A new morning and new possibilities.
Still aroused from my behavior last night, and the fact that my lovely wife had appeared to enjoy me being rougher than usual, means that the fires of password were still running through my body and the welcome task of rummaging through the contents of our box did little to subdue them.
Susan was sleeping like a baby, bless her, so I made a start without her, unpacking the total contents of the box and laying the items on the table in reading for her.
To be honest, apart from the all important tawse, the rest of the stuff seemed at first sight to hold little interest for me, but I was wrong, as Susan discovered to my delight.
My wife was so eager to begin our pleasant task that she gave up her breakfast in order to begin straight away and this time I took the passive moment of watching her exam the items one by one and seeing her take time to evaluate each one and voicing her impressions as she did so.
‘Let’s begin with these two large books — no title to show what they are,’ she said, taking one and leaving through the many pages.
‘So neighbor and precision their writing is Adam,’ she commented, ‘Do you suppose that they are equally attentive when it comes to punishing the poor girls that get into trouble there?’
I was sure that would be the case from the scar information that I had heard, but if I am right I would like her to make that discovery herself.
‘What is recorded in that book Susan?’ I asked eagerly, trying to see over her shoulder.
‘Seems to be an inventory, all the goods necessary for running an establishment like that, and if we look carefully I am sure that we will find a few tawses in there somewhere.
She picked up the other heavy volume and after a cursory inspection, announced it to be similar to the first.
‘We can go through it at leisure, I am convinced there will be something important in here to take us to the next step of discovery, isn’tit exciting darling?’
‘What is that bundle of exercise books, they look innocent enough but you never know?’
Susan unfasted the buckle of the strap that bound them together and spread the six books like playing cards on the table before her, announcing in a disappointed tone, ‘None of them have titles just numbered one through to six.
She flipped open number one and cried out in joy, closing the cover rapidly so that she could tell me the news rather than have me read before she had that opportunity.
‘It says, Punishment Record for the year 1859’ — at last something to go on, and if she was right then these were the treasure we hoped to find.
‘It is in a kind of shorthand,’ Susan declared, but I sensed a challenge for her that would provide hours of pleasure trying to decipher the contents.
‘Can you read anything into it Susan?
There was a date and time for each entry together with a girl’s name, then some code which will need a bit of workto unravel, but one thing became obvious from the start — one girl’s name appeared more than once whereas none of the others seemed to be repeated, not at first glance anyway.
‘She is Astrid Stevenson and she appears in the book every month it seems. What kind of a person was she and why did they beat her so often I wonder?’ Susan exclaimed with a thoughtful look on her face.
I began to become aroused and needed to know more about this Astrid, was she a foreigner? Did she cause trouble for them? Not many, if any, could bear to be flogged with the tawse and the first time was generally enough for them, so young Astrid must have been a very determined girl, or a stupid one, to invite what is tantamount to persistent torture from those who are charged with her care.
‘There are several numbers in brackets,’ Susan said to herself but loud enough for me to hear.
The first numbers each case could refer to the year, as (59) would agree with the year stated on page one, and half way through book two (60) appears and this is the pattern for all the books taking us up to 1862 when Astrid is twenty one years of age — she is not mentioned in the last book, number six, covering the first half of year 1863 which is interesting.’
There could be many reasons, she might have left the reformatory which would be the best explanation, other options are far too sinister to contemplate.
Any other coded clues?’ I asked.
‘Initials, many the same, with H.S being the most common, might be the initials of the one carrying out the punishment, then more numbers in brackets between 18 and 21, so it is a safe bet this is the age of the girls, backed up by Astrid’s being eighteen in the first book, and twenty one when her record finishes.
The last set of numbers, if I am right, are far more significant, invariably (20) for all entries but increasing in the case of Astrid, so they can only refer to the number of lashes the unfortunate girl had to bear before the punishment was deemed to be over…oh goodness can you believe it darling? I feel positively disappoint,’
‘Perhaps we should stop for now?’ I offered.
‘Perhaps you should take me to bed, or fuck me now for getting this aroused at some poor girl’s misfortune. Why do I feel this way? It is me who deserves to be whipped’
I said no more, just showed her the bulge in my pants and took her arm, non too gently and led her upstairs peeling our clothes off as we went, desperate to satisfy the perverse urge that affected us both.
It was well past mid-day when we returned once again to our living room and the sundry articles spread over the table.
As much as we wanted to continue, we had to eat and our improvement break was the perfect time to do so.
Nevertheless our topic of conversation was Astrid and her part in the history of Greystone House.
‘There must be something in the newspapers,’ Susan proclaimed, ‘Otherwise why keep them?’
The newspapers were broadsheets with hardly any pictures and hence the subsequent articles did not catch the eye as readily as our modern papers — as a result we each took one paper and scoured the contents for anything connected with the reformatory.
Finally, I saw it, an article entitled, ‘Allegations of strange happenings in girls reformatory’
The following text mentioned ‘unsubstantiated possessions’ and was necessary vague.
Susan found another very similar in the paper that she was scanning,
We marked each page by placing a paper clip on the top, then continued scanning the next newspaper in date order.
Interestingly the date of the first paper was May 15th 1859, when Astrid was eighteen years of age, could there be a connection?
Subsequent articles could be found in each of the newspapers originating from our mystery box and each promised an exposure to the allocation of brutality reported to be practiced at Greystone House.
‘They are all promises,’ Susan observed, ‘None of the articles are able to substantiate the claims – so what’s the point?’
‘Don’t dismiss the articles out of hand darling, those papers must be there for a reason, it is just that we have not made the connection yet.’
‘It doesn’t seem that we have enough to go on — how on earth are we to discover the real truth if it is not reported?’
‘Well, maybe it is reported Somewhere’, I maintained, just as Susan was having another look at exercise book number six.
A paper fluttered out and landed on the floor next to me and when I bent down to retrieve and exam it, I could not believe my eyes, or our luck.
‘What is it?’ Susan asked when she realized that I had found something of possible significance.
‘A cruel drawing in pencil, not by an artist as the perspective is wrong but by someone who wanted to describe what it is like to enter the Punishment Room, or whatever they call that sort of place in Greystone House.’
Susan came and sat beside me as I spread the drawing out on the table before us as we silently appraised the features and contents of that awful place.
The impression was graphic, it could only have been drawn by somebody, a wardress, teacher or even an inmate, who had been there and who wished, for whatever reason, to record what they saw.
It was Susan who requested that we took the rest of the day as a break, ‘No More mention of Greystone House until bedtime,’ she said determinedly – right?’
I nodded and left it at that but I suspect that my wife’s mind would be as occupied as mine would be, despite our efforts to place it to the back burner and to rekindle the fire during our nightly ritual.
I could not wait to be naked and beside my wife again and to share our thoughts on Greystone House and the picture that is forming in our minds based upon what we now know — and importantly, what we have yet to discover.
I suggested that we have an early night and thatSusan brought along the drawing for us to discuss.
All day that drawing had played on my mind, although strictly done, it captured something about the sinister purpose of the room and the fear that must be felt by any girl who had the misfortune to find herself inside it.
Susan joined me, naked as I was, and slipped onto the bed taking my hand as we enjoyed a moment of silent reflection, then my wife handed me the drawing before positioning the tawse along her body, handle between her breasts and tail slipping between her legs. The now fully restored instrument providing for her the necessary tangible link between conjecture and stark reality.
Susan excitedly asked that I described the drawing to her, as if she had not seen it and was hearing of it for the first time.
Hearing my voice giving the dreadful details excited us both Even though I allowed my imagination to fill in the gaps.
I described the room, small, bare and devoid of any unnecessary adornment.
No windows, so artificially lit at all times when the room was in use — those lights, although not shown in the drawing, would be the highest wattage that the newly installed electric lighting would allow, capable of being brighter than daylight and affording no shadows to hide in.
The room shows signs of disrepair, plaster peeling from the walls in places, as if no time could be expanded on its upkeep, what would be the point anyway?
There were stains on the floor and one is left imagining all sorts of things about their origin and more importantly, why they were left to remain.
As for the walls, one could never tell how thick they might be and could be tempted to think that they would be thick enough to drop the screams when a punishment was being meted out. But, on further reflection, wouldn’t it be better to allow the screams to permeate the building and to locate the Punishment Room immediately below the girl’s dormitory, either to provide entertainment to those who are that way distributed, or more likely to serve as a warning -‘Behave, or this could be you?’
As I described this hell hole I could feel Susan’s hand tighten in mine and sense the movement of the other. The tawse was sliding down her body as her fingers used the very tips of it to reach her sexual core — she was masturbating and using the tawse to satisfy her hunger and I found that to be the most deliciously perverted misuse of an instrument of torture possible.
I adored my lovely wife more than ever to possess the mind to utilize something specifically designed to bring cute pain and to employ it for her own purposes to achieve the opposite.
‘Please go on Adam,’ She gasped, ‘You can tell I am enjoying it can’t you?’
My cock was sharpid by now and I had thoughts of wresting that tawse from her and giving her a thrashing for being selfish, but I realized that when that dreadful instrument was indeed used upon her, it must be a well planned and well exevided moment for the pair of us — not an improvement moment of emerging sadism on my part..
I continued with my oratory and moved my focus to the objects within the room, all two of them.
Leaving the best to last I described the tawse hanging from a hook on the wall and remarking that when the drawing was made it could have actually been the very tawse that Susan had restored so lovingly just days before.
The gasps and groans that followed my conjecture told me that my darling wife had enjoyed the first of many orgasms this day and that the tips of each leather fork of the tawse could well be damp from her juices.
It only remained to describe the central object of the room, (the elephant in the room that I had chosen to deliberately leave until now).
I described its construction as lateral wooden slats arranged to form a shallow cradle that would support, and to an extent hold securely, the naked body of the poor female who was forced to lie face down uponit. The cradle formed the upper part of a generally reinforced wooden framework to which were added adjustable leather straps and buckles strategically located to securely hold the victim’s extremes, wrists and ankles and with a wider strap positioned to fit around the waist and to render the unfortunate girl both unable to move and helpless to prevent the awful age of the punishment that she must endure.
‘Oh goodness my darling,’ cried my wife, ‘You described it so well I can imagine it but what I would give to see it, or one like it, for real — how wonderful would that be?’
I did not answer in words but actions, unable to contain my arousal I pushed aside the tawse and mounted Susan in its place, entering her forcedly and holding her wrists together with one hand, above her head while my other hand roughly Grasped a breast and her screams brought us both to shattering orgasms
How magnificent, I thought, to have a wife who responds so eagerly to the samestimuli as me.
Once the heat of password has subsided we discussed where we go from here in our research of Greystone House.
Susan volunteered to continue reading the exercise books and to establish if there are any more clues to be found there, and I remembered the guy who mentioned the forthcoming auction of furniture allegedly connected with the infamous Greystone House.
The auction was tomorrow and I could not wait to attend and see what was on offer.
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