The New Tenants of Moorend Hall
Roland stepped out of the hip-bath, his supple and smooth ivory white body glistening in the firelight, and glanced wistfully around the room. All this, the grand house and the land beyond it had once been his, and owned by his proud family for almost three centuries before him. Now lost for good, and tomorrow he must leave for forever. How he regretted that last hand of cards, when he had wagered everything, and lost it all, in the arrogant belief, that his opponent, an elderly, white haired women, could never best him. But she had bested him and he was destroyed.
There was so much to regret, the whoring, the drinking, and the many bad deeds which even he, now sober balked at recalling. But it was too late for regrets, his ill deeds had brought him to this, as his tutors had warned him they would, He had lost everything, and there was nobody else to blame.
The new owners had already moved in and ensconced in all the grand rooms and bed chambers, unseen since they arrived the previous night. Whereas he, the previous owner was confined, by their charity, to this one room, for one final night, before he must depart, to face the world with nothing, but the clothes on his back. The very prospect terrified him.
It was then, at this moment of despair, that something twinkling caught his eye. There, in the grate next to the fire, his last servant had set for him. There was something there, made of glass, caught partly in a crevice. He stepped forward to take a closer look, and then he recognized it, an object which once see, could never be forgotten. His late Mother’s Fire of Kashmir sapphire necklace, a priceless gift from his also long dead father, which has been lost for years. It must have laid here in this seldom used room, unseen for all that time.
He gazed down at the necklace in stunned silence, grasping at this last minute possible salvation. It was too famous to sell in its original form, but broken down to it’s component parts of diamonds, emeralds and that stunning huge yellow sapphire, and sold desperately, would gain him a considerable small fortune, and stave off the poverty which he so feared.
He darted forward and grasped the glittering gems, the fire-heated stones hot in his hand.
Then he heard a floorboard creek behind him, and he froze, was someone behind him?
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Acting on pure instinct, he quickly slipped the necklace into the white towel he was holding, before turning round. To his surprise, he found the Mrs Agatha Mottley, the woman who had beat him at cards, and who now owned his family home, standing behind him.
She must have silently entered the room, he could not believe she had been watching him bathe, but he was suddenly very conscious of his nakedness.
“M..Mistress Mottley! What d..do you want?” he stammered
“I think that it is what you want which is the question … Mr Ashley!” replied the older woman, arching her eyebrow.
It was then that Roland realised she was holding a gun, and it was pointing at his chest.
“What are your hiding under that towel young man?” she asked, her tone gentle but yet deeply threatening.
“Nothing!” replied Roland, struggling to hide is fear. “Please leave the room so I can dress…”
“Nothing you say? … lets see” Mrs Mottley lunged forward, with the agility of a woman half her age, grabbed the towel, and had tugged it from his hands before he even knew what was happening, leaving him naked and unprotected.
The necklace clattered to the floor at his bare feet.
“Nothing?” Mrs Mottley sneered “What’s that?”
“It’s my mothers necklace!” replied Roland
“It was her necklace, it’s now my necklace” she laughed “The house and all that’s in it, was your wager. And those baubles are in the house …….my house!”
For the second time this old women had snatched a fortune from his hands, and his growing hatred for her flared up, momentarily forgetting his humiliating nudity , he snarled at her “You evil old Harlot!”
“Harlot am I? I am not the naked pretty boy, trying to steal a homeowner’s property, betraying my hospitality in my own home!” her words chosen for their cruel impact .
She paused looking up and down his naked body, she had encountered many a naked man in her life, but Roland Ashley was the finest she had ever seen, this was not a oppotunity to be wasted “You are not just a thief, you are an very naughty boy! And naughty boy’s get punished!”
“Punished?” Snapped Roland, more unnerved by her tone than he attempted to appear
“I think I should put you across my knee and spank that fine bare rump of yours, until its as red as a cherry!!”
“HOW DARE YOU! “ his hands briefly falling away from covering his groin and gripping into fists, as he struggled to contain his fury “You may have tricked me out of my home, but I will not be spoken to like that by the likes on ….you!”
The old lady grinned, amused, and arroused, by his reaction to what he clearly perceived as an insult to his manhood and to his dignity. She raised he gun and pointed it a Roland’s handsome head. “I don’t think you are in any position to argue you naughty boy, you either get spanked, or you get shot! … your choice!”
The word “boy” hit Roland like a rock, and he instantly covered, his quite respectable sized genitals with his hands.
Her next words also stunned him “Hold the gun Wynette” she said, and the instant sound of snickering alerted Roland to the fact that they were not alone. Mrs Mottley’s two wards Eloise and Wynette, who, he had seen arriving late the previous evening, in a whirlwind of hyperactive giggling, had been lurking in the shadows watching all this time. Had all three women been watching his naked ablutions?
Wynette stepped forward, grinning broadly and took her guardian’s gun, gleefully pointing it at Roland. Meanwile, golden haired Eloise emerged from a dark corner, clutching a tiny kitten.
The sight of the gun in the hands of someone he viewed as a young and probably irrational female, unnerved Roland even more. His short stint in Crimea, the only passingly honourable period of his life, had shown him the damage which guns can cause. Much as he would hate the humiliation of a spanking, he hated the idea of being shot even more.
Mrs Mottley walked across the room, her floor-length purple dress giving the impression of gliding, and sat down on a red chez-lounge, before beaconing Roland towards her “Get over my knee naughty boy!” she said.
Roland had no choice, his options were obedience and a sore bottom, or a bullet wound and possible death. He reluctantly approached the smirking old lady and climbed face down over her lap.
“Ellie bring me the mirror!” Eloise obediently approached and handed her guardian a round, enamelled backed hand mirror, roughly the size of a single make buttock cheek.
Being so preoccupied by his embarrassing and humiliating predicament, Roland did not think to question why the women had the foresight to bring a spanking weapon with them.
Wynette settled herself in a comfortable position by the fire from which she could enjoy the fun. And Eloise sat by Roland’s bare feet, which she proceeded to tickle with a feather, she had earlier used to tease her kitten. The girls’ obvious enjoyment of his humiliation considerably increased Roland’s ego crushing mortification.
He would have been even more concerned, had he seen the manner in which the kitten was observing his hanging testicles, as they dangled above it like a tempting play toy.
Mrs Mottley tapped the mirror back against the palm of her hand “You will find this is a right little stinger young man, I have beaten the bottom many a young man with it, and it’s not cracked the glass yet!!” She let out a cackle of laughter “You wont sit down for a week ….so the ride in the morning won’t be much fun for you!!”
With that she raised the mirror high above her head and then brought it down with a resounding “WHACK!” on Roland’s left buttock cheek.
The lady had not been lying, the smack from the mirror stung like hell, and the subsequent blows were even worse, as they turned his snowy white bottom, first a blushing pink and then a glowing red.
Roland’s three-way hell continued, the searing pain of each blow to his upturned bottom, merging with the raging humiliation of a proud and arrogant young man brought so low by an old women, and the agony of his hyper sensitive, and ticklish feet, being tickled by Eloise’s feather, to become an exquisite torture beyond his shallow endurance. Yet he had to endure it, would continue to do so for what would seem like a never-ending ordeal.
He fought back tears, knowing that crying in front of women was the ultimate shaming, but yet he knew the tears were coming.
Agatha Mottley Looked down, enjoying the site if her own face appearing and disappearing in the glass of the hand mirror as it continued to pound her handsome young victim’s exposed, tender and vulnerable bottom. Turning those mesmerizingly perfect globes into a fiery red furnace which she knew to her, almost orgasmic, delight was causing him awful pain.
She let her eyes travel across Roland’s beautiful young body glowing and almost golden below her in the firelight and she felt the old hunger raising in her. She turned her gaze to the back of his neck and ran her tongue across her fangs, retracted now, as she was still calm. But who knew how long that calmness hold her back.
It would take one bite, just one, and Roland Ashely would be their helpless, and forever beautiful ,plaything for eternity, and the cruel game would truly never end
Only the dawn would know when, or if, that bite would be inflicted, or if Roland would ride away in the morning.