It was the following day when Greta Foulds brought her prospective patrons to visit St Saviour’s. There was much resentment and jealously amongst the group as she introduced them to each other, and yet it couldn’t be helped.
These young men and women had once been in her charge and had now grown up and spread their wings, but in every case sort out their strict governess for her guidance and ruthless sexual domination.
Of the ten she had invited, Greta hoped that eight would pay the fee; enough to cover her own fee as well as their own. However, she had a little put aside, so if only seven elected to join, then she would still be able to become a fully-fledged governor.
It was nearly eleven that morning when Alice escorted Greta Foulds and her group up the backstairs to one of St Saviour’s larger dormitories. The new arrivals had been kept separate from the rest of the children and had been allowed to sleep late after their ordeal the night before.
Greta’s group were quietly ushered into the large room, where they were able to watch the matron and her staff as they stirred the children. The children had been made to sleep two to a bed and were completely naked, one of the rules at St Saviour’s.
Removing the blankets from all the beds before commencing, the staff then set about masturbating the children. As they had their genitals roughly manipulated they were encouraged to watch each other and be as vocal as they liked, as they were swiftly brought to orgasm.
“Oh yes! That’s so wicked!” Dorothy Peters gasped; the heiresses face aglow as she watched the children being slowly and methodically masturbated and then sent into the ornately tiled room adjacent to their dormitory, propelled along by a swift smack on their little bottoms.
“That’s nothing. Come and watch this!” Jeremy Worthington urged, as he peered through the observation glass into the hygiene room, where the children were being given their morning enemas and cleansing.
The others rushed forward to peer into the room, which by now was starting to fill with steam. Many of them stared open mouthed in amazement, as staff dressed in long rubber aprons escorted the children to a long polished metal bar that ran the length of the room.
Once positioned over the bar, their ankles were fastened to straps in the floor forcing their legs wide apart over the drains, then their wrists were attached to similar straps on the floor in front of them.
The group collectively held their breath, as greased porcelain enema nozzles were forced into the children’s tender anuses and a powerful jet of hot caster oil forced deep into their colons.
Startled cries drifted through the glass as child after child was thoroughly irrigated and had their anuses cleaned out for later use. With the oil held in by the special mushroom bungs, they then had their genitals washed and roughly abused which brought further cries from the children, much to the amusement of the audience.
Moving from child to child, the swelling in their bellies was roughly tested and the mushroom bungs only realised after ten minutes, forcing them to desperately hold their tortured bottoms closed and run to the ablutions room, passing a very appreciative audience. “I’ll pay, just to watch and participate in that ritual,” Donald O’Conner told Greta, his eyes alight and his trousers showing his obvious pleasure.
“A whipping first would help loosen their colon’s,” whispered Miss Renfrew, a woman who had followed in Greta’s footsteps to become a governess. Over the last few years she had become an authority on colonic irrigation, its effects and its benefits.
Pauline Renfrew itched to use the special dildo shaped nozzles that she had designed especially for children, but had not as yet had the opportunity to try them.
“Perhaps soon she would!” she thought to herself.
“I’d be happy to let you have a closer look at our equipment,” Alice told the young woman, leading them out so they could visit the schoolrooms, infirmary, viewing galleries, private rooms and what was soon to be the infamous dungeons.
While the main schoolrooms were on the ground floor, smaller and more intimate rooms had been decorated as classrooms on the first floor.
Here, in these rooms which would only hold at the most six children, visitors could assume the role of master or mistress and teach the children real lessons in humiliation and pain.
Next to the teacher’s dais, a smaller version of the large whipping horse used for the punishment parades on Friday nights stood bolted to the floor.
Here, a boy or girl could be securely held for a thrashing with their bottoms widely parted and their genitals on full view, only a few feet from the eyes of the other children. Members of the group licked their lips in anticipation, as Alice opened a large cupboard that housed an arsenal of corporal punishment instruments that would be available for them to use should they become patrons.
Frances Bellings face fairly glowed as she picked up one of the special martinet whips to feel its weight and smell the handle. The handle was finished in real leather and shaped like a dildo with a smoothness that told of its repeated use.
She recalled the times when her own bottom was whipped by Miss Foulds with a martinet just like this one, then experiencing the real thrill of watching her little sister being buggered with the handle as a special punishment.
It was at this time that Miss Foulds introduced them to the pleasures of using masturbation, to help take the pain away.
“You’ll join, won’t you?” Greta asked hopefully.
“Oh yes!” Frances nodded. “We’ll have such fun!” she cried, her face glowing even more with her excitement.
They then moved on, down to the ground floor schoolrooms and then down even further into the cellars where the dungeons were still being built. The dungeons rang out to the sounds of men hammering metal rings into the walls, ceiling and floors, while others cut chains to various lengths and fixed wrist, neck and ankle restraints to them. In the corridors were half unpacked crates that held the equipment that was to go in there, black ironwork and dark oak furniture.
Judith Richards stopped to examine the leather restraints. “I could spend days down here,” she confessed. Greta Foulds had given her the privilege of assisting her in the education of her younger brother and cousins.
The memory of holding them down, sitting on their faces and then watching while Miss Foulds tortured their little bottoms and genitals all under the guise of corporal punishment, still brought her to peaks of excitement few women and even fewer men, could match.
Greta smiled and reached for her, stroking her wrists while looking deep into the younger woman’s eyes. “Together again, with a whole host of children to educate,” she murmured excitedly.
“Yes!” Judith agreed.
David was worried. All but one of his prospective patrons had agreed to join and Alice had spoken to him on the matter, suggesting another visit.
There was a light drizzle as they met the man at the main entrance, shaking his hand and welcoming him again to St Saviour’s.