Bondmaiden by B.A. Bradbury Page B

that escaped her lips on each down stroke.
    She rode the horn for long minutes in this manner, and though she was obviously in great discomfort she hung on grimly to the end. Jarold’s count reached fifty, and she could finally dismount. It had been a sober lesson in self-control, and Lia hoped she could do even half as well when her turn eventually came to ride the horn, as it surely would, Dagna would see to that.
    Kerta slumped on the table and spread her legs for her examination, which she endured stoically and in silence. Holmann and Dagna declared themselves satisfied, and Kerta was duly dismissed, although unlike Clady she paused long enough to put on her smock in a final show of fortitude, and then walked out with considerable dignity.
    Now it was Tilda’s turn, and it seemed to Lia that her friend had taken Kerta’s example to heart, for she moved at the same steady pace as the older woman and with the same sense of deliberation. In another way she was very different, however. Kerta had stayed almost silent for the whole session, whereas Tilda was moaning right from the start. There was a grimace of pain on her pretty face too, which Lia thought couldn’t be due to the paste, not this early. And then she realised what it was. Tilda must be tender still from having been abused by the rod the day before, and now here was Old Nick’s horn with more of the same treatment.
    If the others remembered it they showed little sympathy for Tilda’s plight. ‘Just look at her,’ Dagna jeered smugly. ‘Doesn’t look so clever now, does she?’
    ‘No, that’s settled her down right enough,’ Holmann agreed, ‘but I should have organised this session long before now. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve been lax.’
    ‘Not you,’ Dagna snorted. ‘You work harder than anyone I know. This girl’s a real handful, that’s all. I reckon she needs this regularly: once a week at least. There’d be no time for flirting with the guards then.’ She laughed cruelly. ‘She’d be too busy washing hot paste out of her cunt!’
    Holmann chuckled, moved to Tilda and slid a hand down under her rump. She sobbed in dismay, and Lia realised he’d squeezed a finger up Tilda’s bottom. He kept his hand there, rising and falling with her movements, for she never faltered in her task despite the foul violation.
    ‘You should try this some time, Jarold, lad,’ the overseer said. ‘There’s nothing quite like having a pretty young thing squirming and moaning on the end of your finger.’
    Jarold, emboldened perhaps by Holmann’s obvious good humour, immediately moved closer. Without faltering in his count he pinched Tilda’s nipples and twisted them. She seemed hardly to notice, and Lia knew her friend had other things on her mind. The pepper paste must be burning fiercely by now, and compared to that a mere groping was probably of little consequence.
    Tilda’s trial continued, and she passed first twenty and then the thirty mark, and as was to be expected the final twenty were hard on her. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were misted and distant. She was groaning constantly, a pitiful sound. Lia willed her on, wishing there was something she could do to help. Father Adalard used to say that God hears all prayers, and so Lia prayed, for courage and strength for Tilda and for herself.
    ‘Forty-nine… fifty!’
    Tilda slumped and her shoulders sagged. Holmann removed his finger and Jarold released her nipples, though with obvious regret. As Tilda dismounted wearily and limped to the table for her inspection, Lia sighed with relief. It had been an awful thing to witness, but at least it was over now. It had to be, for surely no one could find fault with Tilda’s technique.
    ‘I think she needs some more,’ Dagna concluded as they examined her.
    ‘You think?’ Holmann said doubtfully. ‘She looks like she’s had enough to me.’
    ‘No, she’s not had enough,’ Dagna said. ‘What do you say, Jarold?’
    Jarold