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. 1935.    The Scottish Borders. The farm lads have never heard of Nuremberg or Wall Street.   Trouble in the lands beyond the sea, is nae o their ken.

Of course  they had to play doctor.

The District Health Officer had been unco scary.    Rory had thought they were done for, when the lads had been led out of school, but they had just waited outside in the cold, while the doctor and the horrible nurse had done something unspeakable to the lassies.   Rory had never been to a doctor - none of the farm lads had - so they had no ken o' what was happening.  When the lads came back in, the lassies looked at the floor, ashamed.

Rory whispered to Katherine Cairns: "Wha' they do?"  

"You'll see," was all she would say.  

And then it had been the lads' turn.   The lasses were led out, and then each lad had to drop his breeches for a "spexion."    And then a jab with a needle in the doup.

And so of course Wee Jock wanted to play at patient and doctor.   And of course he wanted Rory to be the doctor.

"I want a turn too, Jock."

"But ye will be doctor first?"

"Aye, I will.   Patient Jock Campbell  -  up your kilt for a 'spexion!"

Wee Jock's daddie, big Jock Campbell, was the ghillie at the Auld Manse, and so wee Jock had a kilt, for when the gentry were in.  He didna wear it to schuil ever day -  it was for go to Kirk on the special occasion; marryings and burryings and such.  But when Mrs. Campbell had heard about the visit from the Dee Aitch Oh, she had thought it was for sure an important occasion, and so had made Jock ta wear his kilt.

"Pull yer knickers doun, Wee Jock!"   

Jock had bottle-green girls' knickers under his kilt, that he dinna like for folk ta see; he said: "Ochen, ye'r daft, Rory -  ta do it in road!  We mun go ta thon holly where it's private."

Moss, Rory's collie, pricked her ears at the word "holly."   The holly tree, where Jock wanted ta go for his 'spexion, stood where the path to the croft at Houn Fell, where Rory lived with his mother, took off from the road to the Auld Manse, where Jock's daddie was ghillie.    So it was at the holly that the two friends met every morning, and kissed goodbye at night.   Ivy hanging from the branches made a little secret space.    Rory gave a click with his tongue, and Moss took off at a run, and the two lads followed after.   Along the road, Rory cut a wee hawthorn branch with the knife he kept in his pocket.

When they got to the holly, it was: "Up your kilt and down wi' your knickers, Wee Jock.   Ye mun ha'e a 'jexion!"

"Och, do I ha'e to ha'e it, Doctor?"

"Aye.  It's unco important, is your 'jexion.   You mun tak it like a Scot!"    Jock bent over, and Rory pushed a hawthorn thorn into his doup, all the way in.   When he pulled it out again, Jock looked back over his shoulder, with his teeth clenched but without having made any sound.  Rory nodded to him.   Jock had taken his 'jexion as well as any Scot could.

 Rory hoped he could be as brave:   "You be doctor now, Jock.   Gi'e me a 'jexion."

"But ye havna done the 'spexion!"

For the 'spexion, Rory made Jock ta tak off his shirt, and listened to his chest.   Then he said: "Tak your kilt off, wee Jock.   Tak your knickers doun."    When Jock was i' the scuddy, Rory made him ta bend over, and shoved a stick up his arse, the way the nurse's finger had gone up their arses in schuil.   It had hurt when the nurse had done it with her finger, and Rory had let out a little yelp, because he'd been so surprised.   Now Rory tried to make Jock yelp too, by jamming the stick in quick and hard - be Wee Jock made nae a peep.   Rory found a bigger stick.  When he shoved it in, it mun surely hurt bad, a great caber thing like it was, but Jock made nae a sound fer that stroke neither, and didna show it hurt.   Jock looked over his shoulder again, and Rory nodded again.   Wee Jock had taken another test like a fine man.   So now Rory would have to tak thorn in doup, and as well thon great fat stick up his arse, when it was his turn.   Rory wanted ta get on wi' it, if he mun do it.

But then Jock wanted a 'spexion of his wullie too, like the nurse had done.   Rory said: "Will ye nae get a stonner, Wee Jock, fro' me ta handle your wullie?  Did you nae see thon Patrick Nethery in schuil?   A stonner like a handle he had!  And nurse hadna yet laid a finger on him!    Will ye nae get a muchle stonner when I touch ye, Jock?"

"Nae, Rory, I willna."

Rory he squeezed and snapped, and flicked Jock's sheathie with his fingernail.   And Jock's wee wullie stayed soft.    But when Rory looked at Jock, to nod at him, to say he passed another test, their eyes meet, and then, all at once, Rory has Jock's stonner in his hand.    And Rory has one too, inside his breeks.

Jock said : "So, Doctor, do you think I got some'ut?"

"Aye.   As bad a case o' the woullies and wugglies as e'er I saw."

"Och Doctor!   Is there some'ut ye can do fer it?"

"You mun tak yer medicine."

Rory looked around for some'ut to use as medicine.   "Put your knickers on again, Patient Campbell," he ordered.   Then he plucked some holly leaves and shoved them down the back of Jock's knickers.

"It prickles."

"That's the medicine working.   You mun leave them in till bedtime."

"Aye, Rory.   But don't I need some'ut on my wullie?"

"The medicine for your wullie would be unco strong.   I dinna think you could thole it."

"I can thole it, Rory.  I mun tak the strongest medicine."

Rory's heart rose up in his chest, as his eyes followed Jock's gaze to the swampy spring below the holly, choked with nettle.   It was too exciting to do this to Jock, knowing his own turn was next.  Nettle on yer wullie was pain ta mak a braw man faint, fer sure!    But if Wee Jock was brave enough ta do it, Rory would ha'e to be, too - he hadna a choice.  It would be bad enou', just ta be flogged on yer wullie wi' the prickles o' holly, but it were the stinging nettle, tha' Jock wanted.   Rory fetched a stalk o' nettle - when he cut the nettle, he flogged his own hand with it, to feel the pain and think o' how much more it would hurt on his wullie.   Once he touched Jock with nettle, there could be nae going back!

"Pull your knickers doun again, Wee Jock."

Jock pulled his knickers off, and lay on the ground with his legs spread wide.    He put his hands behind his head, clasped together, to keep them from protecting his wullie of their own accord.   Jock had a fine stonner.   He was gritting his teeth and squinting his eyes in anticipation of the pain, but he had a great grin on his face.

If Rory did this to Jock, he would have to tak same hissel, when his turn came.    And he didna think he could thole it.    "I'll just taste the medicine first," Rory said, and he undid his buttons to let out his own stonner, and touched the tip with the nettle.     It hurt so much it was like one of his Ma's thrashings.   But he felt a fine wild courage - he could dree it if Jock could.    He gave his own wullie a good brushing all over.   The pain was in his wullie - but it hurt so much it felt like it was all over him, doun ta his toes and even in his insides.     It was so unco bad it like ta drive him mad, but he could thole it.   He reached to stroke Jock's stonner, very lightly.   Jock let out his breath.  Jock was nae finding the pain any easier ta thole than Rory had.   Jock began to breathe loudly, like he was about to start to sob - and tha' was just a light touch on the very tip.   And then Rory stroked his friend's wullie up and down, front and back and sides, and across the tip, the same as he had done ta his own wullie.   Jock's sinews stood out with the terrible clenching of his fists. 

But for a' Jock was straining and clenching to dree the pain o' just a light stroke, he wanted more.

"Dinna just stroke it, Rory, flog it!   Flog it on the underside."

Jock and Rory had played a game afore this - whene'er they took a dip i' the burn on a hot day.   When the twa lads were both i' skuddy, they had a game ta pinch each other a their doups, ta see who could thole the more; ta see who would cry Quits.   Jock could tak a fair hantle o' pinching, but then he would at last cry Quits.  But the pinching o' Rory's doup could ne'er end until Jock's hand cramped -- for Rory McAllister had ne'er cried Quits in all his life.

But it was the way of their game, that if Rory pinched hard enou', he could make Jock cry Quits on his first turn, and then Jock dinna get a turn ta pinch Rory at a'.   So Rory thought to hissel : if I can just make Jock ta cry Quits, by a flogging so hard he canna dree it, why then I willna ha'e ta tak a turn at a'.    But, Rory thought, what if Wee Jock doesna cry Quits, for all the flogging I gi'e him?   Then I mun tak if back again, all the hard flogging I gi'e him; hard flogging wi' the nettle on my wullie!   Rory gasped wi' just the though of the nettle swung hard on the underside o' his wullie - and he found he needed a taste o' it, before he could do it to his friend.   He held his wullie up in his left hand, so the nettle would strike it on the underside, and reached out his right hand wi' the nettle ta bring it back smart on the underside o' his own flesh.

But his right hand wouldna do it.

So Jock had won.   Jock had the courage ta ask fer a flogging o' his wullie, and Rory couldna dree ta flog his own.  

"There is nae need ta thrash yer wullie, Jock.  I shall just brush your courage-bag wi' it, and then thrash your doup.   That's t' way to deal wi' t' woullies an' wugglies."

"Aye."  Rory heard a faint rustle.   Probably a weasel after a mouse in the tall grass.

With Jock's doup on the ground, and his knees spread wide, Rory could see up the gell o' Jock's arse, e'en ta the rosy fud o' his arsehole.   Rory shoved the tip of the nettle up that crack, shoved in hard and twisted, grinding the nettle into the tender skin around Jock's hole, as the fier lad bit his lip and clenched his fingernails into his palms.   Rory's own arsehole seemed to feel the stunnerfu' pain already.    He stopped.   He had to know what this felt like.    He was hurting Jock in ways he didna know if he could dree hissel.

"It's my turn now, Jock.  You mun gi'e me the same medicine.   I want to start wi' the nettle shoved into the fud o' my arse!"

"Aye."    Jock was gasping from the pain.   But he said "Och Doctor, it is guid ta feel thon medicine working.   De ye think I ha'e enou' medicine?"

Rory needed the pain now.    He had hurt Jock so much, that when it was his turn, it would be more pain than he could thole, he knew that.   But he mun dree it.  He mun.   Knowing the pain was coming, he needed for it to start.   The gell of his arse itched for it.   He couldna last another minute, knowing it was coming, but not having it hurt.  

But just then Moss, who never barked, except at the right time when turning stubborn cattle, made a low rattling sound.   Rory looked around.   There was nothing.    But Moss dinna make mistakes.   Rory signed to the dog, and the lads followed her.  A lass broke from a hiding place behind the ivy, and ran, and Moss, who had no e'er herded a lass before, let out a bark, and looked back, confused and embarrassed, at her master.   Rory dinna mind her, and ran ta catch up wi' the lass, and when he.caught up he struck her on the neck with the nettle in his hand.   That stopped her: felled to the ground and howling in agony.   It was Katherine Cairns.

"You were keeking a' us."

"I could only hear you, Rory.   I couldna see a thing."

But she could see it all, now.  Jock was in the scuddy altogether, and they were out on the road, in the open fields.   There was red nettle rash all over Jock's body, and Rory had his stonner out and the nettle in his hand.   Cottages overlooked them, and if anyone happened to keek out o' a window, they would see what the lads had been doing.  The two bare lads looked at each other, and then they looked at Katherine.   She looked at them.  There was no way they would let her go without punishment for this, and she knew it.

She said: "You can play Doctor with me, too.    You can pull up my dress and touch me through my knickers.  But you can't pull my knickers doun."

"But will ye tak yer medicine?"

"Aye."

Rory said: "Then that will be yer punishment, and all quits.   Aye?"

"Aye.  Done wi' you, Rory McAllister."

They went back to the holly, and Rory looked at the spot where Katherine had hidden.   The grass was beaten down, as if she had used it before.   They went into the hidden space under the holly.

"You mun tak yer kirtle off."

Katherine took off her skirt as well as her kirtle, so she was i' the scuddy except for her knickers.     Her breasts were sma', but unco bonnie. She had more meat on her than Rory - the Cairns family's bit land was michle bigger than Rory's land, and they were ne'er short o' oatmeal at Cairns.     But no crofter had any sil'er these days, and Katherine didna wear shoes nae more na Rory.   Her fine strong muscles showed how hard she worked - that and the fine sewing and darning of her clothes, which she had nae doot patched herself.   Rory was a club-hand with a needle, and his wee mither was stone blind.

"I mun examine yer lungs."

Rory bent to listen to her chest, but somehow his lips found a tittie instead.    She put her hand on his stonner, wrapping her fingers around it.   He thrust his body back and forth, moving his stonner in her hand, as his tongue lapped her jug like a dog's.   Then he stopped moving his stonner, for he was close to ha'ing his pleasure be over, sudden like, and he wanted instead ta mak it last.    He thought she was set ta play fer a long while.

But fer a' she was gasping and panting wi' excitement, fer all that her eyes blazed wi' daring, she took her hand away; done wi' it.    "What about my medicine?" she asked.   "I want to tak my medicine for keeking a' you, and go home."

Rory put a handful of holly leaves down the back of her knickers.    She didna seem ta notice any prickles.  She asked: "Is this the strong medicine ye gave ta Wee Jock?"

Jock said: "Och, ye can no ha'e the strong medicine.  Only a lad ca' thole the strong medicine."

Jock lay on his back again, his stonner rising above him.    Rory went ta cut a fresh nettle, almost screaming from the touch.   The pain of the nettle seemed worse on a hand already nettled.   Then he stroked Jock's balls, and Jock yelped and greeted wi'o' any shame.  He was showing Katherine how much it hurt, and how much he could tak - he was showing Kat Cairns it were nae a thing a lass could dree.  Jock crayed out: "More!  Doctor, I can thole it!"     The he asked "Didna ye say I need some medicine on my doup?"

Katherine said: "That's right, Doctor; I heard you say you had to flog his doup for the whoopies and wigglies."

"Can you give this patient this medicine, Nurse Cairns?"

"Aye, I will, gladly.   Patient Jock Campbell, turn over to tak your medicine on your doup."

"Do ye nae taste medicine first, Nurse Cairns?"

"Aye, I will, Doctor."

Katherine turned away from him, and pulled her knickers down, showing him her bonnie braw cheeks.   She whipped a stroke across them with the nettle.   The greet she let out was so loud, and the jerking of her whole body so strong, that Rory thought she would run home in tears, and maybe tell her daddie.     But when she turned around again, her eyes were bright.  She let out great whooping gasps, trying to dree the pain.   She forgot to pull her knickers up.    Rory went over to her, drawn like a ram to a ewe, to hug her or maybe to kiss her, or some'ut elst, but she swung the nettle at him.   He jumped back just in time to save his stonner fro' the swipe. 

When she got over gasping from the pain, she brought the nettle down hard and true across Jock's upraised doup.    Rory was thinking about his turn ta dree the nettle.  Did he dare ask Katherine ta do it?   He thought o' Katherine whipping his doup wi' the nettle; he thought o' Katherine stroking his stonner with the nettle.   His stonner was painfully hard.   If only he could hold out, and keep his hand from doing what his hand was wanting ta do. 

Katherine told Jock to get up.    Rory had planned to whip him five strokes.   Or maybe ten.    But Wee Jock was very much a whipped lad from just one stroke.   He knelt on the ground, cradling his doup tenderly with his hands.   Jock had had enough and was crying Quits, although he didna use the word.   Rory was glad.   He would ask Katherine for five strokes, and show her he could tak it better than Jock.

She said. "I can thole it.  I can thole it as well as any lad. I want ye ta thrash me on doup."

"Ye canna thole it!"

"Och aye, but I can.    Will ye nae do it, Doctor?"

Rory said: "Aye,  but you mun have a 'spexion before you ha'e yer medicine."

"Aye, Doctor."

And so Katherine took her knickers off, so she was i' the skuddy altogether, and Rory gave her a thorough 'spexion, touching and looking and making her bend and spread.   She was breathing very hard.   It made Rory's stonner hurt.   He could see that she was already feeling the pain, in anticipation, and it made her wee slit grope and clutch like a live thing, and this was for making him unbearably excited.

Finally he said: "Woullies and wugglies.    A bad case."

"So I need some medicine?    In there, where the woullies are?"

"No, on your doup."

"Aye   Thon's fair punishment fer spying on ye.  I dinna mind tha.  From ye."   She looked him right in the eyes.

They were kneeling, and she turned half away from him, and put an arm on his neck.  Her cheek was almost touching his lips.     He could reach her doup, but not see it - and the nettle was not in his hand - he had to stretch and reach for it.    Bending and stretching to reach it with his left hand, he pulled the weight of her bare body onto his, and she fell on him, and he didna mind his left hand - and then he yipped like a pup, as the nettle found him, and the fire found the tender flesh between his fingers.   He had to pass the nettle from his left hand to his right, and so he had his arms around her, cumbering her bare body more tightly into his.    He got the nettle stalk into his right hand, and brought it up smartly to her doup, aiming, blindly, for her britchen - the spot that hurt the most, when he was thrashed.    The spot his blind mother never failed to find.   

Her body jerked in his arms, and he saw the pain in her eyes, saw her trying not to greet, and then the tears.   They clumberd more tightly together, squeezing each other as if ta be one body.   She was like a braw wee bird i' his arms.    His stonner was pushing against warm soft flesh.  He kissed her, on the side of her nose, where a tear had run down from the corner of her eye.

One stroke would be all she could thole - surely.    Even Jock ... But her eyes blazed.   He couldna believe it.   Brave Wee Jock looking hang-dog and defeated from a single hard stroke, and Katherine looking like  -  thon!

"I can feel the medicine working, Doctor.   I can tak some more."

She wanted more!   A second stroke made her pant and grimace, and a third wiped the look of pleasure from her eyes.   Seeing her hurt, he dinna kiss her any more, for he was shamed that he hurt her.  But even after three strokes she said: "I can tak more, Doctor.  I think I should ha'e more medicine."    And then she kissed him.   And then he kissed her.   And then she kissed him again.

She had done better than Jock, and was still asking for more.   Rory thought she could do better than him - he thought she could dree more than any lad in Ayrshire.   But he wouldna thrash her till she cried Quits - he needed ta tak his own turn.

"That is enough medicine fer ye.   It;s my turn to be patient now.   Ye be doctor."

"I heard you say you tasted medicine, before you gave it to Wee Jock.    Did you taste it ..."

"Aye - on my wullie."

"Is it very sore?"

"I don't mind it."

"Would it help if I kissed it?"

Jock, whose wullie had been far more nettled than Rory's, lifted his head - he had been quietly sobbing.     Katherine planted kisses on both lads, on their wullies, as they knelt side by side, like Papists in a Papist kirk.     Then Rory bent his head down toward her crotch.

"But I haven't had any medicine there yet."

"This is medicine."

"I should ha'e the strong medicine there.   Ye may kiss me after."

Rory got excited in a whole different way after that.   He brushed the nettle very lightly on the lips of her cunt.    She arched her back and clenched her fists with the pain of it.    The skin was so thin there, thinner than anywhere on a lad's body, except ...

Rory dropped the nettle, undid his belt, and took off his breeches.    He brushed the nettle on his ballsack.    Brushing himself, then her, then himself, then her.     The he got down on his haunches so he could grind the nettle stalk into the tender area around his the fud o' his own arse, and then he did the same place on her.   The way he was excited, made it unco easy to dree his own pain, easy to flog the nettle on his own body.   But it was unco hard to flog her.     He had to close his eyes; if he could see the pain in her eyes when he stroked her, he couldna do it.

"Are you giving yourself the medicine, Rory?"

"I have to."

"Aye?"

"I wouldna ... I wouldna be able to hurt you, Katherine, if I didna do messel."

"Call me Kat.   Are you going to  ... Are you?"

Rory blushed when he understood what she meant.   What he thought she meant.   What he hoped she meant..   She was - she was like a prancing calf, prancing to be bulled.  She pinked her nose like a quoy heifert who sniffs her first bull - she surely did want some'ut.   But he couldna possibly say the words to ask her what.    He looked at Wee Jock.   Jock made a thrusting motion with his fist.   Aye.   But how?  She were no in the right position.  What did she want?  Why did she nae turn around, if she hankered ta be tupped?   Were human wee-uns no made the same way as calves and lambs and any other sort o' cattle?

Rory could see it would be possible, wi' she on her back - a lad and a lass could fit together that way, though it were unco unnatural.  And Kat had spread her knees as if to ask for this queer kind of tupping.  But she would be looking into his face,  when he did it inside o' her!  So far, he had done it only in his hand.   Could he - could he do it if a body was looking at him?  If Kat was looking at him?   So it was not done quick, and from behind, into a lass.   It would be into - no, not into, - with ... it would be with Katherine.    With Kat.  She would see in his face what her insides did to his wullie.  He had a notion it would take a while, like dogs, and not be quick, like rams.   It would be like - it would be like just now, when he had tried to touch her with the nettle, and he could not thole to do it because he was looking at her face.  He would be trying ta do it inside o' her, while looking at her face.  They would feel it together, as if they were one body, his wullie in her insides.  So it had to be done right, and he didna know how.   And his stonner had gone soft.

In her eyes, a fine bravery  - a Scottish courage.   De'il may care - do or die - fling your life away.    He couldna be cowardly, hisself.  He flogged his soft stonner wi' the nettle, wanting it to get hard, but it didna.    And then he rammed the nettle stalk up into Katherine's offered body.

As she howled in pain, he pulled out the nettle and bulled in with his stonner.   He found he didna ha'e to worry about it being hard enou'.

In schuil next morn, Kat had told Anne Campion that the game she had played with the lads was unco exciting.   For when Doctor Rory gi'e you a 'spexion, she said, it may be just leaf of ivy ye get fer yer medicine.    But it could be, she whispered, a prickly holly.   Or even, it might be, some'ut stronger!   And that was all Kat would say, all day, as Anne worried her like a terrier to know all about it.   "Kat," she asked, "did he really gi'e you a spexion wi' your knickers doun?    And did he gi'e you - the strong medicine?"    Did Doctor Rory gi'e it to ye there?   But Kat would only smile.   Kat thought that Anne had spread the story.

But it was in fact Wee Jock, and not Anne, who did the damage.   Because Wee Jock told Patrick Nethery that Doctor Rory could cure the woullies and wugglies.

Kat had liked the warm soreness of her britchen on schuil bench, in morn, but Wee Jock was foul wi' it.   And Rory sat silly on bench, and could not see why Wee Jock was so unfriendly.    Kat told him.

"His doup is sore, Rory.    You didna ha'e your turn as patient, and so you no got the nettle flogged on your britchen."

"Yours is sore, too?"

"Aye.   But I dinna mind."

"And I did it.   I flogged you.  We will go back to the holly tonight, for my flogging."

"Aye.   We will.  I will ha'e your breeches off again, Rory McAllister."

But then he had pulled her hair.

"Rory McAllister, come up to the desk!" the dominie had shouted, making them all jump.

Rory walked smartly to the head of the class, dropped his breeches, and bent over the dominie's desk from the front.

"I did no say ye mun pull your trousers doun, man.   I meant your hand.   And do you nae ha'e the sense to come behind the desk, and nae show your doup to the lasses?"

"Ochen, I can dree it, schuilmaster.   Gi'e me yer best!"

Mr. Sewell was a gentle man, but he was nettled by this insolence.   Instead of making Rory pull his breeches back up, and beating the lad a stroke on the palm of his hand, he was provoked to show off his strength and his skill.   He would make Rory regret this.  The cracks of the tawse sounded like rifle shots, echoing off the stone walls, loud enough to send a shiver down your spine.  Five stripes, evenly spaced from the crown of the lad's doup down to five inches above the back of his knees, each one blood red and showing the split tails of the tawse.  Mr. Sewell had a good eye and a strong arm, and as he had never belted a lad's bare britchen in front of the class before, he took special pride in his work, and struck with all his might and main.  After five, the dominie stopped, but Rory didna stand up.

"Do you nae know it's over, Man?"

Rory didna move.   The class waited - Rory was asking for it.  He was baiting the dominie.    Mr. Sewell took his position.

But then he lowered the strap.  "Rory, will you no gi'e over?   I'd tak it as a favor."

Rory stood up, turned, and held out his hand.   The dominie shook it.   Then Rory pulled up his breeches.   All the lasses were staring at his wullie, mouths gaping like fish, and all the lads too - only Jeremy Thomasson looked away, but he was English.

When Rory returned to bench, he whispered: "I knew I deserved it, Kat, but I didna want ta mak ye do it.   I hated ha'ing to flog ye."

That was a lie, and Kat knew it.   Rory had loved flogging her.   But what was worse, Anne Campion overheard them.  And thon story, that Rory McAllister had flogged Helen Cairns fer pleasure, she told to every lass in schuil.

After schuil, Rory headed home, alone.    Kat ran after him.

"Rory McAllister!"

"Aye."

"You mun walk me home."

"Aye."

Kat's croft was two miles in the opposite direction, but that was nothing to Rory.   It was hard for her to keep up with him; she couldna talk and half-run at the same time.   "Stop!"

And even then it took her a while to catch her breath.   "Rory, I mean to ha'e your breeches doun!"

"Was i' no enough then, wha' I took fro' the dominie?   Ye want ta flog me yersel?   Thon's fine."

"Och, I've nae plan to skaith ye!"

"Aye?   Then why do ye need me breeches doun?"

And he really didna know.   Well, no one has e'er accused the McAllisters of being o'er quick.   So she said: "Your breeches are all tatters, Rory.   I mean to sew them up."    Kat took out a spool and a bodkin from her poke.

"What, here?"

"Och, I'll just ranter them.   I can do the flourishing later.  We can go to the holly tree."

That would be six miles off her way.   She would miss her tea.   But her brother Roger would do her chores, and Daddie wouldna find out.   And the holly was the best place.    Not the best place ta ranter Rory's breeches - she'd as soon do thon indoor - the holly just the place she most wanted to get Rory wi' his breeches doun.

"You'd do tha' for me?   Mend me tears and me tatters?   That's unco fine!   I mun - I mun gi'e you one o' Moss's pups!"

And with this heart-wrung outburst the lad fell silent, and there was no talking as they walked - or rather he walked and she ran to keep up with him - three miles up the brae to the holly tree.   But it was nae the fine private place Katherine had expected - Wee Jock was there, with Patrick Nethery and a hantle o' laddies, and Anne Campion.

Patrick Nethery cried out ta Rory: "We ha'e been waitin' for ye, Doctor"

"Are ye daft, Patrick?   I'm nae doctor."

"But will ye no play wi' us?"

Patrick Nethery and Rory we nae friends.   But Pat's Daddie was the flesher o' the parish, and there would  ha'e been nae meat at Houn Fell croft, wi'o' the bones Mr. Nethery let Rory have, a-saying twere fer Moss, ta tak the sting fro' the charity.   So Rory had to play wi' Pat and the lads, and thanks fer asking.

"Who'll play the doctor?"

"You be the doctor, Houn Fell.   Wee Jock says you can cure the woullies and wugglies."

"Ochen, there is nae such thing.   I just pertend it."

"But will ye no play it wi' us?"

"Aye.   Ye mun tak your breeches doun, then."

"Under tree?"

"I ken it's o'er mirkie under tree.   If you mun ha'e a spexion, Patrick Nethery, you mun pull down your breeches here in the road."

It looked like Patrick wouldna do it.   He looked at the other lads, who were at watching him.

He said: "Should we all pull doun our breeches together, then?"

Ian Selkirk said: "Ochen, it's o'er cold fer tha'.   I'll gang first, if ye're so shy, Patrick."

Patrick blushed to match his hair, but he managed to get his breeches doun.   He didna ha'e any knickers, nor yet any shoes, fer a' the fine airs and graces o' the Netherys.

Rory looked for the hawthorn branch, but it was in truth a dark gloaming, and unco mirkie under the holly, and he didna find it.    But he found the fat stick he had rammed up Wee Jock's arse.    He put it in Kat's hand.

"Nurse Cairns, do the 'spexion on thon patient Nethery.   I wi' gae get his 'jexion."    And Rory ran off down the brae.

Kat made Patrick bend over, and shoved the stick up his arse.   She left it in as she did the 'spexion of his wullie, which shot into a fine long stonner right away, as it had done when the nurse had but touched it in schuil.  Kat had heard th' tale o' Patick Nethery's stonner, but she hadna believed it till she saw it wi' her own eyes.  Patrick mun be unco sensitive, Kat thought - she had only brushed it lightly wi' her fingers, but he seemed to be in agony, so muchle was his pleasure.   She took her hand away, not wanting to embarrass him.    He gazed hungrily at her hand - as if he found it an extra pleasure, instead o' terrible shame, to have his wullie teased and handled wi' others watching.   As if he found it a pleasure to have her tease him, and then deny him.

While she waited for Rory to come back, she thought about the game Patrick was playing.   He got his pleasure from her fingers on his stonner, true, but it was shame he should be feeling - so why did Patrick want to play at doctor?   And it was just too good to be true -  the Netherys were counted almost gentry;.why was the flesher's lad being so kind to puir crofter Rory?   No one in Ayrshire counted for less than the McAllisters.  Why would Patrick Nethery name Rory as "Houn Fell"?  The McAllister croft, although too small ta have a name in the normal way o' things, did happen ta have a name - Houn Fell - for it had once been the kennel where the McCall had kept his dogs.    Rory was a wee-un, but fer a' that, you could say he was master o' Houn Fell farm, for that his mither was blind.   And so to call Rory "Houn Fell" was daft, but it wasna exactly wrong.   But it was unco queer to hear a wee-un spoken to in that way, as a master o' a farm.   Certainly no one had ever called Rory McAllister "Houn Fell" before.

Then Rory came back, with a hawthorn branch.    Patrick looked feart when he saw the great thorn, but he dreed the pain, in front of a' the lads, and he looked triumphant.   Then he looked feart again, as Rory fingered the sheathie of his wullie.

"Doctor, is it ...?"

"Aye,  you ha'e the woullies and wugglies.   You mun tak the medicine, if ye can dree it."

"Ochen, I can dree it."

"Then pull up your breeks."

Patrick had to leave the ballop of his breeches unbuttoned, because his stonner was so hard he couldna squeeze it int.   It was an unco long one, Patrick's stonner, with a bend in it - just before the tip, it bent up.  It was only the third stonner Kat had seen in her life, after Rory's and Jock's, and it was so much finer than either o' th' others.  Rory dropped three nettle leaves down the back of Patrick's breeches, into the gell.   The pain was muchle so it made Patrick do a bit dance, but tha made the pain worse, as his buttocks rubbed together with the nettle in the gell between them, so he had to stand as still as he could, in agony.

"Is this the medicine you gave Wee Jock?"

"I gave more o' it to Kat Cairns."

"But she's a lass!  I mun tak more than a lass!"

"Can ye dree so much, Patrick?   It was unco bad."

"I can dree it."

"I flogged her here, and here, and here, up the gell o' her doup.   And I flogged her three stripes across her britchen."

"Flogged her wi nettle?   There, between her legs?"

"Aye - unco hard.   And her eyes shon like a lad does a block at chickie mellie."

"Rory, I canna dree that.  I would rather ha'e the strap than the nettle flogged on my ba's!   Who could dree that?"

"The strap will cure the wugglies, Patient Nethery, but it's nae so good wi' the woullies.   Ye had better choose the nettle o'er the strap."

"I canna.   It mun be strap."

Sandy Beattie had the thickest belt, but he said he dinna want ta whip a body, so Ian Selkirk agreed ta do the whipping.   Rory looked at Ian's belt: "Will ye no lend Ian your belt, Sandy?   Ian's belt is nae guid tae whip a dog."    So Ian took Sandy's good thick belt, and took some practice swings.

 But when Patrick saw the size o' the belt, and the force o' Ian's swings, he was no so sure he could thole e'en a belting for his medicine.  He took his time to decide.

"Och, it's just a game."

So Patrick wasna belted, but Sandy said he could dree wha' Patrick couldna, and he took his breeches doun.  He took his jexion as he didna e'en feel it.  And he didna care when Kat shoved the stick up his arse, and his wullie didna rise up when she fingered it.   Sandy was the dunce of the school, feeling the tawse more 'n all th' other lads put together.   He knew a dozen ways to earn a belting from the dominie, and he would do any one o' them if a body just asked him.  

Sandy said: "It was fine, Rory, when ye got belted on yer doup, and all the lasses could see the stripes.  It was unco fine!  The dominie ha ne'er belted ma doup for lasses ta see!  I wisht it had been me the lasses were keeking at!   But you should have ta'en fifteen.  Fifteen's best.  The first five dinna hurt."

Rory asked Patrick ta do Sandy's belting rather than Ian, and Patrick made Sandy ta lie on the ground.   True to his word, Sandy smiled through the first five.   But the pain increased wi' every stroke, and he began to whimper and greet, and beg "Stop!  Stop!" as he did every time he was belted.     But he had asked for fifteen, and Patrick gave them all, striking as hard as he could, swinging the belt from above his head.   For all his greeting, Sandy stayed in place to tak it.   Nobody had ever had to hold Sandy Beatty down for the tawse.

When it was over, Sandy tried to look at his doup over his shoulder.    "Are the stripes as red as Rory's in schuil?"

"No."

"Aye, it didna hurt proper - thon belt's nae guid.  Ye've nae need to stop.  I can dree bit more nor that.  Tha belt has nae got twa tails lik the dominie's tawse, so I mun ha'e another fifteen."

"But you didna dree it, Sandy, you greeted."

"Ochen, it is nae matter what I do in a belting.   I'm always ready to tak another one, for a' that."

It was on getting mirkie ta see, though it lacked an hour o' sunset.   The dark clouds made it darker.   Kat and Anne would get the belt at home, if they came in after dark.   There could be but one more patient, and they mun be quick.  They all talked at once.

Rory said: "It is nae fair that I mun always be doctor.  I want Wee Jock ta be doctor, and gi'e me my medicine."

"It's my turn next."  - that was Ian Selkirk..

"What about Anne Campion?" - that was Kat, asking.

"Aye.   She's the one who said it would be fun to play doctor.   I want to see her get her jexion!"

"WAIT"   - that was Patrick, shouting.   "I want to tak my medicine, after all."

"No!  I want to see Anne tak her medicine."

They all agreed that Anne would be the next patient, and the last patient of the evening.  They all agreed, that is, except Anne.   But all the lads volunteered to help hold her doun.

Rory took Kat home.

Just out of sight of her croft, she stopped him.   She had that look - the look of wanting.   Rory also wanted.   But he had more sense than to pull off his clothes in the lane-in, wi' none a' more than the dusk o' the gloaming to hide them.   The lass were just plum daft ta want it here.

And they had quarrelled.   He hadna liked it when they pulled down Anne's knickers - he had given her a 'jexion, as she fought the lads to get free, but he wouldna agree ta gi'e the belting.  "This lass has nae got the woullies and wugglies," he had said, and he had gi'en her just a bit o' heather for her medicine.   But the lads had said she must ha'e strong medicine, whatever the doctor said, and they had made her choose between the belt and the nettle - she chose belt.  Rory's stonner had been so hard from watching Patrick belt Anne fifteen strokes, that he had gone behind the ivy, and relieved it with his hand.    He wisht Kat had no seen him do that.

But she had.   And there in the lane-in, after he had fondled her bare jugs, and suckled the paps, but before she kissed him good-night, she told him that when they played doctor next time, just the two of them, she too would choose the belt as her medicine.

"You will make me pull my knickers down, Rory, and I will bend over.   And you will let fly with the belt, straight and true, and make a stripe where it hurts the most.   A dark red stripe.   And I'll scream with the pain, and jump, and rub my britchen wi' my hands.   And that will be just the first of twenty stripes.  Not fifteen - I can dree more than that Anne Campion."

"Kat, I could not thole it, to skaith a hair o' yer head!"

"So, you tak yer pleasure fro' Anne ta get a belting, but will nae gi'e one ta me.   Go ye kiss her then, if she'll have ye.   Ye canna be nae more kissin' me!"    And then she slapped him.    Hard.

Plum daft she was!

"I didna gi'e Anne thon belting, and I didna allow the lads ta do it.   She were nae willing."

"But she deserved it, Rory."

"She did nocht ta deserve it."

"She knew it was a game wi' knickers doun, Rory.   She got all the lads to play.  She watched me finger Pat's wullie, and Sandy's too, ta me shame.   And then, when her turn comes, oop and she says : I willna tak me knickers doun!"

"Aye.   Maybe it was fair we should pull Anne's knickers doun.   But not ta whip her fifteen strokes."

"Why did you tak yer pleasure of it then, Rory McAllister?    Ye've made me late, with your haivering, and now I'll get the belt from my daddie.   And I hope ye enjoy it.   Wait by the barn -  ye'll be able to hear the smacks.   Do for me what ye did when ye watched Anne."

As Rory climbed the braeside to his croft that night, going home unkissed, great racking sobs convulsed him, and his tears wet the collar of his shirt.   He felt a pain like a fever in his arms and legs, and he missed the path and wandered aimlessly in the pitch-dark, windy night. He would ha'e slept in a ditch that night if it hadna been for Mossie - she herded him home like a lost sheep to the fold.

His mother's tea had helped him sleep, very hot and searingly bitter.   He had not seen her mix it, but he knew that for love-fever Ma used mandrake and wild mountain thyme, and nettle.    The night had been hard.   Half-dreaming, he heard it over and over - Kat telling her dad that she didna need ta be forgiven, this time, for she was unco sorry she had disobeyed and was ready to be punished.   In skuddy so she would feel it more.  Twenty stripes she asked for, so she would remember and ne'er be late again.  And the loud cracks echoed into the night, and Kat thinking abou' him listening; that he was taking pleasure; that he was doing it with his hand.

How could she think he would tak pleasure in it?   Pleasure in hearing leather smack into that bonnie bare britchen?   Making red marks on it - although he hadna been able ta see the marks. Her Daddie had lit a lamp for her, when dark fell and she wasna home, and by the light of that lamp he belted her.   Rory watched, but she was facing the wrong way for him to see the stripes.  He did see that her Daddie didna fondle her doup between the strokes, the way Rory's mither did, fixing the position of the hills o' his doup in her mind so she could belt blind and strike true.  It was the only time she ran her hands over his skin, and Rory hungered for her touch - her touch that was her way of seeing.   It must be horrid for Kat, getting the belt without the familiar touch of a warm loving hand before each stroke.   If he ever did belt Kat, he'd like to do that way, running his hand over her bare britchen - OUFF!

Rory's stonner had shot up so fast he had to scramble with his buttons, and his hand started stroking before he remembered that he was doing it while thinking about gi'ing Kat the belt.   He stopped.    But he was half-way there already.

He smacked his left hand, back and palm, into the Scots thistle that grew as weeds in the garden.    But the pain in his hand seemed to be felt as pleasure in his stonner.  He had not known that wullies could feel that tight and hard.   His need was too strong for him, so strong that even torturing his hand couldna mak him stop.  He used his hand until it was done, but then he punished himself by packing thistle into his breeches.

Last night, his mother had heard the tears in his voice, as she made her tea for love fever, and she had asked him, "will she nae kiss ye?"    Well, Kat was going to kiss him - he had a plan ta make her do it.   He would play the patient, next time they played Doctor, and he would tak his medicine until he was punished enough for what he had done.    He would say, flog me till ye're satisfied Kat, but then ye mun gi'e me a kiss.  That would be good - a kiss of forgiveness and a sore doup fer punishment - a better cure for love fever than his mither's bitter tea.  But perhaps Kat wouldna be able to belt him - as he couldna belt her.   Better to get some more stripes from the dominie for her to watch.   He would tell her he got the stripes on purpose, as the punishment he owed her.  He could get a guid belting from the Dominie, ten stripes, if he was late for schuil.  So he had an hour to wait, before starting for school, if he wanted to be just late enough.

As Rory set in to weed his patch o' swedes, he remembered that he had promised Kat a pup.   But the thing was, there was a drought of good dogs.  Auld Tom Dunbar's Slip was as good as Mossie - almost as good - and Tom McCall's Dot was unco good, champion if she hadna nip thon sheep's ankles the one time - but Slip and Dot were bitches.    Rory knew there was only one dog in all of Ayrshire worthy of Moss, and that was Cap.   Cap was little, but champion.

Cap belonged, if the dog hissel could tell it, to Big Jock Campbell the ghillie, Wee Jock's dad.   Or rather Big Jock and all his wee-uns belonged to Cap.   But by law, Cap was the property of Mr. and Mrs. Thomasson, the owners of the Auld Manse.    The Thomason's were English, and had only bought the big house, with the dogs that came with it, last year.   Mr. Thomasson had the name of a striect man wi' his rights - he would no allow a stud, not for neighborlyness, not wi'o' he was fee'd in sil'er, Rory had no had a shilling in his hand to spare.   So he could no get Cap as stud - the stud for Moss would have to be Mr. Nethery's Flint.  A guid enou' dog, Flint, but gruesome ugly.    Rory didna want ta gi'e Kat an ugly pup.   Perhaps there was no harm in asking at the Manse about a stud - and it would make him just late enough to schuil, if he went to Manse.   Mr. Thomasson could hardly send him off with a hiding for his insolence, like in the old days.    Rory set off over the fells to the park o' the Auld Manse.

But after all he cryned before the great front door, and turned to go without knocking.

"What are ye doing here, wee bauchle?   Skouking about?   Trespassing?"

It was Big Jock.   And of course Big Jock knew perfectly well who Rory was.   But there was no sign o' that in his face.   If it had been anyone else who picked up Rory like a pig in a poke, and carried him off like a wee babe, Moss woulda had some'ut ta say.   But she liked Big Jock.    Rory was carried into the kitchen; and big Jock grabbed a strap.   So he had been wrong about the hiding.   But then he was forced, on his own feet but with a hand on his collar, up the stairs.   So he was being taken to see the master, Mr. Thomasson.   Rory thought a hiding in the kitchen from Big Jock would have been getting off easy compared with seeing the master.   Perhaps he would be thrown in jail.   Perhaps he would be transported to Australia.

But the room he was taken to, up two flights of stairs, was fer sure no the master's study; it was all frills and flowers and suchlike trumpery.    He hadna seen before the woman on the bed, half in and half out of a nightgown you could see through anyway, but he knew who she was - got up like a hussy, the guidwives described her.   This was the Leddie.   This was Mrs. Thomasson.

"This chiel was louking about, Ma'am.   Keeking about for some'ut to pyke, mor'n likely.  Shall I see him off, proper?"   Big Jock sliced the air with his strap.

"Well, young man?   Were you looking for something to steal?   Shall I have my ghillie give you a thrashing on your bare behind?"   She licked her lips.

"Och no Leddie, I came ta ca'.   Aboot a matter o' cattle.   I ha'e bit land, a wee bit, o'er fell."

The English lady looked mystified.

"I mean, Mrs. Thomasson, that I have a small plot of land on the other side of the hills.   And I have a prop-o-si-tion to our mu-tu-al advan-tage abou' live-stock."   Rory could sound like a southron when he wanted to.

"Jock, leave us."

When the ghillie had gone out and slammed the door behind him, the Leddie spoke to Rory:  "So, young man, you want to proposition me?   To our mutual advantage?"

"Leddie - um  - Madam - um - "    Rory realized that there were some things for which he didna ken the southron words.    He whistled.    Quickly, but not so fast that his claws scratched the floor, Cap trotted up the stairs and came into the room, sat doun at Rory's heel, and looked up.   Rory's own bitch Moss was not so obedient.   She pranced over, and licked the smaller dog's face, and lowered her chest, and whinnied.   Rory clicked to release Cap, and the smaller dog jumped up and nipped the big bitch on the shoulder by surprise, and skitted away, sliding into a space under the bed where she couldna get at him.

"It's them, Ma'am.    Your dog Cap, and this bitch Mossie.   My bitch.   That they should - um - "

"That they should ..."    And then Mrs. Thomasson rolled on her back and did something so obscene that Rory couldna believe his eyes.   With her hand in her crotch, she moved her body back and forth in a way that left no doubt of her meaning, and her eyes showed her passion, and her tongue licked her lips, and she let out a series of gasps, getting louder and louder and quicker and quicker, and then she let out a great sigh, and her whole body slumped.   Her nightgown had fallen loose, so she was in the skud altogether.      Rory noticed her wrinkles.    When she was in the heat of passion, she looked younger, but when it was over, you noticed the wrinkles again.   It was as if she aged a decade in the moment of the sigh.

Rory recognized that sigh.   And those gasps, quicker and quicker, up to a sigh like dying.   It was what if felt like to - do it.   But lasses couldna do  it.    Could they?   They didna ha'e anything ta grab onto.

"Moss is the best collie in Ayrshire," Rory pronounced.    "And Cap is - well maybe it's Cap who's the best collie in Ayrshire.   Tha's wha' folk all say.  It's just me that think Moss is better.   You would get a pup.  Of course you would ha' the pick o' the litter.    But for the stud.   It canna be in cash.   But I could do a trade - a service.    We could agree to payment in kind."

"So your proposition is, that a male who lives on your farm ..."

Mrs. Thomasson stood naked in front of Rory and undid the buttons of his breeches.

" ... should put his stud ..."

She let out his hard stonner and gave a hard pinch to his sheathie.

"... into a female on this farm.   And service her."

Mrs. Thomasson swayed her hips while working Rory's rod with her fingers.   Her slit was inches away.   She said:  "Payment in kind.  That sounds very fair to me.    At what time were you thinking of starting your service, young man?"

Rory's stonner stood proud and tall in front of him, sticking out through the ballop of his breeches.  She was right in front of him, spread wide open.  But he didna move.

She said: "Of course, if this is to be payment in kind for my dog servicing that randy bitch of yours, it should be the other way."

She got on her hands and knees on the bed, or rather her hand and knees, for one of her hands was in her crotch.  Her body shook and writhed, her back arched as if in agony, and the gasps were louder, like little shouts, faster and faster until the sigh.    Her nightgown covered her, but it was thin and flimsy and draped into the shape of her doup.    Then she took it off altogether.   She got off the bed and bent over in front of him, presenting her her doup to him, touching the tip of his stonner with her soft warm flesh.  Rory realized that lads and lasses would fit together this way as well, from behind in the way of all kine.     If she moved backward an inch, she would impale herself.  If he moved forward an inch, he would skewer her.  She said, "well?"

He moved back - he had to, to keep his swelling stonner from going in.   "Leddie Thomasson, I canna."

She stood up and looked him in the eyes, and put her hand on his rod - near the tip this time, and pinched.  She said: "You are not a virgin.    I can always tell a virgin.   Are you in love?   A bonnie lass?   And you've had a roll in the heather?"

"Aye.   An unco bonnie lass."   The sensation of pleasure in his stonner was so strong it was making him gasp and dance.

"And I'm not.   I know that.   But I may have other attractions.   I have a proposition too.   A game.   You must be naked, and I will kiss you all over, except on that.    On your lips especially.   You must kiss me too.   If you can be with me, naked and kissing, and resist me, then you win.   You shall have Cap's stud, and anything you like.   Cap himself, if you want him - he loves your pretty bitch, anyway."

"What if I lose?"

"Then I have my prize already."   She pinched the skin on the top of his stonner, hard enough to really hurt.

"It would belong to you forever?"

"Not forever, you conceited little cad - for today, tomorrow, and Tuesday and Wednesday of next week - I'm in Glasgow over the weekend - I think - no, I'm afraid I just can't get out of it.   And then I must go to England on Thursday, so we have only those four days.    And we can't play the game here, we'll need somewhere private.   I'll go riding, meet you, and we tie our horses to a tree in some place we can be secret.   You must know a place."

"No."

"No you don't know a place or no you won't - Oh.     I see.    Suppose I call the ghillie and have him thrash you after all."

"It wouldna matter."

"You want to be a martyr for your bonnie lass.   Well, fine then, that's sweet, - what's your name?"

"Rory.   Um, that is, McAllister.   Rory McAllister of Houn Fell."

'Well, Master McAllister of Houn Fell, tell me this: when you had your roll in the heather with your lass, did she have pleasure the same way you did?   Not just enjoying it, but mounting higher and higher, to a peak that feels like dying?   You've had it, I'm sure, when your seed comes?   Sometimes the first few times with a girl aren't so grand for a lad, but you must have had some good wanks with your hand."

"I know the kind you are talking about, Miss.  The slow ones.   Hard to reach.  Pleasure with a sigh of sweet regret."

"Rory, girls can have that too.   More pleasure than men, and longer.  But the man has to know what to do, and I swear no man in Scotland has any idea - only Frenchmen know how to love.   But I can teach you.    So if you learned you'd be doing it for her."

"I'd have to ...?"

"Just what do you call it in Scotland?"

"Fucking.   That's the Scots word.   Fucking.   I dinna ken the English."

"Well, wha da ya know?   And here I was worried there was nothing to do in Ayrshire except catch trout.   No, you don't have to fuck me, Rory.   But you do have to play the game.   Naked together, kissing.    If you can be naked with me while I teach you all I know about a woman's pleasure, and you resist the urge to fuck me...   But you won't."

"No.   I will learn how to give Katherine pleasure, some other way."

"Katherine?    Katherine Cairns?"

"Aye."

"I can't compete with Kat Cairns!"

"Is she so remarkable?"

"Don't you think she is?    My son says she's Clara Bow and Lilly Langtry and Helen of Sparta, all wrapped up in a plaid skirt.    He thinks the moon and stars revolve around her.   He says she'll be a top star if she goes into the talkies - he wants me to talk to a cinema producer about her."

"Jeremy is in love with Katherine!   I canna believe it!"

"My son is shy, and he tells lies to his mum.   He told me that they had kissed.   But I will talk to him again.   If you have the prior claim, he will behave like a gentleman, I'm sure.   But Rory, your intentions are - honorable - aren't they?   If the master of Houn Fell just wants a good time with a poor crofter lass ... Jeremy loves her."

"No, Leddie, my intentions are no honorable."

Rory's stonner softened.   He could not ha'e dreed the pain o' it so hard much longer.

"My intentions are no honorable for cause I can ne'er marry her.   I might as well dream of gi'ing her the moon.  You said I should meet you, out riding my horse.   My horse!   I dinna e'en own a calf!  My entire possessions are a two piglets, twenty-one ewes, the best bitch in Ayrshire and a big black cat.   I tend other men's cattle, and I grow a few swedes and cabbages on land I owe ten years rent for.   I forgot the poultry - I also ha'e a dozen rabbits and a hen.   But I will ne'er be able to marry on thon!    It would be honorable to stand aside, and let Kat have a chance of happiness wi' the Laird's son, which she will ne'er ha'e wi' me.    But I ha'e no intention o' doin' so - I willna let Jeremy ha'e her, if I can keep her."

"Jeremy is not a laird's son.   My husband is not a laird."

"Compared to me, he's the Emperor of China.    And now call Jock Campbell and have him thrash me and kick me oot the gate.   No one has ever deserved it more."

"For what?"

"I let you think I was maister o' a farm and such as owned a horse.   Now ye ken what I am, ye'll no be wanting to play games wi' the likes o' me!"

She kissed him, very tenderly, on the lips.   He did't pull away.

"And I would have lost the wager, anyway, Maister o' Houn Fell.   You would have kissed me on every part of my body, and thought only of your bonnie Kat Cairns."

"I think so."

"Sit down, Mr. McAllister.   Button your trousers.    I will teach you, and you don't have to play the game.  This, this bit of flesh here, is called the clitoris.   Katherine has one.   It is the most important place for pleasuring a woman.  It's like this spot here - don't flinch, I won't touch - which as you know is the most important spot for pleasuring a man.   But I do not recommend you start with the clitoris."

"Where should I start?"

"With a kiss, mutton-head."

"I ha'e kissed her.   But we had a quarrel, and now she willna let me kiss her."

"A lover's quarrel.   They can be very sweet, and make the fucking all the better when you make up - or even better if you fuck while you're still angry.  What did you fight about?   Did she sigh for another shepherd i' the glen?   Did ye nae want ta tak yer fists ta her?"

Rory was nettled by this mocking of his accent, and he switched into his southron speech.   Or at least he tried to; he couldna keep it up beyond halfway into the next sentence.

"No.   She wanted me to flog her, but I wouldna - wouldn't.   And then, when I was keeking at another girl as get her britchen striped - a shepherdess 'i the glen, if you mun know - I got a stonner, and I used my hand ta ... - and it was like you said, an unco good one.   Better than the time inside o' Kat.   And now Kat says I should go get Anne ta kiss me instead."

"I've never had a birching.  They say it's the best, and here you - well, I've always wanted to try it, someday.   Are all the crofter lads like you or are you something special?"

"Special?"

"Two lasses sighing to have you birch them.   Make that three lasses."

"It wasna me.   Some other lads were playing too.   It started wi' the stinging nettle."

"Stinging nettle!   I give up!    You should be teaching me.    What about nipples?   Do you lads in Scotland know how to pleasure a woman's nipples using your teeth and tongue?"

"Mrs.  Thomasson --"

"Caroline."

"I canna suckle your titties."

"No, I suppose not.    Let me show you with my fingers.    This is called the areola.  The border of the areola is most sensitive, a good place to scratch with a fingernail ..."

"But Mrs. Thomasson ..."

"Caroline!"

"you may suckle my titties."

Her plan had been, to see Rory for no longer than she might be expected to take, to talk to him about a dog.   Then he would leave, and she would just happen to go riding.   The meeting would be secret even from the servants.   But he would not promise to meet her.   Against his own will, she had the power to keep him from leaving her bed, for as long as she pleasured his body, but she did not have the power to make him promise to meet her again, once he was out of her sight.  And at noon, when the lunch bell rang, negotiations between them were at a delicate point - and he was naked at last.   They had spent half an hour on pleasuring nipples, his nipples, and then an full hour on just two different sorts of kissing - French, and kissing the eyes.  Kissing was all he would do.  The kissing made his cock hard, but he refused to take his pants off.   Then she had gotten him naked by a simple trick - she told him he smelled, and insisted he take a bath.   The soap-down had turned into an orgy of kissing on places he wouldn't let her kiss before.    He had given in and suckled her nipples.  And then he had asked, on his own, to suckle her clitoris.   And on every part of his own body, except his cock, he begged for the touch of her lips.  She had never had a boy like him - he shuddered with pleasure at the softest caress, anywhere on his body, but he howled with pleasure when he was scratched, slapped, slippered, or bitten.  He had a hundred different ways of showing his pleasure.   Only his penis remained strictly out of bounds.  But he had accepted and enjoyed the enema without question - she had told him it was the way English people washed.   But he got even more excited from watching her piss.

She pointed to his cock.  "That looks painful, Rory."

"It is.   Nothing makes it as hard, as your tongue in fud o' my arse."

"What would you pay, Rory, to use your hand on it?"

"Tha's the game, Caroline.   I canna use my hand.   I mun endure the pain o' my stonner.   If I fuck ye, ye ha'e won the bet - and then I ha'e ta meet you at  holly tree, and fuck you hard all day for four days - thon's the wager if I lose."

"But I will let you masturbate one time, now, for a price."

"What price?"

"I want a birching."

"So, I should thrash you, when I wouldna do it for Kat?"

"If she asks again, will you deny her the pleasure?   Why won't you do it for love, Rory?"

"She dinna ask it for pleasure.   It isna pleasure.   She asked it for that I got a stonner watching Anne whipped."

"So whip Kat, and take pleasure in whipping her, if she's the girl for you, and she offers."

"I couldna."

"Rory, don't you long to take a whipping for her?"

"If it would gi'e her satisfaction, I would die for her."

"But can't you believe her love you for you, could be as strong as yours for her?"

"Love!"

"What else is it, if she wants a whipping, just to give you a good wank?"

"But thon's absurd."

"It's love.  A women needs to cause arousal in a man.  If I knew that watching me whipped would arouse you, stronger than you've ever been aroused before - then your arousal would make that whipping utterly pleasurable for me.  Utterly satisfying.   Utterly.   I mean - um - that is - uhh - that's the way it would be, if I was in love with you.   Which I'm not.  Of course."

"If she really wants it.   If she really wants it.   Och, De'il tak it, I will do wha'e'er she asks me do.  Whipping or no, I canna say no to her.   But she will ha'e ta whip me, if she wants ta be whipped hersel.   If I disna feel it, I canna do it."

"And I want the same, Rory, just to have fun - just to have a romp.   Here's the birch.   I will use the riding whip.  Ten strokes each, and then we swap.   So you will get twenty strokes altogther, and for that payment you may use your hand on your cock, until you come.   Is that fair?"

"What is this thing?"

"A birch.   They say it is the most exquisite pain in the world."

Rory smacked his bare leg, and half the twigs of the birch  broke off.   "It is all dried out."

"I guess they need to be fresh."

Mrs. Thomasson had the riding crop in her hand, so Rory bent over the bed first.   Ten fast cuts made his britchen burn like fire.

"How do you like it., Rory?"

"It hurts horribly.   I canna dree it.   But I canna wait for the other ten!"

"But it's my turn next, Rory."  She lay down flat across the foot of the bed eagerly, all excited.   The first stroke made her howl, and before the fourth fell she had gotten her doup away from the whip, backed up against the wall.

She was crying.  "Fuck it!   Fuck it!   All my life I've wanted it but now I can't take it after all.   Every time I fuck, every time, I think about being birched.   And when I masturbate, of course I think about it then!   And I always said I would, some day.   Will I even be able to come any more?   I imagined I would be satisfied after a hundred strokes!   And now I know it will never happen.  Becasue I'm a coward, I, uh, I, uh ..."

She sank sobbing to her knees.   Rory lifted her up, and kissed her, and hugged, his hard wullie pressing into her skin.   Her tears made him feel a whole new way, tender but strong.  The pleasure of this fucking wasna just happening to him any more, it was changing him in his heart.   He said nothing to comfort her, although his heart ached, only he hugged and kissed her, until the sobs subsided.  His heart pounded in his chest that he could not dree it, he was so on fire.  He could not get a thought finished, before his mind lept to another one.  She spoke first.

"You've done your part, Rory.  You can masturbate now.   Or do you want the ten more strokes with the whip, first?  You said you couldn't wait for them."

"I want them, but I canna dree them.   Is that nae how it feels?   Wanting them and not wanting them?    I'm nae different nor ye : I long for them, but I am nae strong enough ta ask fer them.   But you can help me, Caroline : tell me I ha'e to tak them."

"I understand, Rory.  I know what to say."

Caroline Thomasson took up her pose as the leddie o the manor, lecturing the crofter lad.  "Houn Fell, the deal was twenty strokes for you, and then you could masturbate.   You agreed.   And you need to masturbate now.   You've had an erection since ten o'clock in the morning, and there is only so much the human male can stand : that's been scientifically demonstrated.  So take the other ten strokes, and earn your masturbation.   Do it for Kat."

Rory bent over the bed.   Mrs. Thomasson swung the whip with vigor.  When the ten strokes were done she asked him: "How does it feel?"

"Painful.   It's nae any pleasure.  But I did want them.  And now it's o'er I feel satisfied, like when my shoulders ache but I look down at the cabbage patch, all weeded.   When I'm at thinking o' fucking and mastrubation, a whipping still hurts, but I want it.  It hurts but I want it - thon would be very handy in schuil, fer the dominie's beltings, but I canna mastrubate there."

"Masturbate, Rory, not 'strubate.'    And, Rory . . . ?"

"No, Leddie Thomasson.   I willna let ye do it.   Put away yer hand, noo."

Rory went into the cludgie for a little private time, to do what he had paid for the right to do.   Lying on floor with his head against the pottery bowl.    He knew rich people crapped inside o' their houses, but it wasna something he liked ha'ing to think about.   But there he was, wi' his head up against the crapping bowl.  Ans so it wasna one of the good ones, and it took a fair deal o' rubbing, but he got it out eventually, and there was an awful lot.  And then he had a little problem.  He couldna wipe it off wi' his shirt for he was i' the scud, and he didna want ta use the Leddie's fine linen, tha she used ta wipe her hands.   And he couldna leave it on his belly for the Leddie to kiss.   So he scraped it off as best he could with the whip-handle.   When he returned he was feeling very tired.

But Caroline was bouncing with energy and excited to see him :   "I need to be tied up now, mister.    And be given twenty strokes of the whip, even if I beg you to stop.   That is what I want."

"From yer husband, Caroline, or a lover.   But not from me."

"No.  I have no right to ask you."

"But I could gi'e you one skelp wi' my hand.   One isna much, if you thought of a hundred strokes o' the birch.  But a skelp wi' the hand can hurt a lot, when's a strong arm and nae mercy; it will hurt more than ye think.   Och just one will hurt ye so, that when ye ha'e it, ye willna ask fer another.   So I offer only one.   It's the best I can do.   But och, it'll be exciting, to wait for even one.   Aye?"

"Too exciting.  What do I have to do?"

"Bend across my lap."

His lap was where he kept his penis.   Face down across his lap, Caroline thought: this is as good as it gets - this is where I want most to be.    But then she thought of how good it had felt to be in his arms, when he had comforted her, kissing away her tears.   The thought of a spanking had always been exciting, but she had never thought of it mattering who spanked her.   But Rory could tell how she felt.   And he cared about her.  She felt his hand run caressingly over her bottom.   Waiting for the spank - waiting not for just any spank, but for his spank - waiting for a spank from the boy who held her in his arms and kissed away her tears.  She was primed for it, and her bottom felt like an enormous clitoris; his lightest touch on her ass made her tingle all over - stronger tingles from a touch on her ass from him, than from hard working of her clitoris by any other man.

"I have you held tight, Caroline..   You canna move, if I want to hold you.   I am stronger.  I will let you up, after the skelping.   But for now you are held.   Are you ready?    Ask for the stroke when you are ready."

It was very hard to ask, but she croaked it out.   "YES!"

When the spank fell, she clung tightly to his legs, and didn't get off his lap.    He asked, 'Another?"   She gaped, unable to speak.   And he gave her a second spank, without making her ask.   She managed to say, "thanks".    The third stroke was much harder.   She knew now the first two had been light, this was the first real one.   But she didn't get up after it, either.    She knew now she was going to win.   She had thought she couldn't take it, but she could, and now for the rest of her life, sex would include this intoxicating excitement: no longer a fantasy, but a reality more intense than she had dreamed.   Too excited to feel much pain, she asked for the fourth, and then the fifth..    She asked for an extra hard one for number six.   Then she wanted seven spanks quickly, spread over her bottom, making it blaze like fire.   He made her wait a long time after that, as he rubbed her bottom again, tenderly, talking to her in a soothing sing-song voice as if she was a hurt sheep.   Then, without warninng, a hard smack for fourteen, a tender caress, a hard one for fifteen, a tender caress, and a very hard one for sixteen.     But when he gave number sixteen, he said "twenty."

"Twenty?   That was sixteen!"

"Ye had three with thon riding crop before."

"You counted those?"

"They hurt, didn't they?   They left marks."

"You're still one short."

"When ye asked fer seven quick ones, I gave ye eight.   Seven is nae divisible by two."

"But I need more!   I haven't been punished enough."

"Punished?   Then this wasna a skelping fer pleasure?"

"It was.   Intense pleasure.   But it hurts, too, and I feel I've been punished.   But not enough."

"By the rules of our game, Caroline, I am nae ta fuck ye, but I have ta pleasure ye in ilka way bar tha'.   So if ye want more skelping fer pleasure, I ha'e to gi'e it ye.   Ye've nae need ta beg me, nor ta gi'e me owt in trade."

"I do want more, but I'm ready to move on to the whip.  I should be punished harder than a spanking by hand."

"What have ye done that ye need to be punished?"

"The worst?   The worst is, spanking Jeremy."

"He's your son."

"But I take too much pleasure in it.   Not just giving him a spanking, but spending hours, with him on my lap; spanking and spanking until his bottom is a dark, dark red.   And then we hug and kiss, and forgive each other, and chat.   I just listen, mostly.   He talks about his trouble making friends.   I don't tell him he just needs to try, the way his father does.   He does just need to try, but I don't say so.   He's a very lonely boy, and I never hug and kiss and listen enough, except after a spanking.   I make him buy his mother's love by taking spanks.  He misbehaves on purpose, and takes the spanking, for the listening afterwards, which he doesn't get from anyone else but needs so badly.    And how do I know I didn't cause his stammer?  A hundred strokes with the riding whip won't be enough, but it's a start."

"You need to hug and kiss him then, at other times, when he hasna just had a spanking.   Yer being punished isna enough."

"But I want to be punished for it now."

"Listen.   I will meet you, riding.   Tomorrow.  It's nobut a step - two miles past your gate, toward the village, there's a holly tree with ivy growing on it, with a hiding place under it.    Ye've seen it - it's where the path down the fernie brae meets the road ta the Manse.   Ride up that path to the wood a wee bit, hide your horse in the wood, and walk down to the holly.   I will be under it.  We can do ilka thing--except I willna fuck you--and I will whip you fifty strokes wi' yer riding whip.  Only come if ye can tak all fifty wi'o' changing yer mind.   But ye must first apologize to Jeremy, and tell him you will never spank him again.   And that from now on he has to hug and kiss and talk to his mum ilka single day until he sees you in your coffin."

"Yes, Laird."

"Och, I'm the Emperor of China!  That's me!"

She gave him a spank across his bottom.   "That's for you, Emperor!"

He grabbed for her, but only got raked by her fingernails.    "I'll do you fer thon, Leddie Lovely!"

She fled in real terror, not laughing any more.   But she wasn't easy to catch.   Her dressing table got bumped, and her willow pattern toilette set slid off and landed on the carpet.  Then it became a chase around the table.    She began to giggle at his frustration.   She made a dash for the bed, laughing so much she zigged when she should have zagged, and he leaped, his open palm struck her shoulder, and she tripped and toppled onto the bed.   And then it was all over, she was held down on the bed with her face ground into the mattress, with Rory holding her arm twisted behind her, and her legs hanging over the edge.    He took his pleasure on her bottom with his hand.   She screamed at him to let her go.   He didn't.  Neither one counted the spanks.

When he stopped, he went over to the floor by the dressing table, and started picking up the broken china.   The scented powder rose in great clouds when he tried to sweep it up.

'Rory, you shouldn't wear Shalimar - it doesn't suit you.   I'll ask Guerlain to mix you something special - Eau de Rory : heather and wet sheepdog.   And leather.   Definitely leather."    She rubbed her doup.

'I'm sorry I broke your fairlie things."

"They're yours.  You're the Emperor of china.   And where did you learn to spank like that?   I found a book in Paris called The Art of Spanking.  Do you read French?   When I squeezed my crack tight, the way you forced me open with those sideways strokes was brilliant!"

"Och, tha's me mither.   She's blind and strikes wild.   And I try to move my britchen out of the way o' the strap, wi'o' her kenning.   I know which ways a whip can land, that hurt most."

"And you spanked me on all of them.   But Rory, do you really get such a lot of whipping at home?   You don't seem like you would be a naughty boy."

"Nor Jeremy."

"But I think right now a naughty boy needs a whipping for breaking my powder jar."

"Can you gi'e me the same spanking you gi'e Jeremy?   On your lap?  A long one that turns my doup dark, dark red all over?  With a hug and a kiss and a listen after?"

"You'll get your hug and kiss right now."

Something happened to him during that kiss, and Caroline knew it.   With nothing spoken, she lay down on the bed with her knees apart.   Rory took position above her.   It felt to him a bit like applying medicine to a ewe's cunt - not wild passion.   But he didna ha'e the will any more ta keep from doing it.   He began to move his body back and forth, teasingly, stroking the underside of his cock on her stomach, her thigh, her cunt.  Then hard ramming strokes that stopped just short.  One went just inside of her.

And then he rolled over on his back, his stonner impossibly rigid and impossibly red, pointing towards the ceiling.   Blood ran from his lip, and he was crying.

"You're going to win, Rory.   I don't have any hope, now."

"I just lost."

"Only if you cum inside of me."

"Come inside of you?   What are you talking about.   I did go inside you.  My wullie went inside you."

"I don't mean come as in go inside me, I mean you only loose of you cum inside me.    Don't you understand?   'Cum' is the English word for it.  For when you shoot your seed and feel that little death."

"Come?   Come?   That's the English word for that?   So in England if you yell out, 'Come here, Johnny,' it's like yelling 'Fuck here, Johnny' in Scotland?"

"Not exactly."

"What a language.     So the game is still on.   Don't go easy on me, Leddie Lovely.   I want to win fair, if I win."

"But how can we keep playing?"

"Ye can tell me more about fucking.   And I lose if I do it--if I fuck ye.    Tell me abou' in thon book fra' France."

"What else can I teach you?"

"I want to know about cunts."

"What about them?"

"What do I do in there?    The best thing you taught me, was pushing yer tongue oop my arse.   But Kat will ne'er let me tongue her arse.  Ne'er."

"She will, and she will tongue your arse, if you ask her."

"Gi'e away wi ye!"

"Or you could put your cock up her arse."

"You mean just the tip of it?   Pushed against the fud?"

"I mean all of it, and I mean all the way in.  It goes in.   Let me show you.   Did you see the red hairbrush that was on my dresser."

"The big wooden one?   It looks like it's for brushing a horse - your other things are so fairlie and delicate."

"That hairbrush was a Christmas present from Jeremy.   We're going to use the handle though, not the flat.    Bend over, and pull your arse cheeks apart with your hands.   I'm going to start with a finger, just the way I showed you with my tongue.   I'm using some of my beauty cream.  Slowly, very slowly.  That's to relax the anal sphincter, so there will be no pain when the object is inserted."

"Leddie Loverly?"

"Yes.   Rory."

"I rammed Kat's arse hole with a stick the size of a horse pizzle.   Uhh-YahGGH!"

"Rammed her like that?"

"Some'ut like that."

"Good.   We can skip the part about reducing pain to the anal sphincter.   I did this to a man once, using a leather penis, and he showed me a secret spot, inside.   He came - I mean spunk shot out of him - without me touching his penis at all."

"If you can do that to me, ye've won bet."

"Let's call it a draw, if it happens.   I'm not sure I can remember the spot.   Do you want me to try?"

"I have a choice?   Then yes.   I want it..   And I think you may have already found it."

"This?    I'm just pulling the handle in and out - this is just pleasure from the sphincter."

"Uhh Uhh Stop!"

"Does it hurt?"

"Och no, it doesna hurt.   It does anything but hurt.  I just canna talk while ye're doing it.  More pleasure that than e'er playing wi' my pee-nis alone."

"But not as much pleasure as I could give you by playing with your penis. Rory.   The secret spot really is your penis - just the part that's inside you, like the part of a pole that is buried in the earth.   It can be reached through your asshole and is located right ..."

"YAA-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh"

"Cum!  Damn you! Cum!"     Caroline let go of the hairbrush and began spanking Rory's bottom, above and below the hairbrush sticking out of his ass.   Then she grabbed the brush again, pushing it further in, pulling it halfway out, twisting it, wiggling it up and down, jerking it roughly from side to side.    Rory kept screaming.    Caroline pulled the hairbrush out of his ass.   Rory sank panting to the ground.

"Leddie Loverly.   Leddie Loverly.   Could you do tha' again?"

"I will, Rory.   But do it for me, now.   Practice for pleasuring your Katherine.   Pleasure my anus with the brush, but when you do it for her, with your penis."

"I could ne'er.   I could push my stonner in hard, one time, but then it would be o'er.   How could I stop from - um - cumming - if I fucked her arse?"

"There is so much more I could teach you, Rory, if we were really fucking.    There are ways for a man to keep hard.  To make a man's pleasure last hours instead of seconds."

"Do women ha'e a secret spot inside their arses?"

"I think they do.   But I don't know where it is."

"You ha'e ne'er hunted for it?"

"I've never had a man who cared for my pleasure."

"What about your hus