Hellfire

The Book of Forfeits sat on the table.

The first forfeit was very simple. Fiona simply had to formally concede to Lady Evelyn, in front of witnesses, that she had lost the bet.

“Evelyn,” she said, feeling her heart pound, trying to control her voice and not think about what was coming next. “I lost. You won.”

“True,” said Lady Evelyn, smiling sweetly, as the head maid moved the tip of her forfeit-pointer down the page. “Please, continue.”

The second forfeit was also rather simple. “Evelyn,” said Fiona, gritting her teeth, knowing this was just the first of the many, many, many humiliations that awaited her. “I lost. You won. You are the better woman.”

“So I am,” said Lady Evelyn, inclining her head in gracious acceptance. “Do go on.”

The pointer moved to the third forfeit, out of the five thousand or so that were in the book. Under the conditions of Hellfire, the book’s final forfeit, Fiona would have to perform every single one of them. In an order of Evelyn’s choosing.

“Evelyn,” she said, looking straight at the maddening smug smile of her hated enemy, seeing the amused condescension gleam in the villainous aristocrat’s dark eyes. “I lost. You won. I’m a silly girl and you’re my superior in every way.”

Evelyn’s smile grew wider and more evil. “How nice to hear you finally admit it,” she said, as Fiona stood nude on the carpet in front of everyone and fumed. The other Reform Club ladies were beginning to giggle, and of course the photographer was having the time of his life. “Now, forfeit twenty, if you would be so kind.”

“Yes, Evelyn.”

“You’ll be pleased to know,” said Evelyn, as Fiona settled herself across the dark-haired woman’s knee, peachy bottom raised into the air, “that all your little friends from the Atalanta ought to be in police custody by now. I’m having them delivered to a little establishment I own in Yorkshire. An asylum for the correction of wayward women, with straitjackets and cold showers and all that kind of thing. Gosh, it’s nice being incredibly rich and powerful.”

“No! Let them go! It’s me you want!”

“Ah, but how you’ll suffer, knowing they’re being punished and it’s all your fault! I’m going to have ever so much fun with you, Fiona. I really can’t express how much I despise you. How satisfying it’s going to be to crush out every last scrap of your pride.”

“Why? Why do you hate me so much?”

“Do you know, I’m really not sure? I’m just evil, I suppose. Now, ask me politely for your spanking.”

“Please spank my naughty bottom, Evelyn. I lost the bet, so I deserve to be punished.”

“So you do,” said Evelyn, and brought the flat of her hand down firmly on Fiona’s quivering upturned buttocks. Fiona kicked and howled, burning at both ends as the laughing Reform Club ladies watched Evelyn spank her silly. The hand came down again and again, turning Fiona’s pale-pink bottom a lovely shade of red as the squirming heroine was reduced to a blushing plaything for her evil enemy’s sadistic pleasure. Innumerable slaps later, she was finally released.

“Please, no more,” whimpered Fiona, on her hands and knees on the carpet, rubbing her red-hot stinging backside. “I can’t take it, Lady Evelyn.”

“Ha ha! More! Forfeit twenty-one!”

“No! Not forfeit twenty-one!”

But forfeit twenty-one it was. And so Fiona had to crawl stark naked all the way through the Reform Club, and out the front door, into Pall Mall. Lady Evelyn sat on the building’s marble steps, and gestured for Fiona to once more bend over her knee.

And Fiona, to her inexpressibly deep and profound humiliation, was spanked naked by her worst enemy on the steps of the Reform Club, before dozens of bowler-hatted businessmen, with nothing better to do than ogle her trembling buttocks and gossip about how silly she looked. She was then doused with a large quality of extremely cold custard from the Reform Club kitchens, and made to walk naked down Pall Mall with her hands on her head, singing Roses Of England as loudly as she could, in accordance with forfeit twenty-two. After a swim in the lake in St. James’ Park to clean her off, she was obliged to continue in the nude all the way to the Palace of Westminster, where she had to give a speech before Parliament about how silly she was and how much better Evelyn was than her in every way, in accordance with forfeit forty-nine.

And, finally, she was tethered to a hansom cab in the place of the horse, and compelled to drag the gloating Lady Evelyn across Westminster Bridge. Still with no clothes on, of course. Fiona, stark naked, tits bouncing, bottom wiggling, bush peeping between her thighs, blushing more hotly than she would have ever dreamed possible, had to haul Evelyn all the way across southern London to Tower Bridge, yelping and trotting faster as the sneering elitist’s riding crop made contact with her exposed buttocks. She was seen, of course, by innumerable Cockneys, all of whom thought her humiliation was hilarious, and made sure she knew it.

“My lord, Fiona,” laughed Evelyn, finally stepping down from the hansom cab on the other side of Tower Bridge. “Look at your face! Just think, one second later and it’d be you doing this to me. Don’t you regret every little wasted moment, every detour and pause to take in the scenery? Isn’t it funny how this is all your own fault for being so silly and slow? Forfeit four, please.”

“Yes, Lady Evelyn,” said Fiona, kneeling down and obediently kissing Evelyn’s patent-leather boots. “I lost and you won, because you’re so smart and I’m so silly. I’m completely humiliated. Please, do whatever you want to me.”

“Do you know, I believe I shall.”

And, a few minutes later, Fiona Fairweather was bent over the battlements of the Tower of London, sweat-slick, tits bouncing, shouting “Everyone, look at me! I’m a loser!”, attracting considerable attention from the streets below. While Lady Evelyn Crooke, dark eyes gleaming, dark hair flying free, a sadistic smile on her gorgeous face, fucked her from behind with a big black rubber strap-on, pulling her golden hair and making sure everyone down below got a good look at her moaning, panting expression of total defeat.

The funny thing was, that forfeit wasn’t even in the book.