The Hanbury-Boyce Inheritance

Photo-story from Janus 157 with Leia-Ann Woods

When Hilary Hanbury-Boyce died recently, the village mourned. Even the girls with whom she had so uncompromisingly dealt up at the ‘big house’ felt a strange regret at the passing of this fair but firm martinet, wielder of the slipper, strap, hairbrush and cane on their tender young bottoms. The strict lady, who accepted no nonsense and punished all wrongdoers sent to her with a method and severity hardly known in these modern times, was gone.

But if the village girls thought they would henceforth be safe from the kind of punitive retribution that had been dished out on a regular basis by that peerless lady, they were in for a surprise. As, indeed, was a distant cousin of Hilary’s, named Royston Arnold. Royston was a man of letters, sage, broadcaster, bon viveur and promoter of the arts. A confirmed bachelor, he hadn’t seen Hilary for several years, for they met only rarely, usually at family functions such as weddings and funerals.

All the more extraordinary, then, that it was Royston who inherited the big house on the hill above the village many miles from his Chelsea base. He was delighted, of course — the idea of having his own country seat had always appealed to him. But what on earth was dear Hilary up to, he wondered, leaving the place to him? The answer came during the reading of the Will, for the inheritance came with a proviso — that the house would only be his as long as he carried on the tradition of physical discipline which Mrs Hanbury-Boyce had established in the village. ‘You know well, Royston, from when we were young,’ the solicitor had intoned on reading out that part of the Will, ‘how thoroughly you taught me the methods of correction I wish you to continue in my name…’

And Royston remembered that long-ago time when Hilary was fifteen years old, slender and pretty, and he was a dashing seventeen. They’d found themselves alone together in her parents’ house. Wantonly he’d led the impressionable girl to raid the cocktail cabinet and get up to all sorts of pranks, which led to hot kisses and fumbled intimacies which had so shaken Hilary that she called a halt with that imperiousness which, even then, was so much a part of her character. At this, the thwarted Royston had held the young Hilary down across his knees and spanked her bottom with such vigour that she howled and squirmed. After this, however, she had engineered occasions for him to do the same again, experimenting with a variety of implements and progressing to punishment on her bare buttocks. Hilary hadn’t enjoyed the pain, but the sheer wickedness of what they did was immensely exciting to her, and had lighted a torch that never went out till the day she died. Royston had been her first, and she never forgot it.

Now here he was in his new home, savouring the anticipation of his first encounter as he surveyed the range of punishment implements Hilary had bequeathed to him. A senior schoolgirl called Leanna Grayson had been reported by her troubled mother for disgraceful behaviour. The sensation he felt on re-reading the Will’s proviso was as if a bottle of the rarest vintage had infiltrated his bloodstream. For most of his life Royston had suppressed the intense pleasure he had once taken in administering corporal punishment. Now, thanks to his dear cousin, he had full licence to unleash his most cherished fantasies on what he hoped would be an unending succession of nubile lovelies with behaviour problems in need of curbing.

Outside on the step, his visitor froze. Leanna Grayson’s mother had insisted that her daughter carry this ordeal through, and the girl’s natural rebelliousness didn’t extend to being deprived of pocket money, outings and treats. Last week she’d gone binge-drinking with friends, staggered back after midnight totally drunk, roused the entire village with wild singing, smashed several windows by hurling bricks and released a herd of cows from Farmer Burdeck’s field.

Leanna had heard from other girls what was likely to happen to her in this house, even though Mrs Hanbury-Boyce was dead. What would this new person be like? He might be even worse! On the other hand, he might be a pushover. Leanna summoned courage to ring the bell. The door swung open. Moments later, with trembling knees, she was in the elegant drawing room, face to face with the man to whom she had reported for punishment.

‘So…’ This was a big moment for Royston and he wanted to savour it to the full. He was rather enjoying the girl’s tension, her troubled look. He knew that she was hoping he’d be lenient. The idea made him smile. ‘Grayson, isn’t it?’

‘Er… Leanna.’

‘Your mother wrote to me about you, Grayson,’ he went in, ignoring her sly attempt to make things more friendly. ‘Shameful behaviour on your part. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I read about it. Did you really do those disgraceful things?’

There was a silence. Then, quietly, ‘Yes.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That’s better. And I’ve no doubt you’ve done other equally wicked things that we don’t even know about. Is that true?’

Leanna still wasn’t sure how to take this man. She experimented with a shrug. ‘Maybe I have, maybe not.’

Royston eyed the girl keenly. She looked extraordinarily pretty, defiant, pertly feminine. The shapely body inside her school uniform was trim and firm. He was going to enjoy this immensely. ‘Your mother said you had something to give me.’

Leanna faltered, then produced a ruler. On it was printed Teach Me A Lesson. Deeply uncomfortable, she handed it to him.

‘Thank you,’ said Royston, taking the ruler. This was almost better than he could have dreamed. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘you clearly know why you’ve come here, my girl, so let’s get on with it, shall we?’

‘Wh-what are you going to do?’

‘Punish you, of course. Anything my cousin might have done, plus perhaps a little more. Spank you. Chastise you. Cane you. Strap you.’

At each word Leanna flinched back. ‘You can’t!’ she gasped.

‘I most certainly can. Do you imagine Mrs Hanbury-Boyce would have let you off with any less? She left me several implements of chastisement, as you can see.’ He brandished the ruler. ‘Please thank your mother, I can now add this to them. Hold out your hand.’

The girl was taken aback. This was all happening so quickly. ‘Can’t we have a chat first?’ she said. Maybe she could talk him out of it. A bright girl, Leanna was head of the school debating society.

‘My dear young woman,’ sighed Royston urbanely, ‘I really think it would be best if I let my dear departed cousin’s implements do the talking. But, to begin with, let’s do what this ruler asks and teach you a lesson.’ His voice hardened. ‘Hold out your hand, palm up.’

Leanna found it impossible to do anything but comply. With a satisfied smile her punisher raised the wooden ruler and brought it down with a hard slap on her upraised palm. The girl yowled as her hand burned. She was astonished at how much it hurt. Three more times the ruler travelled at speed to her waiting hand, landing each time with a fearsome stinging smack.

At last he stepped back. Leanna nursed the hurt. Although the pain was acute, she could bear it: ‘And I promise never to do it again… sir,’ she added diplomatically. If she played him carefully, this could end the matter.

‘Oh, we’re nowhere near finished yet,’ Royston assured her with what almost seemed an affable smile. ‘That was just a little taster, my dear. I’ve every intention of getting to the bottom of things, if you take my meaning. Take off your school blazer.’

‘The bottom of things?’

‘Stop trying to look so baffled and innocent, Grayson. Take it off — now.’ The girl did so. She watched him in consternation as he settled on the couch, then patted his thighs. ‘Get across here.’

‘What?’

Royston sighed. ‘Do stop playing Little Miss Innocent. At once, please.’

Leanna sighed. It was becoming clear that this man had an agenda he intended to follow. Apprehensively she lowered herself, face-forward, across his legs, and jerked a little as she felt his hand settle on her bottom. For her, the contact was repugnant, but for Royston it was sheer delight. Indeed, he could hardly take the smile off his face — but why should he? This experience was to be savoured, like a culinary treat of the finest kind, and there seemed no point in suppressing his pleasure.

Smoothing down the gymslip, he delighted in the feel of the springy mounds of her buttocks under his roaming palm. Then he brought the back of Hilary’s hairbrush down with a loud smack on the enticing target. Leanna jerked across his lap, though it hurt scarcely at all. After a few more of these she thought she’d better start to moan, as if in pain. But Royston wasn’t fooled.

‘Not getting through to you, am I?’ The girl moaned in earnest as he pulled the gymslip clear of her bottom, and Royston gazed in delight at a nubile set of buttocks, well-toned and curvaceous, thinly veiled by a pair of soft white panties. He at once set to with the hairbrush, gradually stepping up the speed and weight of delivery until her buttocks were bouncing and blushing under the steady smack smack, smack.

‘Please, sir; please no more,’ she grunted as the impacts built to a searing in her rear. But Royston had no intention of stopping. This was his moment. He gripped her panties and teased the garment down her thighs, baring her bottom. The view was sheer enchantment. Rapture didn’t come much better than this.

The next smack of the hairbrush flattened both cheeks and caused the girl to yowl as fire blazed across her bottom. Smack. Smack. Smack. At each well-moderated stroke the skin reddened more as if blushing from the embarrassment of this rude and painful exposure. His thighs felt warm to the girl under her stomach as her hips shook under the concussive onslaught. Hilary’s hairbrush, Royston felt sure, had never been put to better use than this. Those splendid young cheeks were taking it well. If he felt any guilt at deriving so much pleasure in punishing a pretty schoolgirl, he hid it well. She’d probably call him a pervert to her friends, especially as he paused now and then to fondle and squeeze. But Royston didn’t care.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Raptly Royston watched the brush speed to its luscious target as, time and again, it smacked and blazed, flattening the fleshy mounds and setting up a wobbling in them. Leanna pleaded, squealed, wriggled around on his lap — all to no avail, for her punisher was enjoying himself far too much to be lenient.

‘Stand up.’ For several moments Leanna could do nothing but lie inertly across him, bottom-cheeks sizzling. Royston helped her to her feet and raised the gymslip clear again. ‘We’re going to try one of my cousin’s other implements now,’ he announced after a close study of the girl’s scalded nether regions.

Royston lay down the hairbrush and picked up a twin-tailed black leather strap. He slapped it experimentally on his palm. It stung, and Leanna flinched as if it had struck her. ‘This was one of Mrs Hanbury-Boyce’s favourites,’ he said conversationally. ‘I want you to stay standing upright for this, Grayson, so I can observe how that pert and naughty derriere of yours behaves under its kiss.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, sir,’ she managed wretchedly.

‘I bet you do. But please remember that were it not for your disgraceful behaviour it would not be necessary for me to chasten you in this manner. You will stay perfectly still.’

Royston pulled back his arm and brought the tails flailing in.

Whappp! Leanna yelled as her buttocks flamed. Whapp. Whapp. Whapp. Again and again they erupted in searing pain. To Royston this was poetry in motion as he continued to swing the strap in with loud concussive thwacks, bringing forth anguished squeals from the recipient.

Whapp. Whapp. Whapp. Whapp. Whapp. His requirement that she should not move was soon forgotten, for the girl began to trample with her feet, gasp and cry out as her body trembled at each burning impact across the marvellous softness of her behind.

At last Royston stopped, panting from his pleasurable exertions. It seemed that the smile had scarcely left his face, so exquisitely was he enjoying this experience. Royston could appreciate how Hilary must have got a real kick out of attending to her errant village maidens. He realised now that her punitive activities had not always been carried out entirely in righteous zeal; that at times it had been sheer hedonistic pleasure of a kind he was feeling.

The girl was staring at him. Her bottom was very red, and stinging fiercely. She hastily pulled up her panties. He had picked up a crook-handled cane, and was flexing it in front of her.

‘And now, young lady, the cane,’ Royston intoned in a deep, severe voice. For the moment his smiles and smirks had gone. Hilary had left a number of canes, and this one had been marked as her ace. In memory of his cousin, he knew he must do it justice.

‘Take off your gymslip.’

‘Must I?’ Her voice was a whimper.

‘Do as I say!’ Leanna did so, unhappily. ‘Bend over,’ he commanded. ‘I want to see those knickers nice and tight.’

Once more the girl did as required, leaning over at the waist, legs straight. Royston took up a stance beside and a little behind her, tapped the provokingly out-thrust rear to get his range, then let fly with a whop and a snick.

The streak of concentrated pain was such that Leanna expelled a loud grunt. Twice more the cane struck in, travelling from above his shoulder and accelerating as it sped to her tormented rumps. Several more times he repeated the process, till the burning that streaked across her well-beaten bottom prickled weirdly with heat and icy cold.

‘Knickers down.’

Leanna was beyond protest. When he stooped to pull her panties to her knees, the girl was somehow aware of being the focus of a solemn ritual reaching back many generations in this musty old house.

Whop—crrrack!! The hurtling rattan struck into her tender orbs, printing pain-filled tracks. Her squeals of protest rang around the old walls and echoed down the corridors beyond the closed door. With leisured, accurate strokes Royston settled into his role, punishing in time-honoured fashion the bottom bent submissively before him.

Whop-crrrack!! Whop-crrrack!! Whop-crrrack!! The familiar sounds sang through the haunted air, staccato, hard and implacable, punctuated by yelps, shocked gasps and pleas unheeded till the task was done and honour salved. Hilary, he felt, would have been pleased with him. As Royston swung the cane in for the final stroke, he fancied that he briefly saw her standing against the light from the window, smiling approval. Then the illusion was gone and the cane struck hard across Leanna Grayson’s seething buttocks for the sixth time.

In the silence after the punishment, as Royston set down the cane, their panting breath was all that could be heard as Leanna straightened up, squeezing each bottom-cheek to alleviate the pain, as he leaned close and admired his handiwork with immense satisfaction.

‘I trust you’ve learned your lesson, Grayson,’ Royston said heavily. ‘But before you go, I want you take off the rest of your clothes.’

The girl could hardly speak through the pain and humiliation. ‘Wh-why?’ she managed at last.

‘Because I say so.’

And the girl did. Entirely naked, knickers still around knees, Leanna Grayson gathered up her clothes and made for the door, shrinking in fresh embarrassment under Royston’s lubriciously appreciative gaze as he stood sipping the glass of his favourite vintage, which tasted almost as intoxicating to him as the experience he has just delighted in.

It had been a day to remember. For both of them. All was once again well in the house of Hanbury-Boyce.