Chapter 4

It was a little after ten when the apprehensive, and soon to be very wet and even more cold, trio of Darlene, Tracy and Kylie arrived at the scene of the small town’s festivities, and their misery. As with the earlier arrivals (Julia and Beatrice) they had decided to undress at home and parade through the village barefoot, though swimsuit-clad rather than naked like the other two brave girls. They had collected an enthusiastic retinue along the way. Particularly loud, if crudely expressed, appreciation was voiced regarding the two thong clad ladies as their fine young bottoms rolled from side to side in sweet co-ordination with the walking motion of their long well-muscled and shapely legs. Mrs. Jenkinson, who was anxious to get things started as soon as possible, clucked disapprovingly at their tardy arrival.

A crowd of eager young and not so young men soon gathered around the booth. The three scantily clad and pretty young ladies sat in a demurely delicious row at the foot of a ladder leading up to the platform from which they were all fated to be dropped with great regularity and frequency throughout the next few hours. A second ladder led up from the tank back to the platform. The process of changing over from one girl to the next promised to be both complicated and lengthy – at least this would give a few added seconds for them all to warm up before the next plunge.

Darlene bravely elected to go first and climbed up the rungs, turning frequently as she did so to smile enticingly at the assembled citizenry below with a seeming bravado that she was very, very far from feeling. Poor Darlene felt inwardly very much as a French aristocrat ascending the steps of the guillotine must have done; and at least it would all have been over quickly for him, rather than the start of a day-long ordeal by cold torture.

As the observant and pessimistic Julia had all too accurately predicted, the very

first shot to be aimed at the lever, a piece of wood the size of a barn door, sent poor Darlene straight down into the water. A mighty cheer went up from the heartless spectators and the hearts of the other two girls sank into their boots; or would have if they had not been barefoot and thus bootless. The hapless and shell-shocked Darlene gasped as she dropped the ten feet towards the water, seemingly leaving her stomach suspended in mid-air above her. She then sank right to the bottom of the deep glass tank and emerged gasping with cold. She could not remember ever having had such an utterly shattering physical experience in the whole of her life, and she had been to the seaside last year and swum when the water was still far from warm. She was unable to suppress scream after ear shattering scream as her head finally emerged from the freezing cold water and after she had shaken it from her face and hair.

As she climbed the ladder, it was only a mixture of her own defiant courage and fear of letting down her two companions in misfortune that cut off her hysterics before they got the better of her. Darlene climbed back down to her friends and took her seat, shaken and almost sobbing next to Kylie. “Oi bloody warn you, it’s ‘

horrible, really ‘horrible. Olive never known anything so cold; it’s so cold, it’s painful, just like a knife going through you,” she whispered to the frightened girl at her side. “We’ll never last all day. Thank God Julia’s going to help out, bless her! Oi hope the people who dreamt this up get their just desserts, that’s all Oi can say! Oi don’t mind a bit of a ducking for a good cause, that’s just a bit of fun, but this is something else altogether. That fucking bitch and that sick bastard of a Brigadier are going to pay for this! It’s right out of order what those two are doing to us.”

As Mrs. Jenkinson had realized earlier on, the warm weather was a very mixed blessing and the contrast between the high air temperature and near freezing water was likely to be nearly lethal to the poor girls’ physiology. It would be some time before they were even half-way adjusted to their torment.

The Brigadier had arrived just in time to see this first victim suffer her hapless fate. He rubbed his gnarled old hands with glee as he watched a trembling, but

bravely smiling Kylie ascend the ladder ready to be sent falling to her icy fate. This was going to be such a fun day; such lovely girls and the first one looking so cold already and they had hardly begun!

Dorothy Parrish undressed on the site of her stand and handed her clothes to her mother to look after. She was covered in spots as before, but not so many as last year, and whether by accident or design, none of the spots covered her nipples or were anywhere near her pubic hair, which a watching Julia had to agree was a fine sight, a large, black, wiry triangle of strongly curling hairs whose apex stretched almost up to her navel. She had a plain face, although not by any means displeasing and a well-proportioned body which she obviously kept in reasonably good trim. Her main physical drawbacks were a noticeable thickness of the ankles and feet which had sadly suffered from wearing unsuitable shoes in childhood.

You would not call her graceful, but some of the more unfavorable things that had been said about her appearance were obviously unfair and maliciously so at that. Julia could not help but feel a little sorry for her, despite her patrician contempt for this wantonly promiscuous tramp. Then she remembered that the girl, by all accounts, was in some way designed to be the instrument of her downfall. She accordingly hardened her heart against her.

There was soon a line of people queuing up to pay their money to get close enough to see Spotted Dorothy and talk to her, doubtless arranging assignations for later on. Julia could not see this rather pitiful girl attracting more custom than she, but she did notice something odd, which made her wonder.

“Beatrice, my sweet. We’ve got a few minutes before the snake charmer and the knife thrower arrive, would you be a dear and see what that placard is next to Dorothy, the one turned on its face so you can’t read it? It worries me.”

Beatrice returned shortly.

“Sorry, Julia that witch Jenkinson whipped it away out of sight before I could get

nearby. I agree. It’s a worry. I’m sure she’s planning something against you and it’s to do with Dorothy in some way. Not really such a bad locker, is she, our Dorothy – if you like your women strong and meaty?”

A worried and distracted Julia agreed. In advance of Robert and his knives, she turned to the gym apparatus and started off with her first gymnastic display of the morning. It was getting very warm and she was soon covered by a sheen of perspiration making her supple, sultry and evenly tanned body gleam in the morning sunlight. People began to gather around, the young men, as she contemptuously noted, standing in a rapt huddle where they could best see up and between her opened legs as she did her stuff on the vaulting horse. With an effort she ignored them and concentrated on giving a good, and flawless performance – these awful creatures were customers, after all, and entitled to their money’s worth.

As Julia went through her routines the regular sound of the platform dropping, bodies plopping into cold water, the odd gasping scream and frequent applause and cheering echoed across from the other side of the square as the unlucky trio continued to provide amusement to a group of unfeeling men and women not one of whom would ever have had the hardihood or courage to go through what those three were enduring. As Julia dimly comprehended this, she hoped the poor girls would last until she could go and help them out. Did she but know it, she was going to be grateful for the touch of cold water on her skin when the time came – very grateful indeed.

Well over an hour had passed since the Fete had started and the three cold and wet girls (Darlene, Kylie and Tracy) were either becoming accustomed to their ordeal or were, by this time, too numbly apathetic to care. They still smiled brightly at the throng as they climbed the ladder. Between immersions, as they patiently and resignedly awaited their next turn, they were contriving to restore their ruined coiffures to some kind of order.

Kylie’s bikini top had early on started to cause trouble and on her third downward

trip had come adrift altogether, the strap breaking and the insubstantial bit of fabric fluttering down into a crowd of hooting youths, whose anxiety to capture it as a souvenir had caused a minor riot, after which one person had required immediate and urgent medical attention and another was to limp painfully for several weeks thereafter.

This unfortunate mishap had clearly left her with a few questions to answer when next she was next in the terrifying presence of her short-tempered father, who might be away for the day, but would surely find out when he returned – this being a small and tightly knit community whose microscopically small-minded denizens delighted in gossip. She could feel, in an anticipatory way, the wheals on her backside already, as she rubbed her exposed bottom. The germ of a GREAT IDEA was forming in her young and bucolic mind. Something to do with sheep and lambs. (You’ve guessed it already, folks, haven’t you? - author)

To those watching from the opposite side of the square, her one remaining covering, a tiny and triangular piece of black cloth, looked not unlike her pubic forest and several people mistook it for precisely that, immediately wandering over to take a closer look, only to turn away, regretfully, when they realized their mistake.

Beatrice had indeed attracted a large audience for her dance routine, but was finding it tiring in the heat and had just taken her second break of the day. The piper too was getting tired and more importantly, thirsty. This gentleman had just taken himself off to the Royal Oak for a bit of much needed lubrication, as he put it. He was to be away for quite some time and his playing was not, alas, of quite the same high standard afterwards as early in the day.

The involuntarily idle Beatrice wandered around the square, looking at first one attraction and then another, followed by a devoted group of admiring young men who were still not entirely used to the sight of this hitherto fully covered girl in all her glorious nudity. Each stand she visited benefited from her presence because of this following and she soon became quite popular with the other exhibitors, many of whom were seeing this hitherto distant and otherworldly girl in a new light.

On the whole, things were going pretty much as planned. There had been a couple of disasters, as was inevitable at such events. The lady fire-eater, supported by a group of concerned friends, was being offered glass after glass of cold water after a slight

misjudgment on her part. The Sword Swallower had just been admitted into the Intensive Care Unit of the local hospital with a punctured gut, after he too had somewhat optimistically overestimated his capabilities. Otherwise, all was fine.

Julia was taking her third and final bow after her last knife throwing act. There were present a few ladies of a venomous and jealous nature who had hoped she might be the victim of another mishap, such as had visited the fire eater and the sword swallower, but these sour-faced viragos had been disappointed. It must be said in the defense of these women, that they did not wish Julia’s death ... not quite. However, a few flesh wounds and the sight of copious amounts of her aristocratic blood splattered across the square would have made their day. Alas! They were fated to suffer yet another disappointment to add to the many that their sad and barren lives had already known.

It was getting hotter all the time and Julia was taking a refreshing drink of lime juice cordial, when she heard a rhythmic slapping sound that had not been heard before. It seemed to be coming from the general area of the Spotted Lady, poor old Dorothy. Beatrice came running across to her cousin, her face flushed.

“I know what that placard was now, Julia! It invites all and sundry to come and slap Dorothy’s bottom in return for a payment of £1.50 per cheek per slap! It’s already an amazingly popular attraction! The queue gets longer by the minute! I can’t believe the money she’s taking – it could even be she gets to make more than you and I put together!”

Julia was about to say that Dorothy was welcome to make as much money as she

liked and that it was only a bit of fun anyway, when pride took over.

Hell! She would never submit to being outdone by that ill-favored peasant with the ever-open legs! She swore that nothing would allow her to be bettered by that woman. Whatever it took, she would be the more lucrative attraction. Whatever!

As Julia fumed away to herself, Mrs. Jenkinson, smiling broadly, came over to the two cousins, her eyes fixed triumphantly on the shapely and lovely blonde. Now she had her! Only the sight of Julia stretched out on the Pagan Altar would better the slapping of Dorothy’s ample buttocks as a money-spinning attraction!

“Looks like you’ve no choice, Julia, not if you want to make more than Dorothy which

honor demands that you do. I’m so sorry! It’s going to be awful for you, you poor thing!”

Julia, if she was worried about her impending fate, showed remarkably little sign of it. Mrs. Jenkinson came up to the two girls, smiling broadly.

“Well, Julia. Had any more thoughts about your decision not to be our Pagan Sacrifice? You want to be the biggest draw of the day, don’t you? This is the only way, my dear. Shall we get it over with now?”

Julia smiled sweetly and said, “You just don’t give up, do you? And I’ll thank you to call me Miss Raynsford in future, Mrs. Jenkinson. I greatly dislike your unsolicited and odious familiarity – as does my uncle.”

Mrs. J. paled with rage at this coolly delivered rebuff and a scintilla of doubt entered her mind. Perhaps her triumph, so carefully planned, was to be denied her after all. Then she recovered herself. This was just a bit of bravado on the part of the defeated Julia, who would shortly submit herself to her fate.

Before Mrs. Jenkinson could open her mouth, Julia continued. She had been looking forward to this all day. “I agree with you, though, that that fishmonger’s slab does need an occupant. Those two towel heads look a bit redundant standing next to an empty altar!”

Her last remark was a reference to two men dressed in sheets and some kind of improvised turbans, meant to represent a pair of Druid Priests, each standing on one side of the altar, ready to perform the sacrifice when the time came. Mr. Moss, the barber had been chatting to them on and off all day.

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkinson we need a sacrifice and I know just the lady! You, Mrs. Jenkinson! Come on, Mrs. Jenkinson – get those clothes off!”

At this monstrous suggestion the lady Counsellor went a shade paler and then laughed.

“We need a virgin, Julia – remember that!”

The sound of Julia slapping an astounded Mrs. Jenkinson hard across her face rang out around the square.

“I thought I told you to call me Miss Raynsford, you insolent woman!”

By this time Mrs. J. knew that things were not going as she had planned and she remained speechless as her young intended victim continued.

“What makes you think I’m a virgin, you daft old bat? I ceased to be one of those shortly after my fourteenth birthday – a lovely experience, and it’s been repeated many times since! Come to think of it, the next time should be tomorrow with a delightful and lovely man that I’m going to marry soon.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper and she put her hands on the older woman’s shoulders.

“And another thing, Mrs. Jenkinson ... apart from the odd kiss and cuddle with my cousin, all very innocent, I always do it with men. Never had a yen to do it with man’s best friend. Funny thing that; don’t suppose you’d understand!”

From being white with rage, Mrs. Jenkinson’s face became green with fear. She forced herself to speak.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ju- Miss Raynsford.” She saw Julia’s hand raised again, ready to strike and corrected herself in time.

“Of course you know what I’m talking about. I have some photographs of you, which you drunkenly allowed to be taken last September by that loathsome man Charlie Watkins. He was persuaded to let me have them. I was literally sick when I saw them, you horrible old sow. I’m sure even the degenerate inbred inhabitants of this village won’t be too happy either when they get to see them!”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, yes, I would! And you know it. Get undressed this second! We’re wasting time!”

“How do I know you have the photographs?”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it. They were taken in a clearing in Pettifer’s Woods and you were wearing that mauve hat which I never liked and very little else; my word, but you looked ridiculous! I don’t believe in telling lies, Mrs. Jenkinson, never have not even to a repulsive unnatural perverted bitch like you. Get undressed! I’m beginning to lose my temper with you!”

People were beginning to take an interest in this little altercation by this time, and

Mrs. J., fearful that the conversation might be overheard, began tremblingly to comply.

Julia was impressed by the sight of the nude Mrs. Jenkinson and so were the members of the coach load of American and Commonwealth English-descended tourists who had just begun disembarking. She was not yet forty and obviously believed in keeping herself fit. There was not a wrinkle or a bit of sagging flesh on her. Her medium-sized breasts were as firm as if she were still in her twenties. All in all, she made a very satisfactory sacrificial victim; not for one second to be compared to the lovely Julia, but good enough to pass muster before this audience of already more than half inebriated yokels.

A triumphant Julia led the poor wretch across to the altar. She curtly bade the two

phone-looking priests to piss off (a rare use of obscenity on her part, which she instantly regretted, apologizing very charmingly to them for her rudeness, but nevertheless making it clear that their services were no longer required).

“Beatrice and I are going to be the naked Priestesses, Mrs. J. Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you!”

Twenty minutes after losing her tiny bikini top, Kylie had deftly and smilingly removed her equally tiny thong, waving it triumphantly around her pretty head a few times before tossing it down to the cheering crowd below to join the rest of her meagre outfit. This caused even more of a riot this time, hospitalizing two unfortunates and leaving several others bruised and bleeding. The Colonel, who was watching from the vantage point of the Rose and Crown’s saloon bar window, chuckled appreciatively. This really was turning out to be a splendid day! He thought of Kylie’s father and his happiness lessened momentarily, but after all said and done, his was only one vote.

Whether it was the sense of freedom that her first ever experience of outdoor, let alone public, nudity brought her, or the fact of her body’s belatedly adjusting to the many sudden temperature changes, Kylie was really enjoying every minute of it by this time and she pushed into a mental recess, the knowledge that her father was certainly going to give her the thrashing of her life, and then some, when he returned and heard all about today.

Kylie’s daring made the baying crowd yell out for the other two to follow suit. They kept up a cacophony of sound which after twenty long and noisy minutes, showed no sign of abating. “Come on darlings, get me off”, being the only identifiable words to emerge from the maelstrom of noise.

The other two were reluctant at first, both aware that the welfare of their own tender young bottoms was in peril. But the onlookers’ full-throated persistence bore fruit after a further forty minutes, when Tracy removed her fluorescent top. She passed it to her boyfriend, Dean, who had just turned up at this time and instructed him to take good care of it as it had cost her a lot of money. Dean complied leeringly. He was glad that all his mates could see what a fantastic pair of knockers his beloved possessed! Thirty minutes later they were to see the rest of her goodies! As Tracy slipped off her bottom, the conformist Darlene, not wishing to be left out, also bared all. It was at this point that they became aware of a commotion on the other side of the square.

“There now, Mrs. Jenkinson! That’s about as tight as I can make it! I always was good at knots. You can’t move an inch in any direction; can you, you poor old dear? That’ll teach you to fool around with me! I must leave you now – I have to compete with Dorothy as an attraction – alas, that will be a slight consolation for you, I fear and rather painful for me! Then I must help out with the water tank and assist generally now that you are all tied up and the Colonel and Uncle seem to have gone missing. Come with me Beatrice, we can leave this old cow on her own for a couple of minutes; she won’t be going anywhere!”

When the two cousins were alone, Julia told Beatrice to fetch Mr. Moss, the village barber, or Gentleman’s Hair Stylist as he lately and grandiloquently started to call himself. This gentleman soon arrived, looking distinctly uneasy but his face lightened when Julia merely asked for the loan for an hour or so, of his leather razor strop. Acting on her instructions, the dutiful Beatrice fashioned a placard which was placed against the wooden screen lately used for the knife throwing act. It read as follows.

“LEATHER MY LOVELY BOTTOM! NO BLOW TOO HARD TO TAKE FOR THIS TOUGH COOKIE! £2.50 PER BLOW PER CHEEK. ENJOY!”

“There. I can’t have those peasants laying their dirty hands on me. Even

me arose is too good for them to touch! But they are welcome to use dear Mr. Moss’ strop on it for an hour or so. Go and look after Mrs. J., my sweet. I’ll take care of this side of things. As soon as Dorothy tires of having her bum slapped, I’ll wrap this up and get over to the tank to help out those poor girls. I’ll soon overtake her takings, what with charging so much more and having such a much nicer bottom anyway.”

Beatrice looked as though she doubted her cousin’s wisdom, (which she did) but complied and went over to the Altar, where the collection box was filling up fast, although not as fast as if Julia had been the victim. Mrs. J.’s nephew, the fraudster travel agent was commiserating with his distressed relative as Beatrice returned to her post as Priestess. “Fuck off sunshine” said Beatrice, whose use of language was far freer than her cousin’s, “but leave a fiver behind you before you retire to the Feathers or wherever. Yes, the Feathers I think; easily the nastiest joint in town, right up your street,

arose hole!”

Mr. Fenton-Jones complied. He had always feared Beatrice for some reason. After depositing part of his ill-gotten gains as directed he slunk off, his tail metaphorically between his bandy legs (The poor man had suffered as a child from Rickets).

As she stood by the makeshift altar, the sharp cracking sound of leather being forcefully and lustily applied to Julia’s sweet and tortured flesh began to sound out across the square, drowning out the noise of the much milder slaps which were still being administered to the homely and increasingly pink peasant buttocks of the good Dorothy. For the first time in the last half hour, Mrs. Jenkinson began to feel better. Her plan had after all worked out after a fashion. A bird in the hand and all that!

Mr. Fenton-Jones’s group began to mingle with the townsfolk and take part in the various activities. Some were particularly taken by the naked Kylie, who was just on the point of being joined in her total exposure by the other two. Some preferred the sight of the poor Mrs. Jenkinson and her attendant Priestess lovely. A not inconsiderable number joined the lengthening queue of those anxious to administer cruel chastisement to the still shapely but already badly thrashed bottom of the stoic and ever smiling Julia.

Mr. Cyrus A Parkinson of the great and beautiful city of Vancouver BC was the last person on that memorable day to lay hands on the sore bottom of poor Dorothy, who signified, once his large firm hand had descended with stinging force on that bruised rump, that she had bloody had enough, thanks all the same.

Beatrice saw this (she had been looking out for this and praying that it would happen soon) and ran over to her cousin, who looked mightily relieved.

Sadly, for Julia, she had been in the middle of a transaction as Beatrice arrived and felt in honor bound to cater for this one last customer. To both girls’ horror, the said customer, a large and powerfully built lady, who had long resented her husband’s admiration for Julia, was flourishing a fifty-pound note. She was emphatic that she did NOT want any change!

Mrs. Patterson, for this was the jealous lady’s name, brandished the high denomination note before Julia’s horrified eyes.

“I suppose you know how many blows I get to give you with this much money?” she asked with a nasty smile.

“Meaning you’re too thick to work it out yourself, I suppose, you half-wit. Well, I don’t make a habit of helping low-class idiots like you with their sums, but I’m in a good mood today, luckily for you. You get twenty, but as you’re a bulk buyer, so to speak, you get a bonus of five. Listen very carefully your turnip-brained lump of lard, twenty plus five equals twin-ty fi-vet; got that, bird brain? Twenty-five. I’ll count since you almost certainly can’t make it any higher than five!”

Julia bent over again, thankfully for the last time that afternoon and began counting off the strokes in a clear and unwavering voice which faltered not once until all

twenty-five soundly delivered slashes of the leather strop had inflicted yet more agony to her already sore bottom.

It had been a painful hour already. Most of her customers had been pretty gentle, especially the boys of the village and the visitors, and had only delivered lightly stinging blows which had not bothered her a lot, but some of the village women in the queue had scarcely been able to believe their luck as they laid viciously into that beautiful and hated bum, about which they had heard with increasingly jealous rage, their husbands and boyfriends rhapsodizing for so long.

Some of the other women had hurt her quite badly, but Mrs. Patterson’s strength and fury were a revelation both to the silent onlookers and to the suffering Julia. Everybody expected the poor girl, whose incredible and defiant bravery had captured their absolute and unstinting admiration by this time, to faint away at any moment.

Finally, the ordeal was over. Mrs. Patterson laid down the strop, breathing heavily after her exertion, into which she had thrown her all.

“How did you like that you dirty, stuck-up, toffee-nosed little tart?” asked this far from amiable lady as soon as she had sufficiently recovered her breath.

“I hardly felt a thing, you feeble cripple. And how do you like THIS?”

Those who witnessed what followed were to talk it over among themselves for years afterwards. So much seemed to happen in such a minuscule atom of time, that nobody could ever take it in or call it back to mind in any but the sketchiest of detail. The bent-over Julia straightened up and wheeled round. Before anybody was aware of any movement taking place, Mrs. Patterson was reeling back senseless into the arms of the onlookers after Julia’s unerringly aimed fist had flashed out and crashed solidly into her jaw, fracturing it in three places with a loud and sickening noise which all who had heard it would remember until his or her dying day.

Mrs. Patterson’s long-suffering husband was to become a greater admirer of Julia after this even than he been before, since it was for several blessed and peaceful weeks that he was to be spared the hated sound of his wife’s unmelodious and incessantly nagging voice, as she lay in hospital with her jaw wired up, only able to take liquid nourishment through a straw. There was nothing that was too good for Julia in his view; he was to worship her from afar for the rest of his days!

Supremely confident that she had dispatched the good lady to a temporary, but lengthy oblivion, Julia, contemptuously not deigning to give the comatose woman any more of her attention, picked up the strop and handed it to Beatrice – like everyone else present, thunderstruck at what had just happened, telling her that it might be needed again later and, without one backward glance, walked away towards the three now naked girls to give them a welcome break from their incessant soakings.

“My word! But that’s one lovely, brave and formidable young lady,” said Professor Potts Johnson as he reluctantly tore himself away from the town square and directed his footsteps towards the Rectory and his meeting with his good friend Jerry Scott-Talbot, to whom he had some important words to say and a tempting offer to convey.

He had not been in Little Sprewell for some years now, and the last he had seen of the two cousins had been the sight of a couple of tomboys whose wildness then had already given some hint of their future characters. ‘What an absolute peach she has turned out to be,’ he thought, ‘one hell of a woman! I wonder what lucky man will end up marrying her. Lucky, he may be, but he’ll have his hands full with a spirited lady like that. I’d give a King’s ransom to be in his shoes, though!’ And he resumed his walk to the Rectory.