Mr. Fred Bottomley looked at the Girl and his jaw dropped! He had just returned to the Castle for the weekend. It had been a few weeks since he had last seen his wife. She had told him she had now a full complement of servants, having recently employed a maid of all work.
"What are you doing like that, my dear?" he asked the Girl, who had rounded the corner of the castle walls just as the owner got out of his car.
"I am the Mistress’s naked Slave, Sir," replied the Girl. "I have been sinful and unclean and this is my punishment: to be naked and open to the gaze and ridicule of all who come to this place. Can I help with the luggage, Sir? I am stronger than I look and am used to hard work after a month here!"
Too amazed to say anything, he nodded and the Girl was soon proving the truth of her boast as she lifted two heavy suitcases as if they weighed only a few ounces, carrying them into the Castle, across the drawbridge and into the Great Hall.
"Take them up to the main bedroom, Slave," ordered Mrs. Bottomley as she came out into the hall.
To her husband she said, "I suppose you need to unpack, my love. Keep your hands off the Girl. I know all about Men!"
Fred followed the Girl up the stairs to the main bedchamber, which he shared with his wife whenever he visited the place. He marveled at the succulent motion of her sweet young buttocks and the swaying of her lithe and wiry trunk as she effortlessly sped up the stairs with her heavy burdens. The golden hair still hung down almost to her bottom, delicately brushing the small of her back and those adorable little dimples above the sweetness of her firm and rounded cheeks.
Like the appreciative Fitch a month ago, he felt his hands itch with a burning desire to caress that swelling loveliness. He followed her into the bedchamber and watched as she unpacked his things and hung up all his clothes with a deft expertness that made her seem lovelier to him than ever.
What did you do before you came to work here, my dear?"
The Girl blushed deeply and bent her head in shame before the Mistress’s husband.
"I was a beggar-girl fleeing from bad people who meant me ill. This is a refuge for me and I willingly accept the loss of my clothes and my never-ending routine of hard and back breaking work."
Bottomley blinked at this. This was like no conversation he had ever had in his life. He had never liked this pile of ancient stones and the feeling of menace was getting worse, not better.
"What should I call you, my dear?" he asked in a kindly voice, his hands aching to touch her firm young breasts and equally firm buttocks.
"Oh. I am just ‘Girl’," she answered, "or else ‘Slave’. I prefer ‘Girl’, although I have no right to express any preferences. I should be beaten for that, I suppose. I am beaten most days, you know. I am very unsatisfactory to the Mistress and the other staff."
"Well, you aren’t unsatisfactory to me, my dear Girl." said the infatuated Fred Bottomley. "I would like to help you. I hate to think of you being so dominated by my wife. Please let me help you!"
He had just put his hand affectionately on the Girl’s naked shoulder when his wife’s fury burst upon the pair like a hurricane.
"Take your hand off her this instant, you weakling! And as for you, Slave... as for you!!"
Dorothy quivered with rage, her mouth dribbled saliva down her chin and her eyes were hard and cold as ice. As soon as she had recovered, she spoke to poor Fred, who just did not recognise this fearsome harridan as his own dear wife.
"She tried to seduce you. She is wicked beyond belief, the ungrateful slut. Take that belt you see lying on the bed and beat her soundly to teach her not to repeat her infamy. Go on -- beat her and beat her hard. Don’t stop until I return!"
Mr. Bottomley, with the look of an automaton, did as he was told and raised the belt over the Girl, bringing it down upon her sweet bottom. She felt must be the thousandth time that this horrible object had tormented her. Dorothy went out of the room without a backward glance and stood in the corridor for a while listening to the regular sound of her obedient husband chastising a poor creature he had only minutes before offered to help.
Realising that the Girl still had plenty of work to do before the day was out, and must not have all the strength drained out of her just yet, Dorothy somewhat reluctantly came back before too many blows had landed and ordered Fred to stop.
The Girl slunk out of the room and rubbed her bottom trying thereby to massage some of the pain out of it. Even after all she had endured, the continuing shame was getting no easier to bear and she felt the tears of forming once again and running down her poor lovely face. The doorbell rang and she opened the door to see the grocer’s boy standing there. A whispered conversation took place and the Girl took the heavy parcel of groceries down to the kitchen, where the ugly and ill-favoured couple took it from her and set her to work cleaning up. She worked hard and avoided any more blows that day.
Fred was relieved when, after a telephone call from his office, he was obliged to return to London to deal with a sudden crisis. As he turned around and saw the castle disappear into the distance he felt a surge of relief. The more he saw of that place, the less he liked it. It seemed to have some horrible power over those who lived in it. His wife had always been a tiresome, nagging woman, but the appalling cruelty she was showing to that sweet young thing was something entirely new. He should have put his foot down but instead he had meekly obeyed Dorothy and beaten the Girl himself; hating what he was doing but powerless to disobey.
He tried to put the incident out of his mind. Soon he would be back in a world where he himself was in charge, something he never had been when Dorothy was around. But she had never before had this kind of power over him before -- not to the extent of ordering him to hurt an innocent person.
But was she so innocent? This thought came as a bit of consolation. The Girl could simply walk out of the Castle any time. She would have a thousand chances to do so, and yet she chose to stay and accept the regime that Dorothy was subjecting her to; on her own head be it, then! She was obviously of age and not a simpleton!
He sank back into the comfortable leather seat. Leather! This word dragged his mind back to the belt he had applied with such force to the poor Girl’s behind and his mental discomfort and guilty shame returned. He rubbed his shoulder, which was still sore from the unaccustomed exercise. When he finally did reach his office, he was in an unusually irascible state for one so normally equable.
As he walked from the lift, through light and airy corridors to his light and airy office, the comparative modernity of his company’s HQ acted as a gently therapeutic corrective to his depression and guilt-ridden mental turmoil.
He sat behind his desk and buzzed his Secretary. He was shocked when instead of the middle-aged and comfortable Miss Prosser, a demure although slightly overweight young red head slid mellifluously into the room and smiled radiantly at him. "Sorry, Sir, but Miss Prosser was taken suddenly ill and I have been hired by Mr. Wilkinson to be her temporary stand-in. I have been working here since Thursday and think I can cope."
She handed him the papers relating to the sudden crisis and he waved her away and started to read them. They were all about the Manager of a Store in Manchester who had been dipping his hand pretty liberally in the till for some time now. How such a thing could have been allowed to go on for so long was a bit of a mystery. Obviously people were getting slack. Heads would have to roll! The rest of his day was spent blowing several senior figures out of the water. He might be a spineless husband, but he was a ruthless businessman, and in a couple of days he was satisfied that nothing like this would happen again.
Through all this, Miss Protheroe, the new secretary, was a veritable tower of strength. She was at his side during the entire crisis -- literally so. Fred became accustomed to her firm young breast occasionally brushing against his arm as she leant over his shoulder to go through his correspondence with him. He became very impressed with both her physical charms and her shrewdness and quick-witted intelligence.
After a week, when the crisis was past, he asked her to accompany him to lunch. Amy Protheroe was delighted to accept his offer and they found themselves in the Savoy Grill seated at the same table that he had shared with Mr. Hanspacker all those long weeks ago when the fateful purchase of the Castle had been discussed.
He told her all about the grim pile that his wife had caused him to buy for her enjoyment. Amy’s eyes grew wide with wonder.
"Golly, Sir! It sounds a creepy sort of place. I wonder if there is a castle ghost haunting it?"
"I don’t believe in ghosts," replied Fred, "but if there were such beings, that Castle would be one of the first places you would go to in order to find them! I shan‘t be going down there again for a few weeks. I can‘t really explain, but there are things going on there that I don‘t like."
Amy smiled inwardly. "Well, if you don’t like the place, don’t go there again. Your wife can come up here to see you if she likes. After all, there is that lovely house in Bishop’s Avenue. She might like to spend a little time there for a change and catch up on her London life once in a while."
"In time, Amy. No doubt the novelty of living in a castle will wear off a bit one day."
Amy smiled reassuringly and leant over the table towards him. He had a deliciously tantalizing glimpse of her succulent breasts as they strained to escape from the fragile and diaphanous restraint that she used for a bra. How unlike his own dear Dorothy’s sensible underwear!
"I think you need a bit of light relief after all you’ve been through. Know what I mean, Sir?" She winked at him and grinned. Her fresh and minty breath wafted over the table towards him. What a change from his chronically halitosic wife!
Fred felt his heart beating so fast and hard he wondered if his last hour had come. He gasped and mumbled something about having to get back to work.
As the pair emerged into the Strand, she slipped her arm through his and drew him to her. "I know a lovely family hotel near Victoria, Sir. Very discreet and anonymity guaranteed! Don’t tell me I’m not a lot more desirable than Mrs. B!"
He looked down at her and was unable to disagree. She hailed the taxi and gave directions to the driver. Within minutes they were in a pleasantly appointed room standing next to a luxurious double bed and Amy was slipping out of her clothes with breathtaking speed and efficiency.
As the naked Amy put her arms around his neck and drew him gently towards her, he recollected the words of an old friend many years ago. "Redheads smell a bit, you know, Fred. But you don’t really mind at the time!"
"Come on, Sir! Slip out of those clothes. I can see you keep pretty fit! I’m sure there’s nothing there to be ashamed of! Let me help you, darling!"
Fred did as he was bid and the pair stood regarding each other’s nakedness for the first of what were to be very many times in the coming weeks and months. He compared her to the Girl (the last naked woman he had seen) and sighed to himself. It was as if Amy could read his mind!
"I know, Freddy old bean! I don’t have quite such a firm figure as some; the Girl at the Castle, for instance. But I bet my bum and tits are a sight more fresh and juicy than poor old Dorothy’s!"
"Everything about you is fresh and juicy!" gasped Fred weakly." But how do you know about the Girl?"
Amy reddened slightly.
"Oh, it isn’t easy to keep secrets in a small town, Sir! A friend of mine was visiting relatives near there lately. The Girl is pretty well known in those parts -- as is the way your wife treats her. Don‘t worry! Everyone agrees the wicked, dirty, lazy Girl deserves it, at least the people who count locally; your wife is very popular, Sir!"