Chapter 4

Jack had never met a woman like Penelope. In truth, the only females he knew anything about were the village girls, most of whom found no interest in him. He had somehow found his way between the thighs of some half dozen girls, but that was primarily because he was in position to inherit his father's smithy. Never had their desire to find a man who could support them (eventually) survived actually engaging in a relationship with Jack, though.

And so Jack was completely unprepared when, in a rage, Her Ladyship attacked him, striking him about his head and shoulders, darting in as if she had been trained to the epee. His vision was reduced almost immediately, because her first few strikes were at his eyes. Then, as he held his hands up, trying to protect where she had just landed a blow, she chose a different spot to leave a weal.

She reminded him, in the process of this, that, as the lady of the manor, she held Jack's very life in her hands, and that should she demand it, her husband would call for rope and hoist the groom's miserable body skyward with his own hands. Whether that is actually true or not could be argued - easily - but when one is half blinded and being repeatedly stung by the business end of a riding crop, one doesn't think rationally.

And, as is true with most bullies, when Jack was resisted, his bravado crumbled.

When he had been reduced to a whimpering, cringing lump, Penelope paused. Anger can produce the same effects on a body as passion. Wielding power raises, in some, a desire to conquer those deemed lessers. Penelope, already affected by the repeated thumping of the saddle on her delicate parts, found herself ... shall we say ... excited?

"Let us see what you intended to force upon me," she said, panting. Had Jack been able to see through his swollen eyes and tears of shame and defeat, he would have looked up at a magnificent woman, whose visage was flushed, and whose breasts were heaving. "Strip!" she commanded.

It took two more blows with the crop to get him moving, but then he tried his very best to obey her command. In scarcely a moment he lay, nude, beside the blanket he had dropped in his efforts to protect his head and face.

Jack was a strapping lad, and this could be seen, despite his cringing deportment. Penelope looked at his bulging muscles, and her eyes strayed to his manhood. That organ might have been engorged when he began his attempt at blackmail and rape, but it was nothing to be proud of at the moment. It lay, helplessly limp, upon a nest of thick, black hair, hair which spread up over his abdomen to form a curly mat across his chest. He was too lazy to go to the effort of shaving, and sported a black beard as well.

"You intended to attack me with that miserable sword?" she taunted.

"No, mistress," he groaned. "I was joking. I swear."

She snorted. She kicked the blanket. "Spread that out!" she snapped.

He did so, rising, hunched over, to hide the attribute he had always been so proud of, and which she had just laughed at.

"Now, lie upon it," she said.

He lay down, on his stomach, expecting to be thrashed across his back.

"On your back, you cretin!" she shouted.

He rolled over. His hands covered his shame.

"If you block my view, I shall have your hands cut off," she said, her voice low and full of malice.

As his hands fell to his sides, tears leaked from his eyes. Never had he felt this helpless. He closed his eyes, wishing only to die, so that his shame would end. A sob escaped his throat.

"Be silent, you idiot," she growled. "Look at me."

He did so, trying to blink away the tears that fouled his vision. One eye was swollen, but not too badly. His view of her was dim and wavered, at first. She stood over him, her feet spread shoulder's width apart. She looked ten feet tall. Initially, all she did was stare down at him. Then her hands went to her blouse, and her fingers undid the top button. The crop made this difficult for her and, knowing it was no longer needed, she tossed it negligently to the blanket beside his hip. Her fingers continued their work, and she pulled the shirt from beneath the belt. Pulling it apart, she bared her glorious breasts to his astonished view.

"Are these what you intended, no doubt to maul?" she asked. Her voice held no malice or anger now. If anything, it teased. She cupped the bounteous mounds, and her fingers pinched the rosy nipples that had sprung, erect from the flesh on which they rested.

He did not answer ... could not, really ... but that bothered her not. Her fingers went to the belt around her waist, which dropped to the ground with a thump, and then the fastenings of her riding breeches, where the buttons fairly popped open. She lifted one booted foot and rested it on his chest.

"Remove it," she ordered.

His hands came to grasp the boot as she pulled her foot from it. The other boot took its place, and the other foot was released. He watched, in awe, as the cloth slid down over her hips, and then to her thighs. His eyes could not help but seek out the juncture of her legs, where her treasure lay. The mistress had lower hair that was not thick, like many women have. Rather, it was a sprinkle of short, flat hairs that lay down submissively, framing thick lips, somewhat stretched and floppy from regular abuse by a penis stretching them. When she kicked off her breeches and stood naked over the poor boy, she introduced one pointer finger to the area and used it to split those floppy lips. It slid inside her to the first knuckle.

"Is this where you intended to consummate your rape?" she asked, softly.

"Not rape," he moaned. Rape was punishable by death.

"Sex coerced is rape, whether it be by physical force or blackmail," she instructed him. "You would have taken me without my consent. Isn't that true?"

"No," he pleaded. "I hoped to gain your acceptance through shame and fear. I admit that. But I would never have forced you."

She bent over and retrieved the crop. She dragged the tip up one of his thighs, to his penis. His hands moved, and she stepped on one.

"No, no," she said. "Leave them where they are."

"Please, My Lady. It was a mistake. Punish me if you must, but leave my manhood intact."

"Is that what you think? You think I'd use this on your miserable prick? That worthless thing couldn't scare a little girl. Just look at it. It would be charitable to estimate its length at two inches. I doubt you're even capable of forcing a woman."

He lay there, silent in his misery. Finally he pled one last time.

"Please. I was a fool. I'll do anything to make it up to you. Name my punishment and I'll accept it gladly."

"Even if I have you castrated?"

He winced. "That isn't necessary. I'll leave the region. I'll seek my fortune elsewhere. You'll never see me again."

The crop left his organ, and left a narrow path through the thick hair on his belly and chest as she dragged it toward his bruised face. He had no idea what his face looked like ... that she could see she had lost control. She was quite aware that one blow could have blinded him in his left eye, had it been struck less than an inch closer to his nose.

"You are contrite?" she asked.

"Vastly," he said, with true emotion.

"May I be assured you will never behave in a churlish manner or threaten me again?"

"I would die first," he pledged.

"Yes ... you would," she reminded him. He winced again.

"Very well, then," she said, tossing the crop aside again. "I will mitigate your punishment ... this time."

"Mitigate?" He was unschooled, and it was a word he misunderstood.

She stepped, her right foot landing by his left hip, while her left foot moved to the opposite position. Smoothly she sat on his thighs. His hands were trapped by her lower legs, which she pulled in tightly against the sides of his. His manhood rested just in front of her own sexual organ. Her hand went to pick up his limp organ between two fingers. She handled it as if it were something she had lifted from the gutter to inspect.

"Have you actually used this poor thing on some girl?"

He blinked. His mouth worked, but nothing came out. He had no idea what to say. If he told the truth, would she somehow strike it off?

"Tell me the truth," she ordered.

"Yes," he said, wincing yet again.

"How many times?"

"I don't know," he moaned.

"More than once?" she asked. Her fingers moved to capture the naked knob and she pulled it away from his body, stretching out the shaft.

"Yes," he said, anxiously.

"How many?" she asked again. Impatience had crept into her voice.

"Four? Maybe five?" he whined.

"And did you rape them too?"

"No!" he gasped. "They were willing!"

"How willing were they?" she asked.

Again, his mouth worked as he tried to think of some answer.

"Were any of them willing a second time?" she asked.

"One was," he wheezed.

"So ... you do not know how to please a woman," she said firmly. "We shall have to remedy that little problem."

"Remedy?" That word could mean several things, and at least one of them horrified him. Could she mean to sever his member, so that he could not disappoint any women he might be with, in the future? "Please don't cut it off," he begged.

She laughed, which confounded him.

"Cut it off? What good would it be then?" She frowned. "Do you cook them and eat them in these parts?"

He sobbed again until she leaned forward to put a hand on his chest.

"I was jesting," she said. "Calm yourself. I'm not going to hurt you any more. I have taught you the primary lesson you needed to learn. Now, I must teach you another."

She stood, and he fully expected her to beat him again. Instead she pointed at the stream.

"Go and wash in the stream. Pay particular attention to your cock. On the way, unsaddle the horses. We will be here a while."

As he stumbled through the grass toward the stream, she called out to him.

"And be sure to bathe your face. You're bleeding."

Jack approached his mistress, who still stood on the blanket, her eyes on him. The riding crop was again lying upon it as well. His long locks were wet, and his beard sparkled with drops of water. He had enjoyed enough opportunity to think that he had come to the realization that she wasn't going to beat him again. That she hadn't told him to get dressed again, and that she had remained in a state of nakedness herself, had caused in him what it might cause in any young male.

When he had come back to the blanket, his penis had both lengthened and thickened. It wasn't erect, but it wasn't pathetic looking any more either.

"I see you are much improved," she said, staring right at his groin.

"My Lady," he said. "I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?"

"This," he said, spreading his arms. "You," he said, gesturing at her naked body.

She told him to lie down, and then sat beside him, one hand lying negligently on his abdomen.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Jack, Mistress," he said.

"Well, Jack," she said, "All men are foolish. Foolishness can be a permanent affliction, which requires harsh measures to contain it. Other kinds of foolishness are temporary, and when that kind of foolishness is in abeyance, a man's company can be quite tolerable." She moved her fingers through the hair on his belly, and let them fluff his chest hair. "I think your foolishness is of the second, temporary variety."

It had been a pretty speech, but Jack wasn't used to interpreting such talk.

"What does that mean, My Lady?"

"It means, Jack, that the harshness of teaching you is over, and that less stringent measures may be used to expunge the rest of the foolishness from you."

"You're going to punish me further?" he asked, his voice almost a whine.

"In a manner of speaking," she said.

"I still don't understand," he sighed.

"You will," she promised. "I assure you of that."

And then, without warning, she leaned down and took his penis into her mouth.

The way the Lady Penelope completed Jack's "education" was to tell him that his "naughty behavior" had caused some measure of excitement in her, and that she was contemplating taking her sport with him to soothe her need. Her mouth, and then her hand, revealed that his prick could be made to fit rather well with the rest of his muscular body. He had a peculiar bend to him, though, that she had never witnessed before. His father, being a Christian, had required that his boy's foreskin be removed and now the organ looked like some demented banana, jutting forward from his groin and then curving upwards, as if the little eye in the end wanted to observe its owner's face.

It was a joy, therefore, to play with, and suck and nibble at, which Penny did with great glee as the young man twisted and groaned under her ministrations. Finally, she could wait no longer.

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Penelope, Mistress of the Manor

Lubrican

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