Lydia's Just Desserts

Lydia woke to a rustle of skirts. The dreadful man had finally worn his time out and Lidum had none too gently had him escorted out. One of the men with leering eyes and groping hands had untied her and let her wash. She had flinched at the touch of the tepid water on her raw, abused skin, and was horrified by the amount of blood that came from between her legs. She had been allowed to doze on a mat in a small, musty room.
Mrs. Younge snapped her fingers and Lydia stared at her in terror.
"Well, get up you stupid girl," Mrs. Younge snapped.
Lydia, hesitating, arose, and the woman slapped her face hard.
"In this house you will do as you're told. Immediately, or be punished."
Lydia cowered before her, trying to hide her naked breasts and sex from the woman's piercing leer. Mrs. Younge sneered at her efforts, drawing a wicked-looking switch from her skirts, she dealt Lydia several hard blows to the arm covering her breasts, then the hand that covered her bruised and sore sex. Lydia gasped and drew in to protect her whipped flesh from the stern woman's abuse.
"That won't do," Mrs. Younge said. "In this house your flesh will be seen when you are naked, and not seen when we choose to clothe you. Now you will stand straight and let me see you. I need to know what shape you are in before scheduling your next appointment."
Her fingers probed at the deep welts that crossed her breasts, then pried her nether lips open and she peered between them. Lydia sobbed in humiliation as she was examined.
After turning Lydia to probe her backside, Mrs. Younge gave her another slap and turned to go, ordering her to follow. Clutching herself helplessly, Lydia followed.

Mrs. Younge gave Lydia a push and laughed as she stumbled into another room, the skirts of her hastily donned dress swishing about her legs, the loose fabric making her wince every time it touched the sore flesh of her buttocks.
"Don't fret, your customers will be here soon," the cruel woman called as she locked the door behind her.
Lydia looked about her to see what seemed like a drawing room. If she could forget the throbbing of her violated body, she could almost pretend that she was still on her grand adventure with Wickham. She closed her eyes, fighting back tears, when she heard the door open.
Two well-dressed young men entered. If they had been wearing red, they would have been the image of many a such that Lydia had whiled a ball away with at Meryton and in Brighton. They peered at Lydia then conferred quietly between themselves, while she stood in an agony of anticipation. After many a whispered word, one broke off and came toward her. She fearfully stepped back until her back was pressed against a table.
The man stared at her for a moment, then asked, "Are you Lydia Bennett?"
Lydia choked for a moment, then gasped, "Yes, I am she. I'm the daughter of Mr. Bennett of Longbourn, and I shouldn't be here-"
The man pushed closer and pressed his finger against her lips, hissing her to silence.
"Speak not so loud or the proprietors of this house will wonder at the business we have with you, that we should require you to speak. It is suspicious enough that you do not cry out, and for certain someone is listening."
He looked to the other man who was circling the room, searching for what Lydia knew not. They conferred for a moment. Lydia, listening anxiously, heard fierce murmuring between the men. One came back over to Lydia and said quietly, "We cannot be sure if we are observed or not, so we must leave. Wait for a message."
Catching her eyes, the man made a show of looking her over, then walked to the door and knocked. Mrs. Younge answered immediately.
"I'm afraid she won't do for what my friend and I had in mind," he said, handing over several bills. "Please, for your time."
Mrs. Younge tucked the money away and escorted the two men away, inquiring about what particulars they would require. The door shut and Lydia sighed with hope and relief. Perhaps her father would rescue her after all, she thought, taking a seat on one of the couches.

A few moments later Mrs. Younge burst into the room.
"What did you refuse to do?" she demanded. "Do you think that because you're a gentleman's daughter you're too good to take two at once, was that it, you little hussy?" she shouted, grabbing Lydia's hair and forcing her to the ground.
Lydia stammered and Mrs. Younge dragged her to the table.
"If this house is not going to make good on its investment in you, then I'm afraid we'll have to come to some other arrangement," she said, forcing Lydia to kneel at the table.
"Hmmm... but you are a gentleman's daughter. Perhaps your family would be interested in negotiating for you? What do you think, my little plum?"
"Yes, oh yes, certainly they would like nothing so much as to return me safe home, oh please, madam-"
"Very well," the cruel woman said, smiling down at her prey. "But I think that a subtle approach would be best. Instead of writing your father directly, a sister, perhaps? You do have sisters, do you not?"
"Oh yes," Lydia babbled. "I have four sisters. If you would let me write to Kitty-"
"Since you ask so nicely," Mrs. Younge said smoothly, drawing out paper and pen. "Let me help you write to dear Kitty and see if she cannot do something to help her poor sister."