Page 3 of Alice And The Colonel

She bit her lip. She should walk away; she knew it wasn’t her business. Something stopped her. Kept her in there, hidden. She didn’t mean to be a voyeur, but the spanking mesmerised her.

The girl had howled at first, then when the soldier gleefully landed his blows, raining them down like thunderbolts, she blustered an apology of sorts. “All right, you gave me a penny! Enough of it.”

Alice expected the spanking to end with the confession, but the soldier continued. His harsh smacks ended and instead, he slapped away merrily with lighter blows. She could clearly see her bottom turning rosy cheeked. Generously endowed with flesh, the rump quivered with each juddering smack.

Alice’s bosom heaved up and down as she wondered what it would feel like to be spanked so hard. Painful, it had to be. Yet, when the soldier paused to squeeze a buttock or even rub it down with a brisk buff of his palm, Alice thought she heard a whimper, or maybe, a strange sigh from the maid. Following a flurry of light spanks, the barmaid undoubtedly giggled. Wide-eyed Alice could not believe what she heard. The woman snickered again as she reached behind to try to cover her bottom.

“Be off with you. You’re done,” the soldier said.

She pushed up and the soldier released her. The barmaid brushed down her skirts, and her cheeks flushed bright red. “You soldiers, all the same. Like a bit of fun, don’t you?”

“So do you.” The soldier grinned and picked up his tankard. “Same again, please,” he asked almost sweetly.

It seemed to Alice, that the barmaid had relished her spanking. Alice shook her head slightly, as if to deny the image forming in her head—the vision of her own body laid across a man’s lap. Not possible. Nobody could enjoy such humiliation. She would refuse to countenance such a preposterous situation.

The barmaid swung her hips at the soldier and collected the tankard. As she reached the doorway, she turned to him. “It was a ha’penny.” She grinned and quickly scarped indoors.

The soldiers’ laughter followed Alice as she briskly set off down the street. She arrived at her destination—the Dancing Bear Inn—a respectable lodging house compared to the previous establishment, where people enjoyed good fare with conversation. Certainly more expensive, however, nobody would be spanked on those premises.

Alice nervously opened the door to the dining area with its low timber beamed ceiling and oak panelled walls. The tables against the wall had wooden partitions separating them, allowing some privacy. She was quite aware of the risk she took in being seen by somebody who knew her. However, she didn’t think many would be about that evening given the regiment in town. They kept to their own houses, like her parents.

Alice blamed the scarlet uniforms. They lured her into making mischief. The tailored jackets with rows of buttons, white breeches tight about the legs and the weathered deerskin boots. Scabbards about the hips, some tatty others shiny, and below the chin the black cravats and stiff collars, highlighting a man’s strong neck. She could not resist the fashion of the military. It made her bosom ache, legs quake and other sensations that she could not determine or explain—causing a fizz of excitement within her belly.

The small group of officers—two lieutenants and a subaltern—huddled about a trestle table with beer tankards in hand and hats off. Before them each a platter of bread, cheese and pickles. Alice approached tentatively, suddenly feeling very foolish and uncertain of her intentions. Would they talk to her, tell her tales of campaigns and battles? She was woefully ignorant of the life of an army officer. Lacking informative gossip, she filled her imagination with the romantic notion of chivalry and Calvary charges.

Her pride wouldn’t let her turn around. She had made her decision and stubbornness would see her through.

In the end, the introductions happened far easier than she could have anticipated. The men, seeing her approach, rose and greeted her with keen smiles, finding Alice a chair. They quickly introduced themselves with small bows.

“Please, do us the honour of your name, miss,” asked the dark haired lieutenant. Alice guessed he was the eldest of the three and the senior in rank.

“I am Miss Alice Aubrey of Dodsworth House,” she said, performing a small curtsey before sitting down.

The three men, dark haired Lieutenant Cole, stocky Lieutenant Mosley and freckled face Ensign Boyce, immediately took to ingratiating themselves upon the blushing Alice.

“Enchanted to meet you, Miss Aubrey,” said Mosley, raising his tankard in a toast. “We are fortunate to be graced with such splendid company, are we not gentlemen?” The others eagerly nodded and clinked the tankard with their own.

“We don’t usually have such a pretty face around our table,” added Cole.

Alice felt the sizzling rush of blood to her cheeks. “Why, lieutenant, you are too kind.”

Cole called over a serving woman, requesting an extra tankard and before Alice could stop him, he had poured her beer from the jug on the table. Alice had never drunk tavern beer before that evening. Her stable drink at the dining table was a glass of elder wine and occasionally a glass of punch at a dance. The only time Alice had consumed beer had been at coaching inns when her father had permitted her the weaker small beer given to children on long journeys.

It never crossed her mind that the officers might deliberately ply her with strong ale. They were decent men, not like the ones at the other tavern.

“Where have you fought? In France? Spain?” She waited to hear their tales of adventure, her fingers gripping her tankard tightly.

Mosley chortled. “Miss Aubrey, we are the militia. We serve only here in England. I joined the regiment last year, these fine men, six months ago.”

“Oh,” Alice’s voice dropped. She could not hide her disappointment and peered down at her half empty tankard.

Mosley spoke quickly. “We have our excitement in other ways.”

Alice leant forward. “You do?”

Cole topped up her tankard and recounted tales of camp life. The tricks they played on each other to pass time and fight the tedium of duties. Between mouthfuls of bitter ale, Alice sniggered at the antics of men skirting their responsibilities. “What happens if you get caught?”

“Ah,” Mosley shook his head. “Not for the ears of a young lady.”

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