Molly took a great pride in her new role as one of Miss Marchant’s
recruits and had been allowed to shed her sailor uniform for a tight
leather costume, lovingly made by the seamstress.

Alice had remembered how Molly had handled the domination of young Martin
and decided to give her more power and encourage the sadistic side of her
nature.

Now, another boy preceded her, his head continually turning to look at
her, a bulge in his shorts from the revealing leather costume she wore.
Molly enjoyed seeing his pain, as she enjoyed thinking of what was
planned for him and it made her tingle with excitement.

At her mistress’s room they stopped and Molly led the boy in, smiling at
him as he looked around, his eyes invariable straying to the large
imposing bed. A four-poster, the uprights were stout posts from which
metal rings and straps hung. The wood was stained and scrapped, sure
signs of their constant use.

“Come here,” Molly said, going to the bed and pulling down the straps to
which she’d bind his wrists.

The boy licked his lips and hesitated, his head beginning to shake from
side to side. Molly was on him before he could do anything.

Despite the boy being as tall as and much heavier than her, she lashed
out with the back of her hand, following it with her knee, then finally
kicking him as he fell over.

“Never refuse me boy! You understand?” she asked fiercely, standing over
him with a foot ready to press down on his balls. Wide eyed the boy
looked up and nodded, his left cheek blooming with the colour of her hand
strike.

“Now get over to the bed before I call the staff to come and thrash you!”
she told him, blood now racing through her veins.

With a worried look, the boy stood and hurried across to where the straps
hung, holding his wrists together over his head so Molly could climb onto
the foot of the bed and more comfortably tie his wrists together.

Once done, she fell back onto the bed and looked at the boy while
inhaling her mistress’s perfume.

Molly laughed.

She liked teasing boys almost as much as she liked fucking girls with the
harness Miss Marchant often let her wear.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked him. She sat up and crawled
across to him, reaching out to begin undoing his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“She wants you naked,” Molly explained.

Molly licked her lips, suddenly breathless as she remembered her mistress
holding her close and whispering her instructions, her perfume, her
breath, her hands holding her tightly.

Molly spread the shirt to uncover a lean torso, his ribcage made stark by
his raised arms. With a pull she ripped the arms of the shirt, then let
it fall away while she rose from the bed to walk behind him.

She would have liked to play with him more.

She’d seen Lady Jessica and her father as they played with the girls,
teasing them into thinking they’d be adopted, they’d be given lovely
clothes, a room all of their own, parties to go to, balls to attend.

The woman would weave a web of fantasy around their chosen child, even as
they slowly stripped the girl. And then their torture was exquisite,
lovingly applied and delicately delivered, building slowly, horrendously,
to consummate savagery.

Even their fucking was savagely delivered, often astride her father, her
face twisted in a mask of effort as she pounded her body up and down on
her father’s cock.

The boy stepped hesitantly from his shorts, panting as he watched Molly
examine his cock and balls. She slid her fingers across his abdomen,
liking the feel of the flesh where his pubic hair had been pulled, out
one hair at a time.

There was a way of pulling out each hair that would make the owner jerk
upwards. Then again, there was a way of pulling hairs slowly from the
vulva so as to draw one lip from the other and bare the rich vibrant
flesh between them.

She reached behind him to pull the cheeks of his bottom apart with her
thumbs, knowing she’d find his anus similarly plucked. He groaned and
shook, chewing his lips as she examined him.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why here, or why nude?” Molly countered.

She let go of his flesh and sauntered over to the special cupboard,
sliding her fingers from draw to draw as she wondered how to start.

And yet, there was really no choice; such a tight little bottom, lean
waist and feminine back required a whip with soft leather straps as a
starting point. She drew it out and inhaled the mixed scents on the
leather handle.

It had been wedged up her cunt and no telling how many others. Always
cleaned afterwards, there still remained a musk that Molly found very
arousing.

“What is that?” the boy asked nervously.

Molly didn’t answer, but concentrated on standing in the right position,
flexing her arm and loosening her shoulder.

“Please Miss. Please don’t,” he begged.

Molly inhaled, loving his futile begging.

It wasn’t often she was allowed to punish others, but when she was, she
made them beg her first, just to hear them. She stroked his back with the
leather strands, loving the black against the pale skin, the flexing of
his shoulder blades and the panting of his breath.

Then her arm came back, elbow high, her other hand holding the many
leather strands of the whip tips. A pull, a release and the whip swung in
a tight ark that ended across his back.

The boy arched and gasped, his eyes wide and his nose flared.

Molly struck again, moving her aim to new flesh, decorating his back with
the strike of leather bands before moving down to his bottom and thighs,
kneeling when she had to, just to ensure that she didn’t miss anything.

The strikes weren’t hard; Molly wasn’t a large or powerful girl, but the
number of strokes added up and soon brought colour and tenderness to his
back, bottom and thighs.

His gasps had now turned to cries, his begging to whimpers and sobs but
Molly continued her whipping, seeking out areas of his skin not yet as
red as the rest.

When his back was red enough, she crawled onto the bed and grinned at him
as she began whipping his chest. She loved the look on his face as he
tried not to cry. She slowly moved her strikes downward and then finally
whipped his cock and balls, bringing a new desperation to his face.

His crying was like a baby’s, full and uncontrolled. His squeals were
like a girl’s, high pitched and sharp. Molly loved them, feeling it go
right through her.

Abandoning the whip she got a crop out of the draw. It was light and
flexible, one that had been specially made for Miss Marchant. Molly knew
from her own bitter experience how it could cause immediate lancing pain,
then a welt that would remain for hours afterwards.

If the tip were used, just the three-corded strands landing, then the
sharp pain would lance deep leaving the thinnest of red lines. Alice was
very experienced in its use, especially on sensitive genitals.

Molly stood to one side of the weeping boy, rather than behind him and
brought the crop slicing down onto his back. His squeals were magical to
Molly and she jammed the handle of the crop firmly against herself,
loving the pain it brought.

The tight fitting leather suit she wore allowed her that freedom and she
revelled in it. Then his body called out to her for more and with new
vitality, she wielded the crop across his back once more.

The crop brought fierce red lines across his flesh, lovely welts she
would have loved to stop and trace, yet she had a job to do, and one that
had to be finished by the time her mistress returned.

So she continued whipping the crop down upon his body, decorating his
bottom with bright red lines before moving to prepare his front.

“No, please don’t,” the boy wept as he saw what she intended.

Molly inhaled, listening to him sob and beg before she then brought the
crop down across his chest, shaking as he screamed, then sobbing his
heart out. A stroke across his nipples brought a fresh screech from him
and a fresh flow of tears from his eyes.

Already excited, a new buzz swam through her as she concentrated on
lowering her strikes, each one growing nearer and nearer his flaccid
cock.

Blubbering and weeping, the boy begged her not too. Wetting herself with
excitement, Molly pushed a hand between her legs and flicked the tip of
the crop across his cock, grinning as, despite himself, the sensation
caused him to begin to swell and lift.

“You filthy boy!” she spat, giving his stirring cock another flick of the
crop. He jerked and squealed. She flicked it again, and then again, the
force growing each time, her free hand working on her leather clad crotch
while his cock swelled and stiffened, her crop bringing red lines along
its shaft.

Seeing the contrast, Molly aimed to place the red stripes closer to each
other, licking her lips as she noticed how her strikes were also causing
his flesh to swell giving his cock a whole new profile. When satisfied
with that, she then concentrated on making the tip glow.

If his jerks caused her to miss, she took it out on him by swinging the
crop savagely across his bottom, then, when his body was jerked forward,
swiftly down on the base of his cock.

The door opened and Molly stepped back, her face glowing from the effort
she’d put into creating the whimpering wretch who hung limply from his
wrists between the bedposts.

Miss Marchant moved in, tall and calm, her eyes scrutinizing the two of
them; the boy whose body was pink and sore from his neck to his knees,
then overlaid with multiple welts from the crop, the girl whose face
glowed and whose body was indecently exposed by the tight leather
bodysuit she wore.

Her attention returned to the boy and she approached him to run her
fingers down his body, her nails leaving long trailing lines while he
sobbed afresh. None the less, his cock rose as her hand approached it, as
if begging for attention.

“You’ve done well Molly.” Alice remarked.

It was said offhandedly, yet Molly glowed with pride.

“Blindfold him,” she demanded, and while Molly promptly obeyed, Alice
stepped away to remove her gown, then her tight corset. Alice was now
naked, caressing her full and proud breasts, pinching her nipples as she
considered her alternatives.

“All right then, take your clothes off and bring him over to me.” she
told the eager child.

Molly squealed with her excitement and quickly tore at her tight suit,
knowing the seams would part if pulled hard enough. Then, dripping with
excitement, she put a collar around the boy’s neck and untied him.

Alice stood waiting for them in front of a mat she’d unrolled. The base
of the mat had been coated in a rubber that had been moulded into a
series of spikes and ridges that would make it uncomfortable for anyone
to lie on it, while not quite ever breaking the skin.

Blindfolded, the boy was unaware of the new torment he faced, and yet,
still sobbing from the pain rising from his tenderised body, he struggled
weakly in his mistress’s hands as they turned him before laying him down.

Once laid out, the spiked mat made him scream and flay and the ladies had
their work cut out, grabbing flaying arms and legs before being able to
jump astride him. It was part of the excitement and prepared them for the
pleasures to come.

Alice chose his face and, once full astride his body, pushed her crotch
down onto his nose and mouth, squirming with delight as he screamed and
wept into her sex. Meanwhile, right in front of her, thirteen year old
Molly was pulling on his flaccid cock, bringing it to life again while
she waited astride his thighs, her cunt showing every sign of her
excitement.

As soon as he was hard enough, Molly rose to place her cunt above his
cock, then thrust down to impale herself on him, her well trained cunt
lips opening to let him in, then closing to capture him in her tight hot
grip. She crooned with delight and began moving on him while Alice did
the same, the older lady panting as she pushed her cunt hard into his
mouth.

Alice felt him trying to breathe and took hold of his tortured nipples to
squeeze and pull on them, delighted when his body bucked. She sat down
more heavily on him, ensuring he couldn’t breathe, and watched little
Molly bounce up and down on his handsome cock.

His feet hammered the floor in his last attempt to gain breath, and then
he slumped. Molly and Alice sensed it together and came, their bodies
collapsing against each other as their orgasms swept through them. Only
then did Alice move aside and let the unconscious boy breathe again, his
face gleaming with the residue of her orgasm.

Molly lay upon him and licked his face, giggling when he groaned because
her added weight pushed him more firmly into the spiked mat that he lay
on.

“Leave him,” Alice told her.

She was strapping her favourite harness into place, the leather dildo
sticking out from her a full eight inches long.

“Bend over the bed,” Alice ordered Molly.

Still tender from her recent orgasm, Molly felt the cold leather of the
dildo enter her and groaned. Her mistress’s hands were around her waist,
holding her still while the thing continued pushing inwards, on and on,
longer than a male, until the tip pushed up against her cervix and pushed
it inwards.

She squealed and gripped the sheets, panting hotly as the long dildo
began to move back and forth, a long slide that Alice liked so much.

She loved watching the length of stuffed leather being drawn from a young
girl’s cunt and then pushed back in under the base of the child’s bottom.
She loved powering it with her loins, like a man would do but with more
awareness of what the child would feel. Hence she went slowly with Molly,
but not too slowly.

She kept pace with Molly’s excitement, keeping it on the very edge of
becoming painful, keeping it so she would soon loose all her senses but
those rising from her cunt.

The girl looked absorbed by it, her eyes wide and fearful, yet her skin
flushed with excitement. Her hands had gathered some of the bed sheets to
her face, inhaling Miss Marchant’s scent as the leather dildo thrust with
ever more speed and power into the depths of the girl’s young body.

Molly squealed and shook at each thrust into her womb, yet the pain was
an elixir and the long slide nearly out of her cunt before being powered
back in again, was pure hot pleasure, melting her more and more with each
successive thrust.

Then her anus was being opened, Alice’s thumb broaching her and then
pulling her. She screamed her pleasure, coming twice as her mistress
continued thrusting in and out of her, until she herself was at last
satisfied.

The boy had woken and had crawled from the mat. He looked dazed and
unaware of his surroundings as Alice approached him, still wearing the
dildo; the black leather cock now gleaming with the juices Molly had
spilt upon it.

“Ready for more I see,” Alice chuckled.

She brought the upright stand forward, the end moulded like a cock, the
carving coated with a layer of rubber to make it just a little more
flexible.

It stood about table height and was often used by Alice as a gag, bending
the girl or boy over and pushing it into their mouths before looping a
restraint over their heads. Now though, she pulled the boy to his feet
and with no preliminaries, angled the stand over to press its end against
the lad’s fundaments.

As the boy struggled, weeping and begging for forgiveness, Molly quickly
rose to help. She gripped his cock and balls and squeezed, then swallowed
his open mouthed squeal with a kiss, wrapping her other arm around him as
she felt him stiffen with the impalement of the moulded cock.

Another few moments and the stand was standing erect again, the boy on
his toes, painfully straight, the pole deep in his bottom. Alice gave
Molly a martinet and took a long length of leather for herself, almost
immediately wielding it across the boy’s midriff to hear him scream and
watch him jerk with the pain.

Taking up her station across from her mistress, Molly wielded the
martinet across his back, and the two women began to slowly walk round
him, lashing out at each quarter, one immediately after the other while
all the boy could do was shake on the pole driven deep into his bottom.

By the time Alice called a halt, his skin was livid with score marks,
raised welts and the burnished glow of multiple strikes from the two
whips. Together, Molly and her mistress eased the sobbing boy from the
stand and in one fluid motion, had him bent over the trestle for his
final taking.

The dildo, dried now with Molly’s spilt juices, was held to stop it
bending as Alice began pushing it into his bowels. Much thicker and
longer than the stand, it brought a fresh groan from the boy, one that
grew into breathless pants of nervousness as it threatened to tear him in
two.

Yet, Doctor Stevens had examined him and passed him fit, therefore Alice
was safe to use him as she wished. As she’d done with Molly earlier, she
held the boy around his waist and watched with a keen pleasure as the
dildo she wielded with her loins slid in and out of his stretched anus,
pulling and pushing the tight sphincter back and forth in a most
pleasurable way.

Molly stood astride his back and held the tight spheres of his bottom
apart, the better to admire the way the black leather slid in and out of
him. As her mistress began to pant with the onset of yet another orgasm,
Molly pressed her own little cunt to the boy’s beaten back, giggling as
she peed over him.

Jeremy Worthington shook and panted, nerves and excitement battling over
each other as he waited in a small room just off the landing of the first
floor. Alice Marchant had listened with interest as he’d explained, or
tried to, his deepest longing.

Always willing to please a patron, Miss Marchant had arranged for Miss
Greta Foulds to recruit a suitable child for his entertainment.

Now he waited, the cold of the room making his cock shrink. The door
opened and his old governess walked in. Well, not his exactly. His
parents had hired her for his younger brother and sister, but she had
quickly brought him to heel.

Jeremy stood, his hands automatically uncovering his privates in the way
she had always demanded. Miss Foulds smiled and stepped to one side
letting a little girl, perhaps as young as nine, step past her into the
room.

Jeremy groaned, struggling with himself as the girl calmly looked at his
cock and the dark wiry pubic hair that grew around the base, so dark in
contrast to his pale, sickly looking flesh.

“Mr Worthington, how nice to see you,” Greta said.

Jeremy had proved to be so malleable. It had been a delight to take the
teenager in hand, have him fawning at her feet and helping her educate
his much younger brother and twin sisters.

It had often proved such a joy to Miss Foulds, to have Jeremy act like a
dog, crawling about the playroom and making his sisters squeal as he put
his head under their frilly dresses, to sniff at their pretty little
cunts.

“Miss,” he swallowed.

Despite his nervousness, the sight of the child was making his cock
harden. She continued to stare at it, watching it erect and climb
vertically upwards.

“This is Petal,” Miss Foulds told him stroking the girl’s hair.

It was long and flaxen, reminding him of his twin sisters Joanna and
Victoria. His breath shortened as he thought of his sisters as they were,
before they grew up so spiteful and vengeful.

“Is she? Can I? I mean, is she here to let me?” he panted.

“Well, of course Mr Worthington. Patrons can do anything, can’t they
Petal?” Greta chuckled.

The young girl nodded and eyed his large cock again, licking her lips as
she thought of mounting it, of having it slide into her little belly
where it would make her belly button poke out.

“Go and stand on the chair Petal, so we can look at you properly,” Miss
Foulds urged.

She did so, taking off her little slippers first, then turning to face
them, her hands held away from her so her frilly dress would stand out as
it should.

Like a boy seeing his dream come true, Jeremy crept to stand before her,
licking his lips as he now smelt her too, that lovely mix of soap, talc
and lilac water. His cock throbbed with new urgency, and its new hardness
made him groan, his eyes threatening to pop out from his head as Miss
Foulds calmly turned up the front of the child’s dress.

“You like frilly petticoats, don’t you Jeremy?” Greta teased.

Lifting them one at a time with her arm to hold them up. Then it was a
slow lift, one that bared her legs first, her young thighs wrapped
prettily in soft woollen stockings, pink ribbon weaved through their hem
to help hold them up.

“Push forward Petal,” Greta softly urged.

Petal smiled and pushed her pelvis forward, watching the young man as he
stared at her crotch. She was proud of her crotch, and the deep cleft
between. Men had loved watching her spread her legs apart so her deep
slit would open. She could hide her whole middle finger in her slit and
for a farthing, she’d let others do it too.

“Would you like to see the rest of her?” Greta asked with an arched
eyebrow.

Jeremy’s cock gave a twitch, then his head nodded, his tongue darting out
to lick his lips, no doubt remembering his childhood games. The licking
at his sisters privates, the burrowing of his tongue into their bottoms,
listening to their giggles as their Governess sat on his face until he
felt he’d die for the need to breathe.

Petal turned and bent forward, pushing her bottom out the way she’d been
taught but still blushing as her petticoats were tossed up and a knowing
hand caressed her bottom cheeks and fondled her little cunt.

“She’ll be tight,” Greta warned, hardly needing to spread the young
girl’s tight little bottom to let him see the dark tiny ring of her anus.

“Has she been? I mean, is she still?” Jeremy panted.

“Touched is all Jeremy, just played with, nothing more. You’ll be the
first up there,” Greta murmured.

Her finger knocked on the knot and it clenched and then opened, the daily
enema routines having tutored her into unconsciously relaxing herself as
soon as the tender spot was touched.

Jeremy watched the tip of Greta’s finger dip into the child’s little anus
and groaned with the memories that came flooding back; the times he’d
been forced to watch, not touch himself, move or speak while his sisters
were made to play on the large bed as they were being trained by Miss
Foulds.

The times they’d taken turns sitting on his face, smothering him with
their young, firm lipped cunts before he’d been allowed to push his
tongue into their cute little bottoms.

“She’ll need preparing Jeremy. She’ll need moistening, inside and out,”
Greta told him, her smile telling him she too remembered those good old
days.

“Kneel on the chair Petal, with your bottom right out please,” Greta
urged.

Miss Foulds helped Petal into position, her smooth lipped cunt poking out
so lovingly from between her thighs, while up in the air her cute bottom
had parted and the crinkled rosebud of her bottom hole waited for Jeremy
to prepare it.

With a sob that spoke of the years he’d waited, Jeremy pressed his opened
mouth between her bottom cheeks and pressed his lips around the little
anus. He looked up, falling into the habits Miss Fould’s had taught him
and groaned into Petal’s anus as he saw Greta smiling her encouragement.
His tongue sought her opening and wriggled within, his cock lurching as
he heard her groan and push her bottom back towards him.

The girl was so like one of his sisters, he could almost imagine himself
back then, the children giggling at the naughty things Miss Foulds made
them do. The little girl’s anus unclenched and he drove his tongue in, a
roaring in his ears as he licked her anal chute, moistened it with saliva
and spat into it as it flared apart.

“That’s enough now Jeremy. Let’s have a look at you.” Greta called,
tapping his head.

The young man rose, licking his lips and panting. His cock still stood
out from him, bobbing with his excited pulse as, looking down, he saw the
child’s anus waiting for him.

Greta took his cock around the base and pulled upon it, dragging Jeremy
forward as she’d often done in his younger days. Today, he came without
argument or silly noises, just panting with his rising excitement as she
drew him nearer Petal’s waiting bottom.

“She looks just like Victoria, doesn’t she?” Greta teased. She rubbed his
cock along the child’s short anal cleft and drew it down to her
sphincter, lodging it against her hollow and holding it there.

“Push Jeremy,” she whispered urgently.

With a long groan, Jeremy did as he was ordered, his eyes wide on the
child’s bent form as, slowly, the ruby head of his cock pushed her anal
ring inwards and apart.

“Don’t move!” Greta spat, slapping Petal’s thighs.

Frozen by her mistress’s voice, Petal squealed instead, shaking like a
leaf as something hot and hard stretched her achingly apart, much, much
further than the nozzles that were used for her daily enemas.

With a gasp Jeremy was through, an inch of cock past the tight ring of
the nine year olds tight little bottom. A firm press and he sank deeper,
the sob from the child only making him want to do it again.

“Wait,” Greta told him.

She wrapped her fingers more firmly around the base of his cock and
watched as the constraint forced his cock to begin to swell. Petal could
feel it too and whimpered, skewered so prettily on his large shaft of
manhood.

“Now!” she told him.

Jeremy knew that command and gritted his teeth to press fully into the
girl’s bottom. He gripped her haunches as she tried evading him,
squealing manically as he drove himself deep into her colon.

She was no longer some unknown child brought to him just for this deed.

She was his little sister, the one who’d grown up to become such a bitch.
She was nine all over again, this time submitting totally to him, giving
him the one thing she’d always denied him.

He heard her crying and moved harder back and forth in her clammy behind.
He watched his cock slide in and out, looking huge next to the smallness
of her bottom and thighs. He thrust with his whole body, panting and
shaking with the effort and thrust exceptionally hard, exceptionally
deep, as he felt himself erupt.

Petal shook and wailed, her eyes wide and sightlessly staring as she felt
the hot throbbing thing lance her bottom, jerking deep in her belly while
her anus stung from where she’d been torn apart.

Realising the importance of public support Alice Marchant had invited
like-minded individuals to form a league of friends, with the purpose of
raising funds and elevating the orphanage’s public status.

To her delight Alice had managed to persuade both Doctor Samuel Croft and
Judge John Blackstone, two eminent individuals to join them and give
credibility to the committee.

Doctor Samuel Croft, the owner of a nursing home in Gilspur Street,
specialised in sadistically correcting the masturbation habits of
children from wealthy families. Judge John Blackstone held assizes
throughout the Home Counties for juveniles where he often found them
guilty for the most minor of crimes, sentencing them to harsh public
corporal punishments, private abuse and tortures.

Meeting once a month they were joined by the governors, patrons and staff
to discuss and plan future events. Much of the capital needed to fund St
Saviour’s was raised from these events and the influence of these two
individuals was enough to persuade the authorities to turn a blind eye to
all the clandestine activity.

During the last few months, so many children had been cruelly abused and
tortured that it had become necessary to dispatch most of them to far
away towns and cities. Alice felt no pity for these children and
hurriedly arranged to purchase new stock to replace them from another
private establishment.

Lord Holmes’s carriage travelled slowly, swaying from side to side and up
and down along the pot-holed road that led to its destination Birchwood
Grange, whilst inside the three weary travellers kept their own council.

Occasionally one would offer a small flask to the other two and despite
one of them being a lady, they would all take a sip of the hot liquor
straight from the flask. Outside the inclement weather had turned for the
worse and snow flurries had begun to fall again.

“Do we really have to do this?” Doctor Stevens asked yet again, a
handkerchief in his hand as he prepared once more to sneeze.

“You know the answer to that,” Alice told him, her hands covered by a fox
fur muffler. There was another around her feet but she could no longer
feel it’s presence.

“It won’t take long Doctor Stevens.” Lord Holmes assured him.

“Alice and I will do the initial interview, then you will ensure that the
children are all fit before we pay for them.” Richard explained.

“Can we at least stay for a hot meal,” Jeremy begged.

“We won’t be offered one,” Alice told him in a bleak voice.

“Is that it?” Lord Holmes asked, as he peered out of the carriage at a
tall gothic like building appearing through the snow flurries.

Alice glanced at it and nodded.

“Now remember, show no compassion and only chose those children who are
able to stand severe punishment. I want to be able to abuse them in the
harshest of ways!”

“Welcome to Birchwood Grange,” said a burly servant who was waiting for
them at the entrance.

They were led through an austere interior that was only slightly warmer
than outside and then upstairs to a dormitory that held ten wooden beds,
the mattresses thin and worn, and the sheets little better. Before each
bed stood a child, boys on one side and girls on the other.

The matron turned and smiled without humour towards Miss Marchant.

“As you requested,” she told her, a touch of pride in her manner.

Alice nodded and began to walk down the two rows of boys and girls, with
Richard following while Jeremy waited, holding his medical bag in front
of him. As Alice passed down the lines of children, she looked at their
stature, the quality of their skin and for any sign of their physical
development.

Occasionally she stopped only to roughly turn a child around and bare
their bottom, looking for the scars of any recent punishment. At the far
end she stopped abruptly and turned to face the children.

“You and you,” she said, pointing to two of the younger girls whose
breasts had not yet started to develop.

“You two can leave,” she told them.

The children shuffled out, a look of deep disappointment on their faces,
neither of them aware of what they had missed. Eight children were left
and she glanced at each of them again, gauging their mood and their
eagerness to escape the confines of that abysmal place.

“Do the boys and girls sleep in the same dormitory here?” Jeremy softly
asked the matron as Alice finished her inspection.

“Of course not!” The matron spat, looking at him as if he were an
imbecile. “Miss Marchant insisted that they be all be inspected in the
same room, else I would never have allowed them in the same room as their
sleeping quarters,” she snapped.

“She was always an awkward one, that one,” she added in a murmur.

Doctor Stevens smiled and nodded.

“I have some tools that you might find of interest,” he suggested.

He opened his medical bag to display one, a loin restraint for boys that
had been refined with sharp little pieces of metal to stop any
unauthorised masturbation. While Jeremy tried to interest the matron to
buy his wares, Alice turned to address the remaining children.

“You all have but one chance to leave here with me,” she told them as she
looked from one to the other.

“That chance relies upon you doing exactly as I ask,” she said.

“I’ll ask you to do something and I’ll only ask you once. The last one to
obey will remain here,” she warned.

Alice waited a few moments before giving her first instruction.
“Girls lift your petticoats, boys lower your breeches,” she ordered.

For a moment no one moved. For a moment more, child looked to child,
friend to friend as they tried working out whether to obey.

Then a boy more eager to escape the matron than the others unbuckled his
breeches and all of a sudden, they were all removing their clothes, eager
to beat at least one other, then to stand and try and ignore their public
nakedness.

“Too slow,” she told a boy, the last one to straighten and reveal his
nakedness. He hung his head and pulled his breeches up before running off
to cry. Seven children remained and Alice walked slowly down the lines
again, Lord Richard now joining her at her side.

The boys shook and, as much as they tried not to, their eyes were drawn
to the naked loins of the girls, their cocks rising despite all the
discipline they’d received to stop such a thing happening. With the
tingling feel of rising pleasure, they whimpered and glanced nervously
towards their disapproving matron.

The matron’s face glowered as she stared at them, her expression
promising them all sorts of elixirs that would create stomach cramps and
diarrhoea, poultices that would sting and burn their genitals and the
insertion of long thick enema nozzles into their bottoms that would hurt
and take away all thoughts of their illicit pleasures.

“Not you, or you,” Alice told two of the boys, one who’s erection failed
to materialise, another whose erection was small and slender, not at all
what she wanted.

Five children remained two boys and three girls. She told the boys to go
over to over Doctor Stevens, while the three girls faced her, as she
stood with her hands on her hips.

“Lift your petticoats higher!” she ordered them.

Faces burning, the three girls lifted their garments higher, their
blushes turning crimson as Lord Holmes chuckled and stepped forward.

“Legs much further apart!” Alice demanded curtly.

Remembering what had happened to the boy who was too slow, they all
quickly shuffled their feet apart, none the less shaking as Richard
stepped right up to them in turn, a smile for each of them as his fingers
wandered between their legs to feel each of their pudendum.

Soft folds, plump labia offering momentary resistance before parting to
his fingers, then warm and moist interiors and the firm bulb of their
clitoris at its head. He probed and tested, smelt and tasted while they
looked on, struggling, gasping and shaking, squirming and blushing.

“Not this one,” he told Alice, pointing to the girl whose cunt had been
dry.

She nodded and pointed to the door. To the last two, she pointed to where
Doctor Stevens was still busy with the last boy, his finger still lodged
deep inside his anus, his other hand roughly fondling the boy’s handsome
cock and balls.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Miss Marchant complained.

Jeremy blushed and moved hurriedly on.

“You’ll find them all poor sport”, the matron told Alice with a cold
smile. “My strict regime has all but whipped out of them any desire to
masturbate”.

In some ways she was glad of Miss Marchant’s visit. It helped rout out
those children who had an urge to masturbate regardless of the severe
punishments it brought them and she did so like them to defy her.

“So how much do you want for them?” Alice asked.

“They’re all fit and healthy,” the matron argued.

“How much,” Alice insisted.

The matron’s composure cracked and she licked her lips as she gazed at
Lord Holmes and his rich clothes.

“Three guineas each.”

Miss Marchant chuckled and shook her head.

“One guinea,” she offered.

“Oh, come on Miss Marchant! I’ve paid more than that to house, feed and
clothe them!”

“I doubt that, but six guineas for all five children,” Alice offered.

“Eight guineas,” matron quickly retorted.

“Seven and you’re invited to come and watch them perform,” Alice rounded.

“Done!” the burley matron said and both women spat into their hands
before slapping them together in a handshake that sealed the deal.

Alice was pleased with the deal she had made and arranged for the new
recruits to be transported to St Saviour’s the very next day.

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