Return to 1873: Part 3

Return to 1873: Part 3

by ‘D’

My Diary for December 1873

Wednesday, 29th December. Morning

I was woken this more feeling stiff and sore and with my hand still throbbing, but not as badly as yesterday. Again I felt awfully tired, as though I had not slept enough which makes me wonder of time up here is different to normal time elsewhere. But I had little opportunity to think about that problem because, right from the start, my Master was hustling me along, ruling me with a metaphorical rod of iron, and once more making me miss my breakfast because he thought I had not cleaned my room properly; he found a trace of dust on the bed rail, and made me clean and scrub the whole room again.

I have to admit that, even as tightly laced into my corsets as I am now, I am feeling hungry and long for something other than bread and cheese washed down with water, that diet broken only by a disgusting tasting cup of black tea. But, surprisingly, I seem to be coping alright; my Master believes in making sure I get enough exercise up here. My afternoon ‘walks’ certainly make me expend more energy than any aerobic work out, as does the endless floor scrubbing that he makes me do.

Really I should be even more tired than I am as I seem to be ‘bubbling’ all the time with fear and expectation, as I am never sure what is going to happen next to me, being it good or bad. Again this morning, after he’d laced me horribly tightly into my corsets, my Master locked my crutch strap in place and remarked that I was disgusting, juicing all the time. If he was genuinely cruel, he told me, he would whip my pussy till it had REAL cause to weep. Of course that threat just served to make me even hotter so that, when I was sat down at my desk to learn ANOTHER page of Hebrew, I was shaking with desire and yearning, which was barely ideal for learning just a hard section of incomprehensible text.

Today – so that I do not ‘feel that I am being spoiled’ – I have my arms twisted up behind my back, my wrist up at shoulder blade level. He used an old harness I have not seen for some time to do this. I am not sure why he did this to me, but he informed me that he wanted to know how comfortable it would be after a few hours with my arms immobilised in that way. I could tell him now that it is MOST uncomfortable, even when I am just sitting at my desk, trying to learn from the book that is propped up in front of me. Just to make things worse, he also told me that, except when I am getting dressed or undressed, or am cleaning and scrubbing, I will have my arms immobilised in some way or other. He says I am becoming too self-sufficient so that, making me rely totally on someone else for every single necessity of life, will nicely humble me.

The idea of not being able to feed myself or do anything else is something I find incredibly exciting. When I was last up here for a long period, he made me wear my cape buttoned up all the time when I was not working, and instigated a rule that I was not allowed to lift its hem without his permission. The feeling of helplessness then was overwhelming and exciting. This time I think he means to make it even more comprehensive and to make me rely on him for all sorts of things. Even so, it is little things that can be unpleasant, like having an itch on my nose, or wanting to scratch even, that are strangely unpleasant and frustrating.

On the topic of wanting to scratch, I have only been allowed to wash in icy cold water since coming up here a lifetime ago (or so it seems). I long for a hot bath and to be able to wash my hair. It is confined under two tight coifs for 16 hours day and, although I comb it out and then plait it at night, it feels itchy and horrid. Last time I was up here, I was allowed to wash it regularly, but I can see my master won’t allow me that sort of luxury this time. In fact he is being incredibly strict with me. I get barked at if I even breath loudly, and I have spent most of the time gagged this morning because he says I am a noisy slut. In fact after my time learning the Hebrew (again an nearly impossible task, so I dread being tested on it later), he sat me down on the bench, leaving me there gagged and blindfolded and hooded as well. What I have not explained about that bench (which is really the top of a small chest in which are kept various school room items) is that it is narrow across the top and has a small ‘back’ that prevents me from sitting on it in comfort. Being so narrow, I have to perch on it with just the back part of my posterior supported, my legs holding me upright and still. Because of this it is a strain sitting there and I hate being left there for long, especially as, unable to see anything nor able to hear much, I do not know if I am being watched. What I DO know is that, if I move even a fraction of an inch to ease my posture, I might be seen by my Master. And that would lead inevitably to punishment. So I sit uncomfortably perched on the chest, tense and excited for what seems like an eternity, not knowing if he is looking at me. All the while my stomach is turning over with fear, because the strain of keeping still grows every second, just as the heat under my airless hood grows all the time.

Time stands still and, by the time I heard him ordering me to stand, I was juicing with fear and anticipation of what would inevitably happen if I moved just a fraction of an inch. I could barely get up; I was stiff and sore but also shaking with longing for relief.

At least I no longer am hooded and blindfolded, and I have my cape undone to the waist and have my hands freed of the paralysing harness so I can write this entry. Once more I am wearing those awful white gloves over my normal ones, and my heart beat accelerates with fear every time I dip my pen into the ink well. I think I have manages to make this entry without dropping ink onto the gloves, but I thought that last time……


Wednesday 29th December. Evening.

Again, this may be a short entry. For the time since I last wrote in my diary has been only too eventful, leading me towards a punishment session that is due to take place after I had written this entry.

It started with my Master finding a spot of ink on my left gloves AGAIN! And also saying that my diary entry has been badly written. I howled inwardly to hear this awful judgement, as my poor hand is still sore from the last time it was whipped. I would beg him to beat me elsewhere rather than on my hand but, knowing him and the way he always says that a hand whipping is the ONLY suitable punishment for shoddy writing, I know that nothing I might say would change his mind.

Of course I said nothing; I am too well trained to utter a word in my defence if I have been told that I may not make a sound without his express permission. So I stood still as he removed my cape and harnessed my arms cruelly tightly up my back. He then led me to the other room, extracted the chamber pot from under the bed and told me to use it. Of course – as he knew full well – this was impossible. So he teased me, making me speak so as to beg to have my clothing adjusted and my crutch strap unlocked. It was when he was unlocking the cruelly tight strap that he discovered yet again that I had been juicing during the morning. He rubbed his fingers in the evidence of my lust and made me lick his finger clean, leaving my mouth tasting of my own desire.

Even then my humiliation was not over. For I had to beg him to hold my skirts and petticoats out of the way so I could squat down over the pot. Even afterwards, I had to ask him to clean me, a task he said he was unwilling to perform for a girl so badly behaved as myself. In the end he relented but not before I had begged him most earnestly to have pity on me.

Even after he had done that and had readjusted my clothes, I was humbled even more, as it was my lunch-time and, as he pointed out, if I did not eat it, I would be punished for wasting food. With my arms fastened behind me, of course there was no way that I could do that, and again I was forced to beg him to help me. As he fed me, I was made to realise how I was complete at his mercy, relying on him for everything, and unable to do anything to help myself.

When he had pushed the final crumbs of bread into my mouth and given my a last drink of bitter tea, I was placed back on that awful bench for what seemed an eternity until it was time for my afternoon exercise. By now, this time is assuming all the aspects of punishment and I dread it. With good cause as I lost concentration walking up the stairs after I had been walking for what seemed like forever. I did not slide my foot forward so as to push the skirts out of the way before stepping up. Just a second of carelessness, and I trod on the hem of my cloak and the next thing I knew was being dragged forward and falling down to lie helpless of the stairs, totally unable to get up again, so tangled was I in my layers of skirts and cloak; with my hands immobilised behind me I was more helpless than normal and I had to lit there until my Master came to my rescue. He knows perfectly well that I can walk up and down those stairs without tripping. So he informed me that I would have to ‘Pay an appropriate price’ for my carelessness.

Even apart from that incident, my exercise period seemed endless and more exhausting than ever. I am very fit normally, but the weight of my clothes and the steepness of the stairs makes this daily ritual one that I truly dread. My legs are burning before long and my back aches horribly. But, to add to all that, being masked and gagged during my exercise periods means that I am alway short of breath, my lungs burning as I climb up and down the stairs, longing for a moment’s respite, but knowing that to pause even for a few second will mean that I am punished for my weakness. So I have to battle on, sweat dribbling into my eyes, until at long long last, I am told my purgatory is over.

So I am now here at my desk, still feeling exhausted and wondering what that price I will pay for tripping during my exercise period, and how my Master will punish me for my earlier faults. My stomach has turned to water and I am shaking with delicious fear. Because I know he will punish me well for such unforgivable faults.

End of Entry 3Entry 4



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