The Governor’s Wife

From time to time, as he worked, Frank was aware of his Mistress phoning around to various friends or using the record-player. An easy-going life. How happy she would be, thought Frank bitterly, at the knowledge that he was unceasingly sweating his guts out at her command. Pure joy to a sadist like her. How she must hate men. That thought started him wondering whether Hettie Page was a lesbian. More than likely. Many sadistic women were. What a waste of a superb body, if that were so. A waste for the male sex, that is. Perhaps even the Governor was denied what so many men must lust after. That, at least, was a comforting thought!

At one o’clock, Frank was summoned into the living room, then sent to the kitchen to fetch his Mistress’s lunch which had been previously prepared. The food looked mouth-wateringly delicious to one on a prison diet. Then he was peremptorily dismissed to an outhouse, there to munch miserably on dry bread and drink cold water to slake his thirst. It emphasised the gulf between them and made Frank Lander all the more bitter and resentful. He had to fight to keep control of himself, knowing where an angry outburst or outright defiance would surely lead him. She was, he was aware, deliberately goading him, hoping for some such reaction.

After half an hour, it was back to work.

However, his schedule was interrupted by the appearance of Hettie Page in the kitchen. “Stop that,” she ordered sharply. Frank, who had been cleaning silver, respectfully stood up. “I’ve got work for you to do out in the yard.”

“Yes, Ma’am ….”

The curvaceous hindquarters swung before him as his Mistress led the way and he followed meekly after. Frank was beginning to feel rather like a puppet on the end of a string. Gradually his own personality was being eroded. His existence was solely to serve and amuse this woman.

An arm and finger pointed at a large square pile of concrete blocks on one side of the yard.

“I want those moved to the other side of the yard,” came the peremptory order. “Within the hour.”

Christ, I’ll never do it, thought Frank. I’m not superman. But he did not protest. “Yes, Ma’am” he answered automatically.

Hettie Page looked him contemptuously up and down. “And I’m not having those clothes soiled. They’re government property …. and we’ve got to keep taxes down, haven’t we?” The brown eyes were laughing.

“Get them off …. the lot of them.”

For a moment, Frank thought he had not heard right; then he realised she was serious. Fumbling, he stripped to his underpants.

“And those,” said Hettie Page.

Frank hesitated. What was the point? It didn’t matter if they were soiled surely? But that wasn’t the point, of course. He was going to have the indignity of having to work naked. Frank lowered his underpants and kicked them from the canvas shoes he wore. The latter he was allowed to retain, it seemed.

“Report to me when you’ve finished.”

“Yes, Ma’am ….”

Frank trotted over to the concrete pile and lifted the first block. He reckoned it at about twenty pounds. Quite heavy enough to carry some twenty five yards. Again and again and again, that is! By the time the first block was in position, Hettie Page had disappeared indoors.

Striving to maintain a steady pace, Frank toiled on. It would be pointless to go too fast, for he would simply become exhausted. On the other hand he dare not go too slow. How wearisome, how pointless, it was! Soon the burning ache was in his back and arms again. It was something that he was having to learn to live with. And, each time he carried a block, its rough edge would graze against his belly or chest …. forcing him to carry it away from his body. Which was even more irksome.

I am like an animal, he thought, a beast. Naked, hairy, sweating and grunting with effort. She is reducing me to this. Deliberately.

Slowly, slowly, one pile reduced. Slowly, slowly, the other pile grew. Frank lost all count of time. He just slogged on and on…. one moment feeling he just couldn’t go on a moment longer, and the next, forcing himself to great efforts.

That was another thing Frank Lander was learning. The extent of his reserves. It was amazing what extra strength and endurance one could find under the threat of pain! But that was something which galley-masters, overseers of slaves and the like, had known since time immemorial.

At long last, the final block was placed in position and, drenched with sweat, Frank staggered into the house.

He found his tormentress still taking her ease on the couch in the living room. She wrinkled up her nose at the sight of him. What a disgusting sight, she seemed to say. And no doubt he was.

“I …. hhaa …. I’ve finished, Ma’am” he gasped. He felt his knees trembling with weakness.

Hettie Page glanced at her wrist watch. “I told you to finish within the hour,” she said curtly. “You are ten minutes over the hour. And I will not have my orders disobeyed.”

“Oh …. f-for God’s sake ….” began Frank, “I …. t-tried….”

In an instant, Hettie Page was on her feet, eyes blazing. “How dare you speak back, you stinking bastard!” she snapped. “How dare you! Go upstairs and fetch that belt right now!”

Frank wanted to fall to his knees; he was near to tears. He felt so feeble and exhausted. Had she any idea how hard he had tried? With a kind of sob, he turned and left the room and went upstairs to Hettie’s bedroom. Fearfully he opened the top drawer of the dressing table. It contained a shiny brown leather belt, several feet long and about three inches in width. Also, alongside, Frank’s shocked eyes saw several smooth, willow canes and a riding switch. With trembling fingers he took out the belt and closed the drawer. He ran his fingers over the leather and felt its oily suppleness. It doesn’t look too thick, he thought thankfully, but it was going to hurt alright.

Oh that sadistic bitch!

It was all for nothing! No man could have worked harder. But there was nothing he could do. No use pleading. He was absolutely at her mercy. Frank hurried down the stairs, feeling his dangling organ swinging freely before him.

Hettie Page stood hands on hips. Meekly Frank handed her the belt. To his horror, he saw her double it over. Two layers instead of one. That belt was plenty thick enough now!

“Right, you lazy swine,” she said, “get yourself over the back of this chair.” She indicated one of the chintz-covered armchairs. “I will not have my orders disobeyed …. and I will not have any lip from you.”

“I …. I’m s-sorry …. Ma’am …. I …. t-tried …. I …. I….”

“Move! Get your backside up!”

Grinding his teeth, Frank went to the back of the armchair and bent over it. He felt his flesh shrinking. God give me strength, he prayed.

“Get your snout down on to the cushion …. grip the underside of the chair with your hands ….”

Frank did as he was told, thus forcing his rump up high, with his feet just touching the carpet. He found himself actually biting the material of the cushion.

“Ten minutes over time earns you ten,” came Hettie’s voice. “For giving me lip, you get an extra five.”

Frank clamped his teeth harder into the cushion. It could have been worse, he supposed.

“Next time, I won’t be so lenient,” added Hettie.

THWACK!

There was a little grunt of effort as Hettie laid on the belt. She never believed in half measures.

“Ooowwww!” bellowed Frank, head jerking up, cushion falling from his gaping mouth.

Christ, that had hurt! Far, far more than he had expected. The pain was of the same burning intensity as that inflicted by the hairbrush …. but the area of it was greater. It spread right across both buttock cheeks.

THWACK!

A little lower, equally painful. This time Frank’s bellow was half muffled in the cushion which he had managed to retain between his teeth. Oh God …. so many still to go!

THWACK!

“Nnnnuuuggghhh ….”

THWACK!

“Aaaghh …. owwww!”

THWACK!

O-Owwww!”

Oh God …. how it blazed and burnt. So deep …. so spreading….

“How many’s that, you slack bastard?”

“F-Five, Ma’am ….”

“How many to go?”

“Ten …. M-Ma’am ….”

“That’s right. And they are going to hurt more. Because you’re getting them where you got the first lot!”

They certainly did hurt more. As the sixth stroke thwacked down where the first had fallen, Frank writhed sideways with a frantic bellow and his hands lost their grip on the underside of the chair.

Relentlessly, Hettie Page ordered him to resume his position. This was what she loved. Forcing a man to submit to even greater pain at her hands.

“Ohh …. God ….” groaned Frank as he positioned himself for the seventh stroke. Already the tears were beginning to form in his eyes …. and they weren’t even halfway.

“If you let go again,” came the grating voice, “I’ll tie you to the chair and start all over again.”

Something like a scream went through Frank’s mind. He couldn’t help losing his grip under such pain, could he? Could he? Yet now he mustn’t …. no …. no …. he mustn’t! He suddenly realised that, just as the thought of added pain had enabled him to draw on hidden reserves of strength, so it was going to enable him to draw on hidden reserves of will-power and endurance.

But oh what a hideously agonising effort that entailed!

As one full-blooded stroke of the belt followed another, Frank howled with pain and begged for mercy. His features were contorted …. his head up …. neck sinews straining …. eyes blind with a film of tears.

Somehow …. he knew not how …. he took those final eight strokes without losing his grip. Though each time he came perilously close to doing so, and when it was finally over, he was sobbing with the effort it had entailed.

There was a look of smug satisfaction on Hettie’s face. She knew what she had just put her victim through!

“Get up!” Frank got stiffly up, bottom burning sore again. He saw the supercilious, sneering eyes upon him. Cruel eyes. Amused eyes. “What a lot of fuss over a simple belting. You are a weakling, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes …. I s-suppose I am …. M-Ma’am ….” answered Frank. “I …. I’m sorry, Ma’am …. it’s just that I’m not used ….”

Hettie laughed sharply, throwing back her dark head of hair. “Well, I can soon alter that!” she said.

Frank, ashamed of the tears still in his eyes, brushed them away.

“Oh what a cry-baby,” said Hettie, continuing to laugh mockingly. Then to Frank’s shocked surprise, she gripped his penis. “And you look quite like a man!”

Hettie did not hold him for more than a second or two but the action unnerved Frank. He realised his vulnerability. And his Mistress’s power over him. He stood there dumbly feeling weak and shamed.

“Shall I put the belt back, Ma’am?” he asked. Anything to break the tension.

“You will not,” she said, stretching out on the couch again.

“May I resume my duties, Ma’am?

The dark head shook from side to side, the eyes twinkled. “No, you will not. You will return to the yard and replace those blocks where you found them.”

Frank took a step back, as if struck; his mouth sagged. Surely she didn’t mean it? God, the effort would kill him! And then there was the cruel absurdity of doing such a thing.

“Y-You …. m-mean, Ma’am,” he began to stammer.

“Move your arse out into the yard and get to work,” snapped Hettie. “And if those blocks aren’t back where they should be within the hour, you’ll be back over that chair for another dose! Now get out of my sight!”