack in the way that they carried themselves, slouching when they walked and sprawling when they sat. To overcome this I use a combination of measures. Of course the process of corseting helps. In addition to the corselet that the girls wear during their daily maid service, they each have a period wearing an outfit developed at my request by the remarkable combination of Madame Genoux (an expert corsetiere) and an expert leather worker of my acquaintance.

The outfit in question is a long-skirted, high-necked dress in thick leather. It incorporates a boning scheme of Madame Genoux’s to hold the waist and to keep the body straight. It includes a similarly boned arrangement for the neck which holds the head still and erect. The skirt is tightly laced at the rear and the boning of the corset extends over and below the hips to allow the wearer only the shortest of steps. The upper parts of the sleeves are attached to the bodice so that movement of the arms is only possible below the elbow. In combination, the constraints placed on the wearer encourage a general improvement in posture by requiring considerable attention to be paid to every movement.

The dress also had the amusing feature of openings for the breasts and buttocks, allowing appropriate punitive attention to be applied in the event of the required care in movement not being demonstrated.

As well as providing a physical restraint on the wearer’s posture, the garment added to the set of psychological conditioning processes that I employ. For the wearer, there is an increased emphasis on the fact that they have very little control over their appearance and their movements. This adds to the sense of self-effacement that I wish to inculcate. The fact that they can see the positive effect on others’ views of them (certainly my own response to the girls so dressed has been encouragingly priapic) adds to the positive feed-back that they gain from accepting that which is done to them.

Other measures in my programme are designed to combine this sense of self-effacement with increased self-esteem gained from a realisation of being valued for the performance of a service or duty valued by others. Too often in our society, self-esteem seems to be driven from a sense of being rather than achieving. We see this in the quest for celebrity and the idea that celebrity for its own sake is of value. This concept I try to reverse by providing the opportunity for my students to be of service in ways that are entirely independent of any personal attribute that the student may possess. To this end I have formed an association with a small group possessed of highly specialised interests.

One of the features of the New Victorian landscape has been a revival in the many and rich forms available for the expression of sexual desire and gratification. Fortunately the institutionalised prudery normally associated with the first Victorian era has not been seen in our own times and the range of clubs and associations celebrating, practicing and promoting obscure sexual practices is wide. Many put this down to the obviously loving and physical relationship between our monarch and her consort, Prince Albert the ninth of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha1. Some claim that the Prince has been a breath of fresh air to the institution of the monarchy. I would agree that his promotion of British industrial interests has been most beneficial but I still feel that the informality he has encouraged at court is to be deprecated. When Music Hall performers are dedicating performances of “You Can Call Me Al” to the Royal Family, you have to wonder if the boundaries of respect are being stretched too far.

There are those that believe my own methodology owes much to a personal interest in sado-masochistic scenarios. I say only that I use that which I perceive to work. Because of my work and the interest that it arouses, I have found myself in contact with many on the outer fringes of human sexual interest and occasionally I have been able to turn their enthusiasms to my own advantage.

Gordon Beckwith, the founder of the National Forum for Forniphilia, is one contact that I have found invaluable. The son of a master cabinet-maker, Gordon was brought up appreciating the fine lines of classic English furniture. His enthusiasm became a fixation through his adolescence and now the lines of a Hepplewhite chair or the fine marquetry and joinery of a George Seddon piece are as arousing to him as another man might find the glimpse of an ankle beneath the hem of a skirt or a flagrantly bared breast. But, to give the man his due, he decided in middle age that this fixation was unhealthy and sought treatment from an associate of mine at the Fritz Freleng Institute.

The cure was only partial and in some ways it is not a particularly good advertisement for the techniques of my colleagues. Nevertheless Gordon has embarked enthusiastically on a new life in which he is determined to fulfil the desires that his therapist has convinced him are his right. Now he recognises the potential for sexual interaction with women but he has not lost his love of furniture. He now combines the two desires and has found that there are many (well, some) like him, who enjoy the objectification of women as pieces of furniture.

(Actually, Gordon, in his own defence, claims that he is not interested in the objectification of women; his enthusiasm is for the sexualisation of objects, but it is probably not worth the quibble.)

He has been of help to me in the past and I was happy to oblige him when he asked if I could possibly supply additional furnishings for a planned meeting of the Forum members. Since an evening or more spent as simple components of a room’s furnishings seemed to exemplify my idea of a situation that allowed my charges to benefit from the self-effacement, I was inclined to agree to his request. Since he had further proposed that I would be reimbursed for any expenses incurred, and for my own inconvenience in the matter of the sisters' participation, I was happy to send them to him. I arranged for the girls to be despatched to the venue of Beckwith’s meeting as he had requested.

The event was to be a reception to celebrate the visit of the Viceroy for the Greater Levant. The Viceroy was an influential man and his planned visit had prompted a revival of interest in the artefacts and culture of the Middle East. The Greater Levant runs across the region from the Nile Valley to the two rivers of Mesopotamia and north to the edges of the Ottoman Empire. The newly discovered deposits of liquid coal in the southern extent of the Arabian peninsula offered the dream of economic growth. Together with the unification of the Arab nations under the banner of the British Empire, the Greater Levant represents one of the most formidable territories over which Her Majesty reigns.

Of course Gordon had not succeeded in actually getting the Viceroy to visit his event but this was not, he assured me, going to interfere with his group’s enthusiastic demonstration of support. He intended a splendid party celebrating the best of the region and a series of forniphiliac installations would show off the Forum’s ingenuity. He assured me that no harm would come to the girls. I was confident that this was the case. There was probably no group in London less likely to place the girls’ virtue at risk, even if they were not padlocked into their chastity belts. I handed the girls over to his transport contractor in the morning (they were dismayed but then I had not informed them of my plans for them) and looked forward to seeing just what he had done with them at the evening’s event.

Gordon had managed to persuade the Russell Square Museum of Empire to allow the use of its Egyptian Gallery as the venue for his event. Fortunately he had not suggested (as so many do these days) that the affair would require ‘fancy’ dress, so I was able to attend in my normal garb, a dress tail coat and breeches.

For the most part the guests were soberly dressed. Gentlemen mainly wore dinner jackets, although a few appeared in lounge suits; ladies were for the most part in formal evening dresses. The sober theme was not continued in the exhibits contrived by the members of the Forum. The extraordinary nature of the evening was apparent at once in the cloakroom where two girls, clad in the costumes of New Kingdom princesses, held aloft the rail upon which the guests’ coats were hung. Further princesses were standing, trays suspended from neck collars, serving drinks around the Gallery. I took a glass from one of these trussed and silenced dispensers and mingled with the group.

I am not a naturally sociable individual but there is always the chance of discovering a new client at such events and besides I was hoping to discover just what had been done with the two sisters.

It was as I put my glass down on an ingeniously designed table that I found Amanda first of all. She, too, was wearing the costume of a New Kingdom Princess. The pleated skirt, bare midriff, wrap-over covering for her breasts and the cobra headdress were all redolent of the mid-thirteenth century BC. She had been laid on her back in a mummiform coffin (the label suggested that it had been used for one of the many concubines of the Pharaoh), facing upwards, her arms crossed on her chest clutching the crook and flail familiar from Pharaonic burials. I could see that where her wrists were crossed, the ‘bracelets’ were in fact securing them one to the other. The lid of the coffin had been replaced by a single sheet of glass, providing the convenient surface on which I had placed my drink. Amanda could only look upwards as others came and went using the glass top to deposit drinks and plates. She seemed perfectly still; conscious but perfectly still. I was intrigued as to whether this had been the result of some soporific administered to make her docile for the purposes of her role in the event or was simply the consequence of being confined as she was. I went in search of Gordon to enquire about this and also the whereabouts of her sister.

I threaded my way through the gallery between impressive statues in basalt and granite of long dead pharaohs and their gods. Feeling the effects of the glass of wine I had drunk earlier I decided to take advantage of the museum’s toilet facilities and headed off through the door marked ‘Gentlemen’s Washroom’.

I suppose that I shouldn’t have been surprised to see that Gordon had arranged for some of the facilities there to be equipped in the unique style of his organisation. To one side a pair of kneeling, bound girls offered a boot cleaning service; one had a selection of polish tins positioned in front of her and a stiff-bristled brush strapped to her face while the other had a soft polishing pad strapped to hers so that by bending forward in turn the two girls could apply and then buff off polish leaving the shoes of their customers gleaming. Standing beside the wash basins was another girl with a large ring hanging from the strap that gagged her. Threaded through the ring was a soft towel, readily available for anyone needing to dry his hands after washing.

Another girl, of uncertain function, knelt beside the urinal, seemingly awaiting the arrival of a gentlemen needing to use its facilities. I approached intending to ask her purpose but, as I reached her, she reached for the fly of my breeches, deftly extracted my member and held it steadily pointing at the porcelain. A very convenient service, I felt as I took advantage of the facility and relieved myself. As soon as I had finished she took great pains to squeeze the last drips from me before gently licking and sucking my member clean and returning it to my trousers. She bowed, obviously expecting no thanks, and then went to clean herself ready for the next client.

Returning to the gallery I finally found Gordon and congratulated him on the event. It was, he said, unfortunate that the Viceroy could not attend but he took great trouble to point out some eminent members of his staff and three respected members of the archaeological community, Evans, Carter and Woolley, who had all recently joined the Viceroy’s historical and cultural mission.

“Can you tell me how you keep the ladies who play such an important part in all this so docile?” I asked. “I am most impressed with the quiet acceptance that the girls are showing. It is quite uncharacteristic for any of my students to remain at rest for any length of time, I find. Are you using some chemical to achieve such levels of compliance?”

“No, not at all,” Gordon seemed hurt by the suggestion. “It was the great gift of the people at Freleng that helped me to realise that powerful influence is all that is needed. A quiet insistence on the desired behaviour is sufficient.”

“And where,” I enquired, “can I find Estelle Tusker? I see that Amanda is making her contribution.” I waved across to where her mummy case table had now become almost buried beneath a pile of half-empty glasses, ash trays and plates of partly eaten snacks, the usual detritus of such events. “However, I have failed to discover what you have done with my other student.”

Gordon smiled. “Of course, of course, old chap. She is here, do not fear. One moment please.” He reached into his jacket and took out a small notebook. Flipping it open, he flicked back and forth through the pages before at last alighting on one. “Ah yes!” he exclaimed, “Of course! Come with me.”

He led the way back across the gallery to one corner where a small group of armchairs, surrounding a girl-supported table, provided a quiet haven away from the rest of the party. A group of three men were sat in quiet contemplation of large glasses of brandy that sat on the glass plate held aloft on the back of the crouched girl beneath.

“The lamp,” he said, pointing.

I would not have realised it without his intervention. A dark skinned figure of an athletic-looking woman, naked from the waist up, wearing a white kilt-like skirt, stood stock still in the corner of the room. From the figure’s muscling and small breasts I took it to be Estelle, though the colouration of her skin would have fooled me.

“A simple vegetable stain,” Gordon assured me. “Artistic licence.”

Her face was covered by a black, jackal’s head mask with long upright pointed ears. In her hand she held a staff from which hung a lantern that cast a soft pale light over those seated around. It was only on close inspection that I could see she was quite unable to move, her legs locked in position by the way in which her shoes were secured to the base board on which she stood and by a stiff, vertical, rod fixed to her waist and neck rather like the posture device that I had used myself on the two of them.

“Anubis,” Gordon declared. “Rather good, don’t you think?”

Behind the jackal’s head mask, Estelle’s eyes flickered towards Gordon and myself but she made no move nor did she try to speak. I was content to let her continue in Gordon’s service for the remainder of the evening. He, in his turn, declared himself more than happy with the help that the two girls had provided.

1 I was most intrigued to learn, during the writing of this short account, that the Prince's family had been enthusiastic supporters of the Confederacy during their successful confrontation with the Union. I was invited to present to a conference in Atlanta only recently but was unable to accept. More details of the family can be found here.

Chapter 12: Acts of Defiance

There comes a time in every student’s readjustment when they either regret the consent given at the start of the programme or begin to feel that their experiences with me will continue indefinitely. At such a point it is common for some act of rebellion or defiance to manifest itself.

Both Amanda and Estelle had, to their credit, applied themselves well to their programme of activities and had presented little more than token resistance to the various indignities and impositions that I had heaped upon them. They had submissively accepted the treatment that they had received at the hands of Gordon Beckwith and they had placidly accepted the measures devised by myself, Giacomo Baptista and Madame Genoux. While, no doubt, this was as a result of the fantasies they both entertained prior to my taking them into my charge, it had done much to increase my opinion of at least some members of the younger generation.

Looking back, the point at which the twin’s resistance was aroused was when they realised that it was my firm intention to assign them to a husband without their least involvement.

It was during one of the sessions that I hold each afternoon during which I encourage the girls to talk of matters that are of concern to them.

“When, Sir,” Amanda enquired respectfully from her position kneeling on the floor, hands on head, in the middle of my study, “will we get to meet with our likely suitors?”

Estelle joined in. “Yes, Sir. My sister and I are most anxious to have the chance to see them.”

I anticipated that my reply would not be to their liking. “Why, at the wedding ceremony, of course. There should be no need for any earlier contact. You can rely on your guardian and me to arrange everything quite satisfactorily.”

“Satisfactorily for whom?” Estelle enquired acidly. “For you, I suppose, but what about us? We have the right to meet our proposed husbands. We have the right to satisfy ourselves that they are suitable.”

“Rights?” I responded, knowing that the girls’ remarks were simply symptoms of a deeper lack of acceptance of their circumstances. “I do not believe that in your agreement with me there was any mention of rights. Of duties, yes. Of obligations, yes. But of rights? I think not.”

The girls saw this as an inflammatory response and leapt to their feet to harangue me. Amanda began pummelling at my arm with her fists, screaming that it was not to be as I wished. Estelle was as vocal in her protests, too. It occurred to me for a moment that the two girls might even be attempting to free themselves of their contractual arrangements with me and I was certainly not prepared to countenance that.

Fortunately I always keep close to hand a pair of lockable restraints which can be easily snapped about the wrists of a recalcitrant student. In this case I gripped Amanda cruelly by the hair and span her around by it. Her yelps of pain were even louder than her earlier protestations but they did nothing to prevent me slipping the cuffs first around one wrist then sliding the other around one of the pipes that convey hot water from the boiler in my basement to the cast iron heating ducts around the house. With Amanda securely fixed I could turn my attention to Estelle.

As the more physically developed of the two, Estelle did not present such an easy proposition. More agile than her sister and stronger, she struggled naked in my grasp until I had her pressed face down against the carpet with myself kneeling astride her back wrenching her arms up behind her. “Oww,” she yelped, evidently surprised by the strength and dexterity that I had been able to bring to bear in subduing her. I may have the look of an aesthete but I can still hold a young women’s wrists secure in the grip of my right hand alone and it was with her held, thus, that I dragged her to her feet and took her towards the cellar.

“I won’t go back in the cage,” she yelled defiantly. “Nor will Amanda.”

“You will do as you are told,” I said. “That is our agreement but if you are to behave in this lunatic manner you shall be treated as one.”

Beside the door from my study is a large wooden chest. Here I had access to something that would be of great help. Among the other graduates from the Fritz Freleng College practicing in London is Doctor Aristides Poloi. He specialises in the treatment of deeply disturbed young ladies. He uses, by coincidence, a similar electrostatic generator to that which I employ but arranging it so that shocks are received in the brain itself. I had in passing mentioned that occasionally my students become distressed and he had kindly provided me with two items of restraint that he felt might be of service.

In the face of Amanda’s and Estelle’s rebellion, I determined to use them. They seemed entirely appropriate to the girls’ deranged actions.

Aristides referred to them as restraint coats. They were made of heavy canvas, fastened with straps behind the wearer and with closed sleeves arranged so that the arms were crossed over in front of the body and then strapped tightly, again fastened behind so that the wearer was held quite tightly and securely in their own, well-strapped embrace.

Estelle was so intent on haranguing me with every possible insult and term of abuse that I am not sure she realised what I was doing until I had forced her into the jacket and begun fastening the straps. Once the closed sleeves were wrapped around her body and fastened with their own straps there was little she could do to prevent me tightening the others. With the buckling of the final straps across her throat and between her legs she realised that she was indeed helpless.

Amanda watched in resigned acceptance as I approached her with the jacket that I intended to put upon her. Seeing how easily I had subdued her stronger sister she did nothing to resist and was soon equally helpless in her own restraint coat.

Estelle began screaming. A raw-throated, un-moderated, primal expression of what I took to be frustration with her circumstances was hurled into the room as she attempted to throw herself against the wall of my study. To prevent her from injuring herself, I laid her down on the floor of the study as gently as I could and strapped her ankles together. For Amanda, who had come to kneel beside her sister, I did the same, anxious to pre-empt any similar behaviour. When I had made sure that they were no longer a risk to themselves, I sought to calm them by preventing Estelle’s screams. The application of a solid rubber ball to each girl’s mouth achieved my objective. Estelle became quieter but obviously still angered, while Amanda subsided into a sullen silence.

Estelle’s outburst had been so extreme that I decided to consult with Dr Poloi on the matter. He was kind enough to respond to a telegraphic message and was with me inside an hour. By the time he arrived the girls’ struggles and protests had subsided. They were dusty and streaked with sweat from their rolling on the floor of my study but I had little sympathy. Any dirt that they had picked up in their efforts to escape the embrace of their restraints was only there because of their own inefficiencies at house cleaning.

“Aristides,” I greeted him. “Your talents are needed.” I explained the circumstances of Estelle’s unexpected reaction and showed him the two captive sisters.

“I am sure I can assist,” Aristides responded. He crouched down over the two girls as they lay stretched out in their restraint jackets on the floor of my study and examined each in turn, peering at their eyes, checking their pulses and assessing each girl’s temperature by the means of a hand on the brow. “Can I ask,” he said getting to his feet, “how long the girls have worn these?” He pointed to the belts that Giacomo had devised for them.

“Some three weeks,” I said.

Aristides shook his head. “For young ladies in the early stages of their sexual awakening this is a lifetime. It is no wonder that this hysteria has been provoked.”

“Hysteria?”

“Yes. It is a most common response in my view to the restriction of woman’s natural desire for sexual expression. Without it an accumulation of emotions and negative mental stimuli can give rise to sudden and erratic behaviours that are difficult to predict. You must find ways of providing them with an emotional sexual release.

I explained to him about the use of the stimulator and the difficulties presented by the girls’ virginal status. Aristides seemed sympathetic. “I can see, now, why this matter of their husbands has triggered this. The need to protect them and the use of the stimulator as an alternative to the normal penetrative measure you would have used are seen as related to the problem of being assigned to their planned husbands . We need to find a way of providing emotional sexual release without penetration.”

“That seems a challenge,” I replied.

“Not in the least,” Aristides reacted. “We shall follow the example of your monarch. With the two girls here, there is no reason why they should not provide one another consolation is there?”

“None that I can see,” I agreed. “But I am afraid the allusion to Her Majesty is lost on me.

“Come now,” Aristides replied, “surely you have heard that Her Majesty has championed the rights of those women that choose to enjoy one another sexually?”

“Of course. But I thought this was because she had no cognisance of such behaviour and so could not be prevailed upon to approve legislation against it.”

“The popular view, I believe,” Aristides returned. “My own assessment is that it results from her own enthusiasms for such contact rather than from any denial of its occurrence. I had the good fortune to be asked to consult on the difficulties being experienced by, shall I say, 'a recently married personage within our highest family'. Some of those were, in my judgement, a direct result of the attentions of the poor girl’s mother-in-law.”

I recalled my earlier evaluation of the portfolio of deviance that Harwell had provided in respect of each of the girls. I took Aristides to one side, away from the girls’ hearing. “Estelle, certainly, has such leanings,” I said.

“In which case you should provide her with the opportunity to relieve them,” Aristides advised. “Even if Amanda has no expressed interest in such behaviour it is most unlikely that she would respond negatively to it. Quite the reverse, she will almost certainly find the attentions of her sister welcome at this stage. To be the recipient of affection, the object of desire, these are all needed emotions. You should, however, make it seem an intended part of their training. It is most important that they do not perceive this adaptation in activities as any sign of weakness or of any possibility of subverting their adjustment programme. But you hardly need me to tell you that.”

I shook Aristides by the hand and thanked him for his helpful insights, assuring him that I would put his suggestions to work at the first opportunity. He, in his turn, offered to help me return the girls to their usual accommodation. For once I made the choice of cages for them. Estelle was assigned to the smaller cage where she would have least risk to herself while Amanda was sent to the larger. I turned off the gas to the cellar lamps and left the two of them to sleep and contemplation.

Chapter 13: Love & Affection

The following morning saw both girls presenting a repentant face. I took them from their cages, removed their restraint coats and gags, and allowed them the use of toilet and bath.

Estelle in particular appeared apologetic but I insisted that she should prepare for the day’s training before any further discussion of the preceding evening’s events would occur.

Eventually I brought the two girls up from the cellar and escorted them to my study. I sat at my desk. They stood, naked except for the belts provided by Giacomo, in the approved manner with their hands clasped behind their backs and their heads bowed.

Quite against the normal protocol, Estelle spoke out. “I want to apologise, Sir, for my behaviour yesterday” she began. “I was overcome by anger. I don’t understand why. I know that you have encouraged us to think carefully about our feelings and our responses but I must confess that I behaved most unreasonably. You were right to treat us as you did.”

“Yes, Sir, Amanda added. “It was deserved.”

I was pleasantly surprised by their response. I had half expected their confinement to inflame them rather than to calm them but perhaps Aristides was correct in suggesting that their anger was merely a form of reflected sexual orgasm and that once expressed, calm returned.

“Well, I am pleased that you see that you were treated justly. Let us draw a line under the behaviour of yesterday and turn instead to the challenges of today. Please sit.” I waved to two chairs. The girls looked at one another, surprised by my offer.

“When you are married, I am sure that there will be occasions when you are in the wrong or when you believe your husband is in the wrong but that, for the sake of household harmony, you choose to place yourself there. That is exactly how you should approach it. Congratulations.”

The girls smiled. It is my experience that approval, appropriately delivered, when earned, is as powerful a means of developing character as punishment. It was clear that the two of them had learned their lesson but I was keen to explore Aristide’s suggestions for preventing a recurrence.

“Now, let us consider today’s matters. What do you know of the poetess Sappho?”

My question was directed at both of them equally but it was noticeable that while Estelle hung her head and bit her lip, it was Amanda that spoke up.

“She was a Greek, a poet, of the sixth century BC and she lived on the island of Lesbos, in the Aegean not far from the coast of Turkey. We know her work more by repute than through the originals; only one complete poem is known and only four others in fragmentary form. It is said she proposed love between women much as Greek men expressed their love for one another at that time.”

“An excellent, if academic summary. But perhaps I can ask if you have ever encountered proponents of the Sapphic lifestyle? Perhaps among friends? Or others?

Amanda shook her head. “No Sir, not to my knowledge.” Estelle remained silent.

“Estelle? Tell me if you have encountered such ideas.”

She was evidently having difficulty in confronting her desires. She sat silent for a few moments, then drew breath and spoke. “You know, Sir, I believe, from the material you have been given that I have entertained such fantasies. You should also know, Sir, that fantasy is all that it has been and that I have never experienced sexual acts with another woman.”

“Bravo. It is hard to confess to desires; still harder to confess that you have not acted upon them. Let us continue in this spirit of honesty. Tell me, what is your dearest wish? Your sexual dream of an encounter with a woman?”

Amanda looked uncomfortable but Estelle to her credit appeared relieved by the question as though in providing her with the chance to express her desires I was breaking some bond that had held her previously.

“To lose my body in hers, Sir. To be naked with her, our mouths on each other, our hands on each other’s breasts, deep passionate kisses and close embraces, our bodies pressed one against the other, our…”

I could see that she was aroused by her own expression of her desires. Her nipples had stiffened, her skin flushed, her breaths had become shallower and shorter.

Amanda was staring at her in disbelief. It was evident that she had no idea that her sister harboured these desires.

I interrupted her. “How do you believe these feelings should be handled once you are married?”

“By being suppressed, Sir. Surely my husband will expect me to keep myself solely for his sexual pleasure? I think that is what I have understood from your teachings. I will have to put such feelings aside on marriage.”

“I think you are taking a rather simple view of my teachings. And an overly simple view of what might be your husband’s sexual pleasure.” I could see that Estelle and Amanda both looked puzzled.

“How so, Sir?”

“Suppose I told you to embrace your sister, exploring her body as you have described to me. Suppose I told you that this would be a source of amusement to me; that it would give me pleasure to see you at play together?”

Estelle looked sceptical.

“With your consent, Amanda. Estelle, embrace your sister.” Estelle looked at me in disbelief. “Do as you are told,” I said in as stern a tone as I could manage. “Kiss her on the neck. Go on.” Estelle turned towards Amanda, who to her credit, did nothing to resist her sister’s advances. “Good!” I declared. “Now, Amanda, return her affections. A hand on her breast. Play with her nipples; you must feel they deserve a squeeze, surely.”

The two needed little further encouragement. Aristides was right. Estelle’s predisposition to Sapphic love and the deep frustration felt by both girls as a result of imprisonment in Giacomo’s belts, coupled with the sexualising effect of the situation that played to their sado-masochistic interests had built within them a sexual pressure that could now be relieved. I watched as the two of them fell on each other’s bodies with enthusiasm, licking, biting, squeezing, sucking and kissing. At one point I thought the two of them would tear each other’s belts apart but the strength of Giacomo’s constructions defeated them and they returned instead to satisfying themselves with the parts of their bodies that were accessible to them. It was in and of itself an arousing spectacle. Amanda proved herself every bit the equal of Estelle in their sexual gymnastics and the two had soon abandoned the chairs for the greater space available to them on the floor of my study. Where not twelve hours before they had rolled in the embrace of their restraints, they now rolled in one another’s.

In time, sated, they sat back, suddenly finding themselves back in the real world, confronted by their teacher and in part surprised, in part embarrassed at their display.

“Do not be upset,” I counselled. “It is a delight for any man to witness such abandoned passion. No husband would be other than delighted to share his bed with two women amusing themselves and pleasing him at the same time. You will find your husband's approach to sexual matters quite simple in many ways. A display of sexual arousal is usually a more than sufficient trigger for his approval, even if it appears directed at another woman.”

Estelle looked up at me and placed one arm affectionately around her naked sister’s shoulder. “I shall certainly try to live up to your teachings in that respect,” she said with a mischievous grin. Amanda, to her credit, appeared embarrassed by her sister’s impudence.

I was able to forgive her cheekiness, though. It brought a pleasant lightness to the house; a great improvement on the tense situation of the night before.

Chapter 14: Sleepless Nights

I met Harwell Tusker for an early morning coffee with the aim of providing him with a report on the progress of his two nieces. When he entered the coffee shop that I had suggested for our meeting, I at once saw that he was in a state of some disarray. He was unshaven. His furrowed brow spoke of a disturbing head ache and dark bags below bloodshot eyes further suggested a night that had not provided him with the requisite eight hours of sleep. “You look awful,” I said.

“How extraordinary,” Harwell replied testily. “That is exactly how I feel.”

A waitress approached us. Harwell growled a request for a cup of coffee and she scuttled off to fulfil his order.

“You might,” Harwell started, “in your programme of training do something to ensure that a woman allows her man a decent night’s sleep. Amelia was tossing and turning all night. The result of some affliction as a result of her gender and its relationship with the lunar cycle no doubt. I couldn’t get a moments peace.”

He had a point and I told him so. In some respects I count myself fortunate not to have to share my bed with a wife. We went on with our discussion on Amanda and Estelle but at the conclusion I took myself for a short walk to consider Harwell’s plight and what lessons might be learned from it. I was determined to include measures to address his concerns for my future clients.

The principles of learning that I try to exploit in my methods suggest that skills only become second nature when the student moves from a state of unconscious incompetence, through conscious incompetence, and conscious competence until eventually they achieve a state of unconscious competence, the ability to perform the task well without thinking. The challenge was how this sequence of learning could be induced during the hours of sleep.

A conversation with the community of artisans that had created the Orrery and the shock machine provided me with both a method and the means of implementing it. And so it was that, only three days later, a new double bed was installed in one of the attic rooms that were once used for the domestic servants of the house.

Amanda and Estelle viewed the new equipment with well-founded suspicion. They soon appeared to have formed the view that the various straps and fastenings were unlikely to contribute to their comfort. “This is,” I said by way of introduction, “an important part of your training. You are learning to please your husbands when you are awake; you must learn to please them – or at least not disturb them – while you are asleep. This bed will help you learn to be still while you sleep.”

Amanda and Estelle looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses, something I had found they were often inclined to imagine until being brought to a full understanding of what was being presented to them.

“Please,” I said, “make your ablutions and then take your places. I wish to start this part of your learning this very night.”

The two girls each took their turn using the toilet facilities and the washstand that had been made available in the room. I knew how much they hated me standing by while they did this but it was part of their education to become adjusted to being constantly appraised and at no time allowed privacy. In very little time they completed their preparations and presented themselves beside the bed, in the approved position with their hands behind their backs and their heads bowed.

“Very well, ladies,” I said. “It’s bed time.”

I took Amanda first and had her lay down on her back with her arms by her side. Estelle watched as I first of all fastened straps around her wrists and the upper part of her arms and followed this with the application of further straps around her ankles and her thighs.

I did the same for Estelle, noting that, while I did so, Amanda was testing the extent to which the straps restrained her and was pleased to discover that while the straps did appear to be attached to cables that ran through the mattress and underneath the bed, she was still able to move without much restriction. For my part, I was concerned lest the cables might present the risk of strangulation, becoming entangled about their necks in some way. To avoid this risk, I provided each of the girls with a broad and thick leather collar buckled around their necks. Although this would prove somewhat uncomfortable for them, since the collars were so wide and heavy as to prevent almost any movement of their heads, at least it prevented any possible tragedy of the kind I feared.

With both girls settled into the bed, I bade them good night and left them to their rest. From my own room, an ingenious optical device, installed at the same time as the bed, allowed me to watch over my charges in their new predicament. The anglescope, as its installer had called it, used a series of lenses and reflective plates to convey a view of the girls’ room to my own and I was able to watch as, at the start of the night, their tossing and turning pulled on the cables attached to their wrist and ankle bands. I went to my own bed after a little while, quite convinced that the new bed was functioning correctly.

The following morning when I returned to the girls’ accommodation, it was clear that the girls had not succeeded in sleeping well at all.

Released from the straps and allowed to get up, the two looked dishevelled and distraught at the prospect of a day’s training without the benefit of the rest that the night would normally have brought. The ingenious features of the bed had made sure that each twist or turn in the night before had brought discomfort on the individual responsible for it.

The effect appeared to be as predicted. Beneath the bed, the cables connected to the leather wrist and ankle cuffs were wound on to clockwork-powered drums. As the night progressed, each girl’s natural movements would, up to a limit, be allowed by the slack in the cables. If, however, an excessive tensioning of the cable is detected by the mechanism, a catch is released causing the clockwork drum to tension the cable, returning the girl to her original position. As long as Estelle or Amanda remained still there was no mechanical activity. If, though, there was any significant movement of the limbs or any attempt to roll over, even in their sleep, it would be immediately detected by the machine and the girl brought back to her original position. I suppose that the machine could have been designed in such a way as to achieve this repositioning slowly. However, it was not. The re-tensioning of the cable was sudden, violent and, inevitably, had the effect of awakening the sleeping victim. From the appearance of the girls next morning, it was clear that the system had been triggered many times during the previous night. I checked the small pointer on the brass dial of each tensioning motor that showed how often it had been triggered. Estelle had been disturbed no less than eight times, Amanda twelve. It was obvious too, that as each had been awakened by the system, the sudden winding of cables occasioned by the movements of one sister would have woken, or at least disturbed, the other. The girls, yawning and red-eyed, were sent off to start their domestic tasks for the day.

I fear that as a result of their tiredness their attention to detail in their duties was somewhat less than usual. It grieved me, but I had little alternative but to punish them prior to their settling down for the next night. The combination of their exhaustion and the continued disturbances of the preceding night helped them to be a little less restive. Estelle managed to reduce the number of times her limbs were snapped back into place to five while Amanda was only disturbed seven times. They continued in this way for some days, their day time work still less than perfect but their night-time fidgeting progressively reduced. By the end of a week, they were able to regain sufficient rest so that failings in their domestic duties were no greater than before. Of course, by this time they had received a substantial number of additional beatings but even this had its benefits. The repetitive surge of endorphins as a result of their punishments seemed to be accelerating their general behavioural adjustment. I was grateful to Harwell for having presented a problem which, in its solution, had in fact improved my approach. The girls would have a much greater control over their sleeping behaviour to the benefit of their future husbands. The bed was to remain a feature of my training regimen from then on.

Chapter 15: To Greenwich

Sir Bristow had proposed that I bring the Tusker sisters to meet with him at Greenwich. He was using, he said, the splendid Painted Hall of the Royal Greenwich Hospital for Seamen as the venue to interview those Institute members adjudged as potential beneficiaries of the Institute’s bursary. There has been a deep relationship between the Institute and the Navy; so many of the innovations of the former have been of benefit to the latter. Such was the warmth of the relationship between the Navy and the Institute that the Navy was happy to make their facilities available whilst the Institute were engaged in advising on the creation of a museum of the country’s nautical past that might one day grace the site.

My client claimed that he needed the meeting to assist in the selection of suitable candidates. For my part, I suspected that it was as much a matter of salacious curiosity as of any genuine need to assess my pupils. It suited me to indulge him, however. The girls had not been outside the Highgate house since the day of their arrival and, while a pale complexion is often thought attractive, I am of the belief that fresh air can be beneficial. “Fresh” was not, however, the adjective that could be applied to the sultry atmosphere that hung over town on the morning of our expedition.

The girls were at first surprised and then pleased at the prospect of being allowed to dress for the first time since their arrival at Highgate; I had no wish to outrage public morality or to excite comment by parading two naked and crop-welted women through the streets. Equally, I chose to allow them to venture out unbound. They had been shackled, strapped or roped in one way or another for the preceding three weeks. They had become acclimatised to having their mouths filled or strapped shut. It would have been no difficulty to have contrived to have them helpless in such a way as to be unnoticeable to passers-by, but I determined that they would find it rather disorienting to be unfettered save for the belts that protected their maidenly status and that suited my purpose. So, for now, they were free except, of course, for the padlocked belts they wore beneath their clothes to protect against sexual exploitation by themselves or others. The two of them evidently found the experience novel, even disturbing, but, to their credit, conducted themselves well, accompanying me on the first stage of our journey through Highgate in silence.

We took the Over Rail. Its ingenious combination of pneumatic traction and a monorail track hung from gantries running over the streets of the capital gave us a smooth and almost silent ride. The great wrought-iron bi-pod gantries that carry the track bestride the capital in a most impressive way and while there are those that feel that the Over Rail is a blot on the city-scape I find the stateliness of the structures a constant source of wonder.

At the Over Rail Exchange near Hyde Park Corner, we disembarked from the glazed torpedo-like car to await our connection on the Dockside Line. Amanda and Estelle waited patiently, standing close to me and saying nothing to one another. The other travellers took little notice of us. I wondered what they would make of the fact that the two girls had belts of rubber and metal chained in place across their sexual parts and that both bore thick welts and bruises on their buttocks as a result of their recent education. I had little doubt that few of them would understand the benefits that my two charges gained from my treatment of them.

The Dockside Line Over Rail car arrived and we stepped through into the comfortable interior. Its padded seats and leather armrests meant that our journey would be no more tiring than it needed to be. The press of the early morning commuter traffic had dispersed and we had most of the car to ourselves as it pulled away with a quiet hiss from the Exchange. The Over Rail straddled Grosvenor Place as it headed down towards the Embankment. I remembered the outrage when it had first been proposed. The idea that people would be able to see from the Over Rail cars down into the grounds of Buckingham Palace had been a great source of scandal in the tabloid media. The fact that Her Majesty had seen fit to use the Over Rail on one of her own journeys soon overcame that!

The track took us onwards along the north bank of the Thames. The river was busy with barge traffic, small tugs dragging their strings of lighters upstream puffing hard against current and tide.

Estelle and Amanda sat silently. It was so very different from the first time that we had shared a carriage. Hands in their laps, they contented themselves with the view from the car. It may be that they had some apprehension regarding what awaited them in Greenwich but, if so, they gave no evidence of it.

The Pool of London was busy with steamers, paddle freighters and sailing vessels, all fighting for berth space to unload or load their cargoes. As we passed Limehouse, Amanda gave a nervous glance towards an ocean-going junk that was moored there. I suspected that, for a moment at least, she imagined she was about to be consigned to the fate that she had fantasised for herself so many times, but we soon left the Hong Kong company’s wharf behind us.

The car hissed to a stop at Island Gardens, a most inappropriately named stop, I feel. The small park was in shadow from the great forest of masts of the ships moored in the river. The road alongside was noisy with the toing and froing of numerous trucks carrying their cargoes on to the rail yards to the north. I ushered the girls towards the domed housing over the entrance to Sir Alexander Binnie’s foot tunnel1 under the river to Greenwich. They had evidently never heard of the footway and seemed surprised when we emerged on the southern riverside to be greeted by Sir Bristow on the steps of the Royal Naval College.

Ngoya Mbute was standing behind him. She was dressed in a cream silk outfit that hung closely to her figure. I found myself regretting that she was not a guest in my rooms at Highgate. Her appraisal of my companions seemed no less penetrating than that of Sir Bristow as she stared at them coolly; one hand slapping a long glove into the opposite palm and drawing it sensuously through a strong grip.

“Very nice,” Sir Bristow affirmed. He took the time to inspect my charges thoroughly, walking around the two girls, peering closely at their complexion, examining their hair, lifting each girl’s chin in turn to allow him to look them clearly in the eye.

Amanda and Estelle were obviously embarrassed by the close scrutiny. They were, however, sufficiently well versed in my requirements for their behaviour to know that they should neither say nor do anything. Instead they stood quietly. “Well formed and respectful. I can see you have made progress already,” he said encouragingly. He went on, “Miss Mbute,” Ngoya looked across towards Sir Bristow, “why not take the girls and show them the Queen’s House? I need to introduce our friend here to some of the candidates for the favours of these young ladies. We will be an hour or so, I fear.”

I wondered for a moment whether the girls would be safe in Miss Mbute’s care but concluded there was little harm likely to befall them and urged them to follow Sir Bristow’s aide.

The selection of aspiring members of the Institute that were introduced to me seemed worthy enough; earnest, anxious to impress, in some cases obviously talented. I listened patiently while they told me of their plans and hopes; the projects that they dreamed of realising. Two, I felt, stood head and shoulders above the rest, for their intentions embraced not only the desire to achieve great things but also to acquire wealth. That, to me, is the touchstone I seek in those with whom I engage. Their ideas were, without doubt, for extraordinary enterprises. One, Lewis Fairbody, was a man of nautical and navigational skills, in addition to being possessed of considerable ingenuity. He envisaged a great bridge joining ourselves to France, eliminating the tyrannical monopoly of the French cross-channel shipping lines. The other, Tim Lee, proposed a linked arrangement of communicating Babbage engines which would be able to share their calculating power across a telegraphic network. In both cases, their proposals included their own participation in the equity of such schemes, providing them not only with the satisfaction of having realised such ingenious designs but also allowing them to participate in their profits. Whether or not the plans for their engineering works proved feasible, their entrepreneurial spirit would carry them forward, I told Sir Bristow.

He nodded with approval. “My own thoughts exactly,” he said. “Shall we consider the decision made?”

“I feel so,” I replied.

“In which case, I suggest we re-join Miss Mbute.”

The threatening clouds that had made the morning so oppressive had dispersed. Sunshine now held sway. Rather than following the colonnaded walkway from the east wing we took the opportunity to make our way up into the park for a short detour. On the top of Castle Hill, Wren’s Flamsteed House — part of the Royal Observatory — stared down at us, the curlicues of its parapets seeming like querulous stone eyebrows on the building. The telescopes had long gone, exiled to Sussex by the fumes of the coal burning vessels on the river below, but the building still held the master chronometer at the hub of the network of telegraphic signals that carried Greenwich Mean Time to the Empire’s farthest corners. One of the Harrison family still tended it. It was another remarkable feat, I had to admit, but one which left the Park disfigured by the poles of the telegraph networks and their wires criss-crossing the hill like the knitting of some demented giant. Festoons of signal wire looked as though they were waiting for the bunting of some telegraphic festival.

Had we been aware of the scene that awaited us in the Queen’s House, however, we would have spent less time contemplating the wonders of electric telegraphy and hurried to prevent a disastrous occurrence.

Miss Ngoya Mbute had taken advantage of her access to my two charges to amuse herself. As we arrived, it was clear that she had rendered both girls helpless so as to indulge her own carnal desires. Ngoya was seated on a fine gold-ornamented chair, her skirt up about her waist and her blouse open to reveal her breasts. Estelle was stretched out, face down, on the marble top of a grand Louis XIV-style table. She was hog-tied so that her wrists and ankle bowed her body back. Her head was held up in such a position as to allow Ngoya to push it from behind so that Estelle’s mouth was clamped against her dark, full breasts. Estelle, who had evidently been held in that position for some time, was gasping for breath and struggling as Ngoya enjoyed the stimulation of the girl’s mouth on her nipples. Meanwhile, Amanda was crouched beneath the table. Helplessly bound as well, she was on her knees with her head between Ngoya’s thighs. Ngoya’s right hand clutched a handful of Amanda’s blonde hair, pulling her face hard against the African girl’s crotch as Ngoya thrust her hips forward to take advantage of Amanda’s attentions.

Ngoya Mbute was obviously close to climax and quite oblivious to our presence. “More, more,” she cried urging them on. As her own movements became more urgent, the girls’ struggles combined to arouse her further. “Oh, yes,” she cried, “and next my friend here!”

She let go of Estelle’s head for a moment and reached behind her. Triumphantly, she held up a large black rubber strap-on dildo. No doubt she would have been disturbed to discover its path blocked by the belts that Giacomo had devised for the girls. It may be that Ngoya would have found a way to subvert Giacomo’s purpose. The girls would, I am sure, have derived much amusement from it but, through good luck, Sir Bristow and I were on hand to prevent what would have been a most unfortunate disruption of my plans to maintain the girls in a state of virgo intacta until they arrived at their marriage beds.

As she held the thick black artificial penis aloft in aroused enthusiasm, she laughed. A moment later she turned and saw us.

Sir Bristow, understanding and approving my intensions in the matter of the girls’ virginity raised an admonishing finger. “My dear Miss Mbute, this will not do at all, I fear. You are taking advantage of the circumstance of these young ladies. Please release them at once.”

Ngoya’s response was one of sulky acceptance.

1 A most extraordinary construction which can easily be viewed by those visiting the Capital. Those wishing to discover more about it can find details at one of the many useful entries on the Communicating Britannica Compendium of Facts which is now available on the Babbage-link.

Chapter 16: Back In Harness

“I hope,” I said to Amanda and Estelle, once we had returned to Highgate from our riverside excursion, “that you can explain your behaviour today.”

I was seated in the comfort of my consulting chair. The two girls were standing in the room, heads bowed and quiet. Amanda stole a look towards me but dropped her eyes again at once as she saw my hand toying with a willowy cane that rested on my desk. Estelle spoke first. “Surely, the explanation required is not from us, Sir. Surely it is Miss Mbute that should answer.”

“It was not our fault, Sir,” Amanda joined her sister. “Surely you will believe us. She took advantage of the submissive nature that you have encouraged in us. We were naturally inclined to obey. That is what you have required of us.”

I smiled, incredulous, and got to my feet. “So, this is in some way my fault? That you, of your own free will, both allowed yourselves to be taken advantage of and made use of in such a fashion. Imagine for a moment if your husbands had returned home to find you providing some tradesman with sexual amusement. Would this be acceptable?”

“No, Sir, I suppose not,” Estelle ventured.

“Unless there was some benefit to our husbands as a result,” Amanda attempted.

My smile turned to a laugh. “A valiant effort, young lady. However, I suspect that your husband will not consider a saving of a few shillings on the week’s shopping bill a reasonable compensation for the sexual favours of his wife.”

Amanda hung her head again. “No, I suppose not.”

“And I suppose not too.” I picked up the cane. “Let us take such steps as will help you to consider more carefully whom you offer your favours to in future. Please bend across my desk, raise your skirts and lower your drawers.”

“In here, Sir?” Amanda bit her lip realising at once that she should not have questioned my instruction. The speed of her realisation saved her an additional five strokes.

“Yes, in here. Yes, beside the window. Yes, where you might be seen from the road. Yes, as I said.”

The two girls sheepishly moved towards my desk without another word and took up the position required of them. The ensuing beating left them sobbing on the floor beside the desk, the backs of their thighs criss-crossed with the bright red stripes of the cane. I waited while they regained their composure and then had them strip there in my study before sending them down to their overnight accommodation and allowing them time to consider their behaviour.

The two continued on their rounds of service, confinement and punishment, slowly progressing towards the goals I had set for them.

There was one area, though, in which additional efforts were needed.

Although I had agreed that the girls should preserve their virginal status throughout their adjustment, there remained the question of how they should best be prepared for the marriage bed. Obviously they were no strangers to sexual arousal but there is a considerable difference between the results of shared erotic amusement with their school friends (or even the demands of Sir Bristow’s Bantu) and the likely enthusiastic mounting that the girls could expect to receive on their wedding night.

So, it was with the intention of avoiding the risk of this experience coming as a shock to them that I brought them, blindfolded, from their cellar accommodation to my bedchamber. At least that was what I told myself. It was nothing to do with the fact that I had spent several weeks in the company of two attractive young women and was, as a result, prey to feelings of most readily satiable lust. Not at all.

In preparation, I had seen that the two girls were naked and securely tied. Coarse ropes secured their arms and elbows behind their backs. Ropes around their waists fixed their wrists in place; others around their chest forced their breasts out and up, constricted painfully, swollen and red. No doubt they would have given voice to their distress but for the thick rings of leather that wedged their mouths open so that little could be heard of their complaints save for inarticulate guttural groans of discomfort.

The belts fashioned for them by Giacomo Baptista were still in place, securely covering those parts that a new husband most prizes. Their other pleasure pits, however, were open to me.

On my removing their blindfolds, the girls soon realised where they were. Seeing that I was attired for bed, wearing only my silk dressing gown and a tasselled smoking hat, they quickly deduced my intentions for them and commenced such a mewling protest between them that I felt obliged to grab them by the hair and wrest them to the bed, so that they lay on their backs looking up in trepidation at me.

The two attempted to struggle away from me. I knelt across Estelle’s waist, pinning her to the bed. Amanda I grabbed by the hair and, pulling her close as I did so, I shrugged off my robe.

Estelle stared up at my erect cock, obviously as shocked as I had intended her to be by my sudden violent behaviour. I rewarded her distressed stare by kneading and pinching at her swollen tits drawing groans of discomfort that served only to arouse me further. Amanda tried to wriggle away from the two of us but I pulled her back, tossing her across the bed so that she fell across her sister. With Amanda face down across her sister’s waist, I pulled her up by the hips so that I could press my member into the cleft between her buttocks. Amanda squealed like a stuck pig as I pushed myself home. From her cries, I was certain that she had never imagined that she would be used in this way.

After a few thrusts I resolved to take advantage of her sister in similar way and rearranged the two helpless girls to allow my access. By now Amanda herself had been brought to a state of sexual excitement and was only too pleased to have her breasts pushed forward against her sister’s face where Estelle’s ring-gagged mouth could suck and press against her tortured nipples.

It was only after I was well sated that the two girls were returned to the basement to allow them a night’s rest and recovery.

Chapter 17: A Night Visitor

It is my habit before retiring at the end of the evening to check on the well-being of those enjoying my hospitality. Amanda and Estelle were by now well adapted to the regimen that applies to my students and were both resting quietly when I opened the door to the cellar. I checked the locks on their cage doors and the security of the straps about their wrists and ankles. For Estelle, hooded following an instance of defiance that afternoon, I ensured that her discomfort was no more than I intended.

Then, confident that all was secure, I took myself off to my bedroom up on the third floor. Upon my nightstand, a small glass of green tea sat steaming in a welcoming way, promising relaxation before sleep. Beside it, the evening newspaper, untouched until now, lay neatly folded; offering a measure of diversion from my own concerns. Had I wished for consideration of more weighty matters – not, I consider, a good idea when contemplating a night’s sleep – a volume relating the analysis of no less than fifty instances of enhanced female sexual response as a result of stress-induced hysteria also awaited my attention.

I contented myself with the green tea and the news in the paper of an extraordinary talent contest sponsored by the publisher whereby seeming unknowns from the streets of the metropolis were encouraged to imagine that they could somehow be transmuted into stars of the Music Hall overnight. I was considering penning a note to the editor expressing my views on the folly of this venture when I heard a noise from the house below.

In that instant I suddenly realised that in all my efforts to prevent those within my establishment from leaving I had never thought of investing to prevent those from outside from penetrating it. At once, I was concerned that my premises were under attack.

I thought of attempting to summon the constabulary but realised that any attempt to call for help would alert the intruder. Besides, although my activities are in every sense legal, I am sufficiently aware of how my methods would be perceived by the man in the street to be wary of exposing my activities to those who are not as enlightened as my clients. I resolved to tackle the intruder myself.

The stairway was dark but I know it well and felt no need to light the gas mantles. I made my way to the kitchen. The crunch of broken glass beneath my feet and the draft of cold air from an open window told me that there was, indeed, an unwelcome visitor.

I made my way back to the hall. A flicker of light from a shrouded lantern briefly lit up the edge of the door to my consulting rooms. I worked my way silently along the corridor towards it. Noises from inside suggested that whoever was there was busily searching the room.

Taking my opportunity and believing that whoever was there would be sufficiently distracted by their task not to detect my approach, I slid the door open.

Crouched over my desk a black-clad figure was rummaging through my papers and files.

I came upon the figure from behind, taking him – for I assumed the figure must be male –completely by surprise, grabbing with both my arms and wrestling him around and away from the desk. As the two of us span about, the intruder attempted to wriggle free, kicking out at my legs. With a lucky (for the intruder) blow, I was caught off balance and slipped, losing my hold. The intruder turned to run.

In that moment, the identity of my assailant was revealed to me. As the black-clad figure in tight trousers, roll necked sweater and ski mask turned sideways on, a light from the street outside shone through a gap in the curtains and across the distinctive profile of Ngoya Mbute’s impressive breasts. She gave a muttered curse beneath her breath and then pushed past me, into the hall and back out to the kitchen. I pulled myself up from the floor and gave chase, but by the time I reached the garden she had disappeared into the darkness, leaving me to puzzle on her intensions.

Chapter 18: Orient Express

By the following morning, I was no wiser regarding the visit of the night before. I was at once annoyed and puzzled by the behaviour of Miss Mbute. Was she there at Sir Bristow’s instruction, I asked myself, or was there some other motivation for her burglary? It all seemed most irregular.

As far as I could tell, nothing was missing. My guests had not been disturbed. There was only the problem of the broken window which was soon resolved by a local glazier who was good enough to replace the panes with those of wire set glass to deter any future intrusion. The only evidence of Miss Mbute’s visit was the disarray in which she had left the Tusker files on my desk. My assumption was that she, in some way infatuated with my charges after their encounter at Greenwich, was keen to learn more of the Tusker girls. It was, of course, quite unacceptable behaviour and I resolved to complain to Sir Bristow at the first opportunity.

My considerations were interrupted by an unexpected arrival in the street outside. In the busy streets of Highgate, one can expect to see most forms of transport from the small steam cycles that have proved so popular in the city of late to the Stanley taxi cabs and the injected steam coupes favoured by those seeking more convenience in their travelling. The vehicle outside my rooms on this occasion was one quite unlike any I had seen before. It most closely resembled a motorised cabin, a veritable house on wheels, as long as my own house was wide.

The strangeness of the vehicle was echoed by the strangeness of its occupants.

As someone whose own style of dress is considered eccentric, I suppose I should not comment on the appearance of others but the two visitors that were calling on me were of distinctive appearance.

The first to step down from the mobile house was a woman. As is sadly so often the case these days, she affected male garb, dressing in a dark, man’s suit in pinstriped cloth. A flat leather cap sat atop slicked-back blonde hair. Dark glasses covered her eyes. Thin, red tinged lips outlined a wide mouth. She held in front of her with gloved hands a black, highly-polished leather brief case. It appeared to be chained to her wrist.

She stood motionless on the curb-side, staring straight ahead for a short time, before a second visitor joined her. Whereas the woman was tall and thin, the man that joined her was little more than half her height and almost twice her girth. He, too, wore a dark pinstriped suit and almost in parody of the city gentleman carried a rolled umbrella and a bowler hat. From his features, his long thin moustache and equally thin beard, I judged him to be of Chinese origin.

The Chinese gentleman rapped on my door with the head of his umbrella. Amanda and Estelle had yet to reach the stage whereby they could be expected to greet visitors, so I opened the door myself.

“Theophilus Chang,” my visitor announced. The woman standing behind him was looking first up and then down the street outside. “I would like to have a conversation with you regarding the wards of Harwell Tusker. You are, I believe, responsible for their preparation to meet the requirements of the Institute of Practicing Engineers.”

I am always open to conversation although I am sensitive of my clients’ confidences. I also found myself wondering if this unannounced visitation and the events of the night before were in some way connected. I invited the two of them in. If nothing else it would give the two girls practice in their new roles as house maids.

I rang the bell to summon the two. They duly appeared, waiting politely for whatever might be asked of them, presenting a bizarre presence in their identical uniforms and face masks. Chang elected in favour of tea. The woman wordlessly demurred. The twins left. “Your premises are modest.” Chang’s statement seemed neither a criticism nor a compliment. He made no comment on the girls.

“They are sufficient for my purpose,” I responded watching as Chang looked around my study, his eyes apparently unable to move independently of his head as he took in each feature of the room from the tome-filled shelves to the single Whistler landscape painting over the fireplace.

“Very well,” Chang said, apparently satisfied by his examination. “To business. How is your work progressing in the matter of Miss Estelle and Miss Amanda Tusker? Are you confident that you can meet the expectations of Sir Bristow?”

I am usually only too happy to discuss my work and my methods but I have always felt that my clients and those that I work with deserve the utmost discretion from me. Besides, I could not see what possible benefit there would be in my discussing my work for the Institute and for Harwell Tusker with Theophilus Chang. I told him so.

My rather blunt response was punctuated by the return of my two girls. Amanda was carrying a tray of tea things. She was followed by Estelle with some napkins.

“And which of the twins is which?”Theophilus asked looking up, bemused by the two girls’ almost identical appearance in their uniforms. “Perhaps, Miss Amanda," he speculated, accurately. "I wonder if the reports I have do you justice?” Chang stroked his beard as he contemplated the girl that was serving his tea.

For Amanda, I knew this to be a test. Something as close as this was to her masturbatory fantasies was, no doubt, emotionally disturbing. I could imagine that, behind her doll-like mask, her face had coloured to a deep crimson. She seemed in danger of fainting as she passed Chang his cup. Amanda composed herself, poured my own tea and then curtsied to leave. Estelle, feeling herself under scrutiny from Chang’s thin-lipped, female, associate, was equally anxious to leave.

“Mr Chang,” I began. “I have no wish to be inhospitable. If you have some project of your own with which I could assist? Your associate, perhaps?” I nodded mischievously towards the impassive, thin-lipped woman beside him. It was intended more as a taunt than a serious suggestion but it drew an amused response from Chang.

“Ha! Ms Mace, what do you say to that? Trained in feminine ways? Equipped to serve?” Chang laughed.

His companion said nothing and scowled.

“No sense of humour, I fear. A faithful associate but a humourless one. Your suggestion might amuse me but it is not my purpose today. No, that is much simpler. Ms Mace.” Chang gestured to the case that the woman was carrying. She lifted it up and placed it on my desk. She unlocked the cuff holding the case to her wrist, freeing it, and clicked the combination lock on each of the case’s two brass catches. The lid sprang open to reveal the case was packed with neat bundles of Chinese currency in note and coin.

“Two point five million Chinese Yuan” Chang announced. “A substantial sum and in a currency that you will find accepted even in areas where the British pound is not welcomed.”

What he said was true. The upsurge of the Chinese economy as the latest Imperial dynasty had embraced the potential of their enormous internal market had created a currency that was as strong as our own. The yuan now far outstripped the American Peso and the European Frankmark. I did not, however, see what it had to do with me. “A substantial sum, indeed, Mr Chang,” I responded. “I wonder that you feel able to carry it about with you. Or, perhaps Ms Mace is possessed of other dangerous powers beyond her withering scowl?”

“Capital! Capital!” exclaimed Chang, much amused by the discomfort of his companion. “But please do not antagonise Ms Mace. She would as soon as not pin you to the floor and break your neck.”

She picked a single ten thousand yuan coin from the case and bent it almost double between the fingers of her right hand. She tossed it to fall on my desk where it rocked erratically before coming to rest. As a demonstration of controlled violence it was most impressive. For Estelle, standing beside her sister in the doorway of the room, it represented the embodiment of her own fantasies as the woman returned her infatuated gaze with a cool dispassionate stare.

There was one other aspect of the demonstration that I found fascinating. As Ms Mace had flicked the coin onto my disk, I caught sight of a golden chain bracelet on her wrist. The chain carried a single gold Chinese character hanging from it. I had seen such a character before. It had been hanging from a chain about the dark, smooth-skinned neck of Ngoya Mbute.

“Two point five million. In exchange for which you will consign the Tusker sisters to my care. It is more than you will receive in ten years under your agreement with the Institute, even at your own most optimistic predictions. And it is cash in hand here and now and without the involvement of your Department of Her Majesty's Revenue and Excise Collection. Beyond that, you need not concern yourself.”

It did not take me long to decide what I should do about his offer. I dislike bribery and even if the girls had not been the wards of an old friend and trusted client, I could not have brought myself to accept. “I think not, Mr Chang. There would be the matter of the girls’ guardian, Mr Harwell Tusker, quite beside the question of my obligations to Sir Bristow and the Institute. Thank you for your offer but, no.”

“You are quite determined?"

"I am, Sir, I am."

Chang shook his head, evidently disappointed. He nodded to Ms Mace who lowered the lid of the case, fastened the catches and span the combination locks. She re-attached the case’s chain to her wrist. A flicker of a ‘told you so’ expression crossed her face. “In which case, Sir, I will bid you good day and leave you to your work. Please let me wish you every success. I shall indeed think of you should a future commission present itself. Although I fear Ms Mace would not make a suitable subject.” A scowl from Chang’s companion confirmed that she was of the same opinion.

Estelle and Amanda backed away from the two as Chang got to his feet and left with his companion. The steam-powered mobile house pulled away in the road outside. I was glad to see the backs of Theophilus Chang and Ms Mace.

Chapter 19: Missing En Route

On the conclusion of my discussions with Chang I immediately contacted Harwell Tusker. I was most concerned by the appearance of Chang and by the fact that he was evidently in possession of confidential data that I suspected had been obtained by the efforts of Miss Mbute. I also contacted Horatia Allenby and asked if she would be so kind as to keep watch on my charges. Some premonition suggested to me that it would be unwise to leave the girls alone but with Horatia installed at Highgate for the afternoon I felt less concerned.

Harwell agreed to meet me in town and the two of us made our way back to the Whitworth House.

After some bad-tempered exchanges with the Institute’s porter, were we able to enter the building and force our way into Sir Bristow’s office. He was annoyed at being disturbed. We in our turn were angered by what we saw as the disruptive influences of his assistant.

I wasted no time in coming directly to the point in hand. “I am sorry, Sir Bristow, I must insist that you rein in the activities of your personal assistant.”

“Insist, Sir? Insist? I am not sure I appreciate such language. Ms Mbute is a valued employee of the Institute. She has done nothing of which the Institute would disapprove, I am sure.”

It was clear that his opinion of his assistant was completely clouded by her undoubted physical allure. “Sir Bristow, Miss Mbute’s actions are in utter contravention of the Institute’s best interests. I have come directly from Highgate where two individuals sent at her behest, I am sure, have just attempted to usurp the position of the Institute in the matter of the two Tusker sisters. The previous day I caught her buglarising my property.”

Sir Bristow’s faced became still more florid. “I don’t believe it. You fail to see the woman’s talents behind the colour of her skin.

My hackles rose. I have worked with those of all racial origins and hold none in lower esteem than any other, preferring to judge the individual by their deeds rather than their complexion. I got to my feet but Harwell held me back.

“That is a scurrilous remark, Sir Bristow, and one which you will retract if you wish the Institute to benefit from my good friend’s work.” Harwell Tusker could be a commanding figure when roused and now, with his wards at risk and a friend insulted, roused he most certainly was. Tusker spoke more bluntly than I would have. “You will do as he asks or I will take my two wards back to Benfield and you can explain the change in plan to the Institute’s Board.”

He was bluffing, of course, but fortunately for our enterprise Sir Bristow was overwhelmed by Tusker’s bluster. Sir Bristow stepped back and his voice took on a more measured tone. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Miss Mbute has been a cornerstone of my work. I find it hard to credit that she would do anything against the interests of the Institute.”

“I can quite understand.” I thought it best to ignore a remark obviously given vent to in the heat of the moment. “She is obviously a capable and apparently loyal employee but, whatever her motives might be, her actions are causing great complications for the project. Can you at least speak to her and discover for what reason she suggested that Mr Chang should contact me?”

“Chang? Theophilus Chang?” Sir Bristow’s demeanour changed at once. It was as though some dark shadow had passed over him.

“The same.”

“This is indeed most disturbing. This Chang is a dangerous individual. He has been implicated in attempts to prevent members of the Institute winning contracts in the South China Seas. The growth in strength of the Chinese Imperial Industrial Company has been a great cause of concern to us. He is suspected of being the orchestrator of underhand attempts against our interests. I am most surprised to hear his name mentioned in the same breath as Miss Mbute. I am sure there is a good explanation but ….” Sir Bristow’s words tailed away. He shook his head. “You are right. I must confront Miss Mbute with this. Unfortunately, she is not here. She did not arrive for work this morning. A most unusual occurrence.”

The change in Sir Bristow’s attitude convinced me that he did, indeed, take our concerns seriously and that, whatever Miss Mbute’s motives were, her machinations did not result from any instruction given her by the Institute. Harwell Tusker and I left an evidently worried Sir Bristow and began our return to Highgate.

The journey back across London was without incident. Our steam cab pressed its way insistently through the busy mid-day traffic. Harwell Tusker sat silent, uncertain as to whether the events of the last days affected his plans. I, too, was quiet in thought. I remained confident that our objectives could be achieved. It seemed apparent to me that Miss Mbute’s plans were not shared by Sir Bristow and that our agreement with the Institute would not be compromised. The hiss of the Stanley motor behind us was sufficient to drown out the comments and suggestions of our driver as to the parentage and suitability for a career behind the wheel of every other road user we encountered on our trip. We were soon back at my rooms. I had been reassured by our encounter with Sir Bristow, but what confronted us on our arrival at my Highgate rooms at once disrupted my complacency.

In my living room we were greeted by the sight of Horatia Allenby, helplessly bound and gagged, tied to one of my armchairs. Horatia had evidently made great efforts to free herself. In the process of her struggles she had managed to tear open her blouse, revealing what, in other circumstances, would have been pleasing glimpses of her underwear beneath. I did what I could to swiftly free her while Harwell Tusker headed to the basement.

I first freed Horatia of her gag, untying the thick rag that had been pulled across her face and prising out the wad of cloth that had been cruelly wedged into her mouth. “The girls,” she gasped as the gag was pulled clear and I started to pick at the knots in the ropes that held her captive.

“They’re gone!” Harwell Tusker announced, reappearing at the door in considerable distress. “The cellar is empty. Whatever should we do now?”

Chapter 20: Unorthodox Channels

By the time that we had freed Horatia from the chair where she had been left, she had recovered herself sufficiently to tell us of what had happened. She had opened the back door to two women who had been masquerading as charitable souls collecting on behalf of a foundation for fallen women. The collection van in which they had arrived had the legend “Limehouse Foundation & Refuge” on its side. From her descriptions, the two were clearly Nygoya Mbute and Ms Mace. Having cheated their way into the house on the pretext of leaving a message for myself, they immediately assaulted Horatia. Mace had wrestled with her, pushing her back into the kitchen. Mbute had gripped her wrists, trying to prevent her struggles. Horatia found herself at a disadvantage. While her attackers were dressed in the modern style with short skirts that left them free to move, she was in the formal garb that I favour with a long hobble skirt and substantial corseting that made it hard for her to move freely. Even so, she had thought for a moment that she might reach the rack of kitchen knives and so defend herself but before she could do so she was overcome by her assailants’ superior strength and a blow from some heavy object on the back of her neck that had stretched her senseless on the floor of the hall.

When she recovered she found that she had been cruelly bound, gagged with a thick wad of cloth and trussed to one of the comfortable chairs in my living room where we later found her.

Luckily she regained her senses quickly enough to be able to overhear snatches of conversation between Mbute and Mace as they brought the Tusker sisters up from their basement prison and readied them for departure. “To the river….” … “Chang wants them now…” … “..catch the tide…” … “Limehouse Pier…” she related.

In one sense, to my annoyance, Mace and Mbute had considerable assistance from me. The girls had been quite helpless; strapped, hooded, gagged and caged so that they could be left while Harwell and I were visiting Sir Bristow. If they had not been secured so, I am sure that Horatia and the girls would, together, have resisted the intruders. However, that was not the case. Horatia alone had been easily overcome. All that Mace and Mbute had then needed to do was to remove the Tusker girls from the prison where I had so helpfully left them and convey them to the waiting vehicle outside.

Horatia’s insights were invaluable. She had shown considerable presence of mind in remembering each detail of her assailants’ conversations. We knew exactly what to do in order to give ourselves the best chance of apprehending the abductors and rescuing Estelle and Amanda.

Harwell and I ran from the Highgate house, finally succeeding in flagging down a Stanley near the gates of Highgate Cemetery. Tusker’s enthusiastic cry of “The Institute of Practicing Engineers, at full steam!” spurred the driver to his greatest efforts. I watched as the fine Gothic gateway of the cemetery receded behind us, hoping that its morbid aspect was not a harbinger for our enterprise. At Whitworth House, we explained the situation to Merriweather and he at once agreed to put the Institute’s launch at our disposal. Fairbody and Lee, the Tusker sisters’ putative grooms, joined us as we ran from the building. We hailed another cab and headed towards the Houses of Parliament.

At Boadicea Pier, we leapt from the cab. The Institute’s launch was already in steam waiting and we were soon under way. It seemed probable that Chang would take a small boat down river from Limehouse. Our best chance was to intercept them before they reached Chang’s own cargo vessel moored in the estuary beyond Tilbury.

The Institute’s launch was shuddering with the vibrations from her four cylinder engine as the small vessel cut into the last of the rising tide. The river was full, almost overflowing the protective walls that lined the Embankment. It was at slack water as we passed beneath the bascules of Tower Bridge. As we turned at Rotherhithe, Fairbody standing on the forepeak called out. “What’s that?”

A small boat had emerged at speed from a boat house on the Limehouse side and was now heading out into mid-stream. Sir Bristow passed across a spy glass. “Is it them?” he asked.

With the launch bouncing on the swell as a southerly wind kicked up the river’s surface it was hard to hold the glass steady but in one fleeting moment I saw Chang and Mace pushing the helpless pair of Tusker sisters along the deck and towards the vessel’s companion way. “Indeed,” I cried. “and we shall soon be on them.”

The launch could have gone no faster if I had a dozen of my students under the lash at its oars and it seemed that we would catch Chang’s vessel before it reached Greenwich. Then Fairbody called again. “It’s sinking!”

I raised the spy glass again and for a moment it seemed he was right. Chang’s vessel, its decks clear of any crew, seemed to have picked up speed and was even now sliding beneath the surface of the water. Seconds later it had gone, leaving only a trace of foam where it had been.

Sir Bristow, however, had the measure of Chang’s ingenuity. “A submersible!” he exclaimed. “Great heavens. There is only enough water at high tide to conceal them but we cannot hope to catch them now.”

“I’m not sure, Sir,” Lee ventured watching the swell of the river water that betrayed the presence of Chang’s vessel beneath. “It cannot spend long beneath the water while using its steam propulsion. If we stop at Greenwich Pier, I would like to send a telegraph message and then we can continue down-stream. I believe I can stop them before they reach Tilbury.”

The Institute’s launch drew alongside Greenwich Pier and Lee leapt ashore, heading for the Pier Master’s office. He was back moments later, a broad smile on his face. “I believe the situation is saved,” he said. “Let us continue downstream. I have asked for a constabulary cutter to meet us at Dartford.”

The launch was soon underway once more. Lee and Fairbody continued deep in conversation. Bristow, Tusker and myself remained baffled as to the reasons for the confidence of the two young engineers.

As we turned at Crayford Ness, a police cutter came alongside as promised and, with both vessels steaming hard on the turning tide the two young engineers leapt across to join the police boat and were soon busily explaining the situation.

Moments later, I realised the basis of Lee’s ingenious plan. Between Crayford and Tilbury a great concrete barrier had been built to protect the City of London from steadily increasing risks of flood. The sections of the barrier are normally held aloft on heavy gantries of iron and steel to allow shipping to pass beneath. Now, on Lee’s instructions, they were being lowered into place. Smoke belched from the chimneys of the winding houses on either bank of the river as the great concrete slabs were allowed to slide down until they sat on the river bed presenting an impenetrable wall to any vessel passing up or down stream. In a matter of minutes the river was entirely blocked and, it seemed, just in time.

Forced to a standstill by the closing of the barrier, Chang’s submersible emerged from beneath the waves. Water was still draining from its upper casing as the police cutter went alongside. Fairbody and Lee leapt aboard with armed constables forcing their way into the boat.

On the far side of the barrier a large ocean-going sailing junk could just be seen through the mists, raising its sails and setting course for the mouth of the Thames Estuary. Chang’s associates, realising that he was trapped, were abandoning him.

Sir Bristow, Tusker and I were content to watch as the police seized the submersible and brought out Mace, Chang, and his crew. All were transferred under guard to the constabulary cutter. At that point, Fairbody waved for us to join them. The five of us made our way below through the boat’s single hatch. The thickness of the hull designed to withstand the pressure of voyaging tens of feet below the surface of the water meant that the space within was cramped but we soon found our quarry. Towards the bow of the vessel, in a transverse bulkhead there was a series of small circular steel doors, each no wider than my own shoulders, and each closed by a wheel that served to lock and seal them. Within the first was confined the helpless Amanda Tusker, in the second, Estelle, and in the third, Ngoya Mbute.

With difficulty we slid each of the women from the tubes that were their prisons, setting them down on the deck. Estelle and Amanda were relieved to be freed but, no doubt as a result of their experiences in my hands, they seemed hardly disturbed by their confinement. Ngoya, on the other hand, angered by what she saw as the betrayal by her erstwhile collaborators in crime, and terrified by having been squeezed into the tube, was far less sanguine. As we emerged from the submersible she was handed over to be taken away with the rest of Chang’s gang.

I returned with the girls to Highgate. Their training was virtually complete. A few days were needed to allow them to recover fully from their abduction but by the week-end I was able to inform both Harwell Tusker and Sir Bristow that, as far as I was concerned, their weddings could go ahead.

Chapter 21: Wedding Breakfast

I am not normally a great one for social occasions. Although much of my work is dedicated to creating the perfect hostess, I choose most often the pleasure of my own company rather than that of others. Harwell Tusker and his wife did, however, know how to arrange a splendid event.

The joint marriage of the twin Tusker daughters provided the occasion for my return to Benfield Abbas. It was the first time I had ventured there since the eventful river journey that had thwarted the carnal aspirations of Theophilus Chang.

Chang’s operations had been quickly disrupted following his capture. There was clear evidence in his Limehouse buildings that the site had been used for the trafficking of women abducted from various parts of the country. The remnants of clothing and personal possessions would at least enable the police to identify some of those from their Missing Persons list. A Royal Navy frigate had been sent from Chatham in pursuit of the junk but fog in the estuary had allowed the Chinese vessel to elude its pursuers. One could only feel sympathy for those women trapped below its decks. It seemed unlikely that anything could be done to prevent them facing whatever fate Chang intended for them but at least he would no longer be a danger to others, I thought.

Amelia Tusker had organised everything splendidly. I smiled to myself as I saw her chivvying the small group of waitresses that were serving drinks and snacks to the assembled guests. It seemed no time at all since she was at Highgate, learning the skills of a housemaid and waitress so that she was now able to direct others in those same tasks. Her present accomplishment was all the greater than mine for she achieved her goals without the use of whip or cane which, I recalled, had been a constant need in her period of adjustment.

I observed the two wedding ceremonies at close hand. The brides and their grooms stood beneath a canopy in the gardens of the Priory, surrounded by friends and family. It was a warm day. The two girls were dressed in simple white embroidered smocks. Their grooms were resplendent in tail coats and gold braid trimmed waistcoats.

I took some quiet amusement from the emphatic way in which Estelle and Amanda promised to “obey” as they each took their wedding vows; I also enjoyed the looks of satisfaction that were present on the faces of the girls’ guardian and of Sir Bristow Merriweather.

A guard of honour from the Institute stood holding an archway of girders for the couples to walk through much to the amusement of Fairbody and Lee. It was clear that their two girls were as happy as it was possible to imagine.

A vast marquee, erected in the grounds of the Priory, served as the venue for the wedding breakfast. Lee approached me with his new wife, Estelle, walking a pace behind him. “My dear chap, I have not had the opportunity to thank you. Without your actions this happy day could not have occurred.”

“Your own presence of mind in realising that the barrier could prevent their escape was of equal importance.”

“And please don’t forget Fairbody’s success in preventing Chang’s crew from scuttling the submersible,” Sir Bristow added as Fairbody and Amanda approached. “Had that occurred the outcome would have been far less happy.”

“Of course,” I said. “The entire thing was an exemplary team effort.”

“I must also confess to being pleased that we could lay our hands on the submersible itself. The police considered it irrelevant to their investigations and so some of the Institute’s naval architects have been able to examine it closely on our slipway at Greenwich. A great deal of useful data regarding the design of and operation of the vessel is being gained. The Royal Navy has expressed an interest in our findings. A most satisfactory outcome and much as a result of your efforts.”

“I am just content to have been able to conclude things as we agreed, Sir Bristow, with the completion of the adjustment of the two Tusker sisters,” I replied.

“Your reward will be in the success of these two young men,” said Merriweather.

I nodded.

“And in their first posting for the Institute they will have the opportunity to make a name for themselves, the chance to carve a very substantial career indeed.”

“It sounds splendid. Can I ask what they will be doing?”

“Indeed. The arrest of Chang and his associates has created an opening for us in the Far East. These two gentlemen will re-establish the Institute’s office in Shanghai and build our business there. Their resourcefulness will, I am sure, bring great credit on the Institute.”

“And our wives will be of great assistance to us in our task,” Lee interrupted. “For that we must thank you.”

Fairbody joined in with Lee’s acclamation. I am always embarrassed by praise. I am happy to take my fees but I find it difficult to listen to others lauding my skills and achievements. Nevertheless it was satisfying to have completed another project, especially since it had presented a few unique difficulties of its own.

I listened for a short time to the two of them and then took my leave, spending a few moments to say goodbye to the two girls that had, until recently, enjoyed my hospitality.

I had reached the Priory Gateway when I suddenly realised that I had to return. I saw Fairbody and Lee deep in conversation near the entrance to the marquee. “Gentlemen,” I said, “my apologies. You will be wanting these.” I reached into the pocket of my waistcoat and pulled out two keys. One was for the belt fastened by Giacomo across Estelle’s sexual parts, the other that for Amanda’s belt. “I fear without these your wedding nights might have been a somewhat frustrating affair. Please enjoy yourselves. I hope that all works out well for you.”

The two young men laughed and thanked me as I finally left.

I felt nothing could disturb the delight resulting from the day. As I reached the railway station I collected a copy of the evening paper to provide some light reading on my journey back to London. As I opened it, a dark cloud cast itself across the otherwise sunny conclusion to the day. “Drama At Pentonville & Holloway Gaols” the headline announced. “White slaving gang leaders escape.” It seemed that Her Majesty’s prisons were no more secure than my cellar. I could only hope that Chang and Mace had learned that they should avoid encountering the Institute in future.

THE END

Our hero will return in "The Preparation of Helena Voudrakis". Watch out for it soon.

The Wards of Harwell Tusker

MORE BDSM STORIES @ SEX STORIES POST