There may have been envious glances cast my way, but hunger was the great leveler. His lordship did not stint, even if the true delicacies were reserved for dining in Hall. None of us belonged in that exalted company; the rigid castes of British society may have been bent at Peacock House, but the liberal application of the rod kept everyone in their place. Truly, it was a pity. Every soul dwelling in that place was a prisoner of convention, from the youngest boot boy, all the way to the Master himself. Sex and discipline burst forth, blatantly, yet elegantly.
You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.
Spank Me Hard! ... Please? 
Oh yes….the rod does keep everyone in their place…. 🙂
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By the rod they rose, and by the rod, they fell.
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I’m at it again! “Every soul…was a prisoner of convention”? Is that a clue about things to come? (I think I watch too much Poirot!)
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Sometimes a word, is just a word, Ina.
And sometimes it is not. 😉
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You’re determined to drive me potty! Not that it should take much doing. 😉
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