The Schooling of Lady Caroline

Story from Janus 11.

The Schooling of Lady Caroline

PART ONE

The Victorians took their spanking seriously. How seriously can be appreciated from this sequence of letters discovered recently, which recount the strange events that led to a proud heiress receiving a vigorous bare-bottom birching at the hands of an indomitable suitor who simply wouldn't take no for an answer...

* * *

Cheyne Walk,
Chelsea, London.
p.m. 24th January, 1894

My Dear Cousin Rodney,

Knowing full well how desirous you are of pressing your suit with the beautiful heiress Lady Caroline D'Arblay (despite her having rejected your every advance) I hasten to avert you at the earliest opportunity that on Friday 2nd February Lady Caroline, together with her maid, will be taking the morning train from Paddington to Birmingham, arriving at the Snow Hill terminus of the Great Western Railway at twenty-five minutes past eleven. On arrival at Snow Hill she will procure a hansom cab to carry her to the village of Tanworth-in-Arden, lying at the western extremity of the city, where she will spend several days at the country seat of her husband-presumptive, the Hon. Eustace Bateman, that effete though wealthy tea-broker. Her father, too, will be making a special journey down from Carlisle to be present for the occasion. For this precious piece of information I am indebted to that notorious gossip, Baroness Heyhoe! I doubt not but that you will make the fullest use of it, if your celebrated resourcefulness, initiative and audacity are anything to go by!

Your friend and cousin,
Edgar.

* * *

Oakfield Road,
Tunbridge Wells,
Kent.
a.m. 27th January, 1894

My Dear Edgar,

Your timely intelligence gratefully received! Accordingly, an elderly widow of my acquaintance has placed at my disposal a modest secluded villa residence in a northern suburb of Birmingham.

In a hired conveyance, with my man Higgs capped, mufflered and greatcoated – looking every inch the part of a Brummagem hackney-carriage driver, and yours truly similarly attired, we shall make every endeavour to intercept Lady Caroline and her maid as they emerge from the Snow Hill terminus at the time and dale you specified.

Believe me, Edgar, I am in no mood to be trifled with! This is to be a 'do-or-die' venture. Lady Caroline has spurned my devoted attentions and thwarted my desires too long now for her to gaily exit from my life scot-free! She must and shall be brought to heel! Her entire life thus far has been lived in spoilt, pampered luxury – hence her deplorable tendency to play fast-and-loose with the affections of half the eligible bachelors in the kingdom! I tell you, Edgar, she shall be taught a lesson, even if it means taking my belt off to that precious, aristocratic rump of hers! Stern words and a firm hand may succeed where sweet blandishments and terms of endearment have so far signally failed.

I solemnly stake my life, my reputation, and above all, my honour as an officer, on the successful outcome of this desperate business. I mean to make her love me, Edgar, and to that end have procured birch-rod and cane – in fact all the accoutrements of school-room discipline to assist me in my Grand Design! I shall emerge from this affair, dear cousin, either a broken man facing ruin, gaol, or worse – or else the proud possessor of a loving, devoted fiancée.

Yours ever,
Rodney

* * *

Cheyne Walk,
Chelsea, London.
p.m. 30th January, 1894

My Dear Cousin Rodney,

Intrigued yet alarmed by your plans. They are indeed desperate. I fear for the outcome. I hasten to add, however, that you may rest assured of my every assistance, should it be required. I expect – nay demand – a full and detailed account.

God be with you in your hour of hazard!

E.

* * *

Grosvenor Road,
Edgbaston,
Birmingham.
1st February, 1894.

My Dear Edgar,

Here we are safely billeted in Birmingham – a vast, teeming metropolis wholly devoted, it seems, to the noisy bangings and clatterings of the manufacturing trades that have helped to make our country great. The populace are coarse-tongued, drunken and dirty: the streets gloomy and inhospitable. To make matters worse, a swirling 'pea-souper' of a fog envelopes the city and shows no sign of abating – although this very same fog may yet prove our greatest ally in tomorrow's business!

A cab is at our disposal; the house is well suited to our purpose – small and at some remove from the main thoroughfare. There are no servants apart from the housekeeper, whom we have liberally paid to stay away. The ground floor consists of a drawing room, dining room, breakfast room and kitchen – all with lockable doors. Upstairs there are three capacious bedrooms, similarly securable.

The birch rods are soaking in the kitchen pail. My man Higgs informs me that he has met Lady Caroline's personal maid, Eliza Bradstock and, though buxom and well-informed, she is every bit as audacious a minx as her mistress! Accordingly I have counselled Higgs to follow my excellent example, spare her not, and lash the impudent baggage into a state of true contritionl

Tomorrow, Edgar, is the day when the proud, haughty Lady Caroline D'Arblay and her maid Eliza will disappear from the face of the earth. How soon they re-appear will depend on how long it takes to break their intractable spirits!

I am, dear Edgar, ever sensible of your goodwill and anxious solicitude!

Yours as always,
Rodney

* * *

Grosvenor Road,
Edgbaston,
Birmingham.
midnight, 4th February

My Dear Edgar,

All has gone according to plan, fulfilling my wildest expectations! At the appointed hour Higgs and I, disguised as cabbies, sat anxiously outside the rail terminus, awaiting the arrival of the London train. By an amazing stroke of good fortune the fog was at its thickest and there were only a handful of other cabs plying their trade. As the time grew near I despatched Higgs to sally forth into the main concourse of the terminus to secure the ladies' custom before another cabby was able to lay prior claim to our precious burden.

Those minutes waiting alone in the fog, tending our cab, were the longest in my life! What if they slipped through our nets? What if they had missed the train, or decided to come by the other railway – the London Midland and Scotland, and thus arrive at New Street Station instead?

But my fears were allayed when three figures materialised out of the swirling mist. The two ladies looked pale and fatigued after their journey – so much the better. Higgs installed them in the cab, secured their baggage, climbed aboard next to me, winked conspiratorially and urged the horse into a trot. Twenty minutes later we reached our destination. We escorted the ladies from the carriage; they seemed surprised that we had arrived so soon, since they had been told that Tanworth was a good hour's drive away. Lady Caroline looked about in growing bewilderment as she realized, despite the blanketing mist, that we had not left the environs of the city.

'But this cannot be Tanworth!' she declared in annoyance. At that moment the muffler slipped from around my face. She recognised me and cried out in alarm: 'Sir Rodney! What on earth...?' but I seized her and carried her bodily up the steps to the front door, impervious to her shrill protests. Higgs dealt likewise with the indignantly squawking Eliza. Before the whole neighbourhood was roused, we were safely indoors.

While Higgs bundled the vociferous Eliza up the thickly-carpeted stairs to the servants' floor, I removed Lady Caroline's cloak and hat and led her into the drawing room where a log fire was burning merrily. Without a word I lit the gas lamps and drew the velvet curtains, while my lady, pale but defiant, eyed me with suspicion and distrust. I motioned her to be seated, which she did with ill grace.

'Lady Caroline,' I began firmly, 'there is much we have to discuss. I make no apologies for the manner in which I have brought you here – necessity compels it.' She listened with a kind of sulky attentiveness, a constrained expression on her face and her hands clasped nervously together in her lap. I could not help but feast my eyes on the splendour of her proud beauty – the exquisitely curled blonde tresses, the clear, deep blue eyes, the aristocratic nose and the firmly resolute yet undeniably sensual mouth. From her neck down to her ankles she was a shimmering study in blue – a lavender organdie gown that rustled when she walked, betraying the presence of several layers of frilled, starched petticoats beneath.

'You have led me a merry dance!' I continued. 'You have thrise cruelly rejected my proposals of matrimony – wrung from the heart of your truest, most besotted admirer. Worse, you have frivolously – nay maliciously – broadcast the humiliating details of my scorned offers throughout every salon and drawing room in Society! I am not the kind of man to suffer the mortification of defeat lightly! Therefore I have brought you here – albeit against your wishes – to tender my proposals once more: Lady Caroline, will you make me the happiest of my sex and consent to be mine?'

She drew herself up to her fullest height and, eyeing me with the utmost disdain, replied indignantly:

'Surely, Sir Rodney, you cannot but be aware of the fact that I am now betrothed to the Hon. Eustace Bateman, a better man, in every respect, than you will ever be: where you are proud and cruel he is modest and kind; where you are rash and impetuous he is far-sighted and cautious. But were I unfortunate enough not to be betrothed to him, my answer, Sir Rodney, would still be the same. A thousand times no! Whatever respect I may have once held you in has been forfeited forever by the criminal way in which you have abducted me! I demand you release me here and now, and set me on the road to my friends and father!

'Very well, Miss Caroline,' I continued, my patience sorely taxed, 'since you do not consent of your own free will, then it is up to me to make you! You must know that you are entirely at my mercy. To all intents and purposes you have vanished from the face of the earth – not a soul knows where you are! It is my intention to detain you here until such a time as you change your mind and consent to be my wife!'

Her beautiful blue eyes blazed in fury and she tossed her pretty head in brave defiance.

'Sir Rodney, I care not a fig for you, nor for your wicked, wicked designs!' She stamped her dainty foot in angry petulance. 'You may keep me here for as long as you wish. I swear I shall go to my grave a grey-haired old maid before I submit to...' But she broke off in amazement and horror as she heard the unmistakable sounds, coming from upstairs, of a loud and painful whipping in progress! Fleshy 'THWACKS', closely followed by shrill female cries of distress. Higgs had begun work on Eliza – he could not have timed it better had he tried!

'Oh my God!' Lady Caroline exclaimed, half rising from the ottoman, 'what in heaven's name is that?' I simply smiled and made artful reference to 'the maid doubtless proving as recalcitrant as the mistress!' The veiled threat in this remark was not lost on my lady, and she sank back into the cushions, pale and agitated – obliged to bear oral witness to the lusty birching that Higgs was enthusiastically inflicting on the nether regions of her maid.

The swishing, thwacking sounds proceeded at a steady interval, as did the fervent cries of the victim. My man was certainly going to it with a will! Eliza's gabbled protests and pleadings for mercy assailed our ears: Lady Caroline bit her lip and a deep crimson blush suffused her checks.

'First he stripped her, then he whipped her!' I rejoiced facetiously, and commenced humming a popular air, while birch-blows and accompanying cries attained a frenzied pitch. I glanced at my lady. She had placed her hands over her delicate ears in an effort to obliterate the unseemly noises emanating from above: the disciplining of Eliza was evidently unsettling her lady-like sensibilities.

The whipping and the cries ceased. This seemed an opportune moment to re-open negotiations with my now somewhat cowed captive. I approached her, gently but firmly took her hands away from her aristocratic ears, and repeated my demands.

'My dear Lady Caroline, before a similar fate overtakes you,' (here she shuddered palpably) 'will you, or will you not, consent to be mine?'

Steadfastly she returned my gaze and, her spirits rallying, murmured: 'Never! Never in a million years! Do your worst – I defy you!'

'Very well,' I sighed solicitously, 'but first let me enlighten you as to where your stubborn wilfulness is leading you.' I went over to the open door and called up:

'Higgs! Bring down the girl!'

A moment later, footfalls could be heard descending the stairs, together with girlish snivellings and whimpers. Lady Caroline looked up from the ottoman as Higgs led in a weeping Eliza, clad only in chemise and black stockings gartered above the knees.

'Oh please, oh please don't let them see me like this!' Eliza burbled amid her tears, vainly trying to conceal with her hands the black, bushy outcrop between her thighs.

'Well now, Eliza!' I greeted her cordially. 'It pains me to see that you've been a naughty, disobedient girl! Tell your mistress what you have had to suffer at the hands of my servant in order to curb you of your waywardness.'

'Oh ma'am! It were awful, ma'am! He b-birched me on my... my posterior!' she wailed, rubbing the afflicted parts. I asked Higgs whether the girl had shown true contrition. A broad grin creased my burly manservant's weather-beaten face. He spun Eliza round by the shoulders so that her rear view was shamelessly displayed, her chemise tucked up at the back and the broad amplitude of her naked, well-birched posterior on full show. It was indeed a sorry sight!

Lady Caroline gasped in horror at the thin tracery of weals criss-crossing practically every inch of her maid's saucily plump buttocks and upper thighs.

'Oh you brutes! You brutes! What have you done to her?' my lady cried in outrage. Her outburst prompted fresh floods of tears and lamentations from her maid. Clutching her emblazoned seat in both hands, in a vain endeavour to ease the throbbing smart, Eliza sobbed out a warning through her tears: 'Oh m'lady have a care! Don't provoke them, else they will treat you likewise!' I studied Lady Caroline's face in order to gauge the effect of these salutary words on her... but I saw imprinted on her fair features only obduracy and smouldering rebellion. The birching of Eliza had undoubtedly at first shaken and alarmed her; but the end result had only been to stiffen her resolve. I could not help but applaud her courage! I warmed to the ensuing battle of wills; she was in every respect a worthy adversary.

Higgs, still flushed and perspiring from his exertions, enquired of me whether that would be all. The conspicuous bulge in the front of his breeches signified that, having delivered his attack on the rear of the enemy, he was now more than eager to force an entry via another quarter. His rough, calloused hand explored the dark, shadowy cleft between Eliza's haunches. He licked his lips in anticipatory pleasure and delivered a hearty smack to her bruised, burning rump, as he would to a prize filly. Eliza winced and trembled at the fresh onslaught. His hand resumed its former exploratory operation, and the excellent lubricity he encountered down there convinced him that she was indeed now ready for a rod of a different nature.

'The bitch is in heat, milord!' he observed with a ribald chuckle, 'and the stud is eager to service her!'

'Very well, Higgs,' I relented. 'Take her and fall to't! They do say a woman well whipped is at her hottest!' Higgs propelled the weeping, red-bottomed maid from the room with sharp swipes of encouragement to her blushing derriere.

Once more I confronted my lady alone.

'Lady Caroline, the choice is yours, and yours alone! Accede to my wishes and we'll be the happiest couple in Christendom – I swear to it: or else prepare yourself to be schooled by me! I warn you in advance that I am a stern, exacting tutor. Whatever prowess with a birch possesses, he acquired from me, by emulation, in the flogging academies of Albion Street!' (Albion Street was notorious in the late nineteenth century for its whipping brothels, possibly frequented by Swinburne – Ed.)

'Do thy worst,' she whispered through clenched teeth, 'I defy you for the blackguard and scoundrel you are!'

Deeds, not words, were the order of the day.... Dear Cousin, it is past four in the morning and I faint for want of sleep. Fatigue and an ever-increasing drowsiness decree that I conclude herewith this already over-long epistle. I shall despatch Higgs with it to ensure it catches the morning post, and resume my narrative at the earliest opportunity.

Your ever-loving cousin and friend,
R.

* * *

PART TWO

Grosvenor Road,
Edgbaston,
Birmingham.
p.m. 6th February, 1894

My Dear Edgar,

A night at the music hall has only served but to confirm my worst suspicions of this provincial capital! For utter coarseness and vulgarity it is unsurpassed! Footpads abound and it is more dangerous to walk the streets here than it is in London. 'But pass the port and proceed with your tale!' do I hear you impatiently cry? Now, where was I? Ah yes...

Without further ado I ordered her to remove her gown. 'And if I refuse, Sir Rodney?' she rejoined icily. There is no creature in this world, dear Edgar, more beautiful than a disdainful, obdurate young woman – of that I am convinced. Her brave words fanned my already enflamed passions – I burned to take her there and then! As for her refusal to disrobe, I merely warned her that if her flounced and be-ribboned, exquisitely cut Paris gown was not off her back within the minute – I would summon Higgs and together we would strip her forcibly! The threat was enough. Reluctantly she rose to her feet and commenced loosening the catches and buttons. With a silken hiss the organdie gown cascaded to the floor and Lady Caroline, growing paler by the second, stepped out of it, retrieved it, laid it out neatly over the ottoman, and then turned back to face me, clad only in her white layered outer petticoat, black stockings and gold-buckled, calf-leather shoes.

'Now your petticoat please, my lady,' I instructed her. 'No place for false school-room modesty here! I am resolved to birch your impudent, bare backside until you beg for mercy!' and to demonstrate my intent I moved over to a brass ewer from whence I withdrew a sturdy bundle of birch rods that had been left conveniently soaking in brine. I swished them about vigorously to clear the drops of water that still clung to the buds. There were six switches, neatly peeled, with a black cloth tied around the handle end. It was evident to me that Lady Caroline had never viewed such an implement before in her life, let alone felt its admonishing kiss across the magnificent swell of her seat of learning, for she drew in breath sharply and gazed at it in wide-eyed alarm. 'Surely, Sir Rodney, you can't be intending to beat me with that cruel device? And with me in such a shameful state of dishabillee too? Is there no limit to your villainy... to take advantage, in such an utterly caddish manner, of a helpless, defenceless lady?'

Ah Edgar, should you ever be blessed with the opportunity of whipping such a woman as she, then you will savour the full import of those immortal words of that illustrious Scot, Robert Louis Stevenson: 'To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is labour', because even before I had as much as laid a finger on her, the haughty, imperious Lady Caroline was beginning to quail perceptively at the mere idea of being visited by the birch! She had now doffed both her under-petticoats and stood before me, shyly vulnerable in her silken chemise and very pretty white batiste drawers that tightly hugged her proud womanly curves and finished at her knees, where they were lovingly secured with blue ribbons. A tempting morsel indeed with which to delight the jaded palate of even such an inveterate roué as I! The winsome garment clung to the upper reaches of her sturdy thighs and intimately delineated the swelling proturberance of her mound of venus. No gourmet had ever been served such an appetising dish as this! Impatiently I swished the birch against my thigh. A rich, deep-hued blush suffused her cheeks. In desperation she bartered for the retention of her drawers. She swore she would gladly suffer the severest discipline I could administer, if only she might be allowed to keep that one vestigial veil of modesty.

'But Lady Caroline!' I bantered, 'as any little school-age minx will gladly tell you, all remedial treatment in the classroom is delivered to the naked seat! Now, do I have to call Higgs? Doubtless he'll not take kindly to being interrupted in the midst of his labours!' and my hand strayed towards the bell.

Having perceived the futility of barter, my lady changed her tune to begging and pleading:

'But... but in front of a man – it's not decent! It's shameful and immodest, and unbecoming to a lady!' Now real tears were glistening in her eyes. 'No man before has ever seen me in this state of disarray' (alluding to her undergarments) 'let alone the even more indecorous condition which you are proposing. That was to be a sight reserved for my husband alone!'

'All the more reason, Lady Caroline, for you to gratefully accept my proposal of matrimony! That way, your honour will be safeguarded and mine wholly satisfied. Just say the word and I'll spare the rod, and your drawers into the bargain!'

So fully aroused was I by the sight of my lady reduced to her chemise and drawers, and so fully resolved to soundly birch her into abject submission that, even had she recanted at this eleventh hour, I doubt I would have granted her the reprieve she so earnestly sought! But none was called for. Instead, my beautiful hostage tearfully reminded me that as she was already pledged to another, her only honourable course lay in the direction of preserving that pledge. (Did I detect a discernible weakening in her fortitude? The haughty contempt had certainly evaporated. But then, dear cousin, what maiden facing for the first time in her life the rigours of a bare-bottom birching can afford the luxury of disdain?)

'It strikes me, Lady Caroline,' I opined helpfully, 'that you are well and truly impaled on the horns of a dilemma: either you forsake your pledge but retain your drawers, or else you retain your pledge but forsake your drawers! The former course of action will pain you morally, the latter physically. Am I right?'

She nodded tearfully – a very different, chastised, Lady Caroline to the one who had defiantly entered the room an hour ago.

'Am I also right in supposing that you elect to suffer the stings of the birch, rather than endure the stings of your conscience?' Again she nodded lachrymosely.

'Then, my lady, what in heaven's name are we waiting for? Take down your drawers immediately and prepare yourself for the whipping you so thoroughly deserve!'

The once-proud heiress, who had poured scorn on my name in every London salon, burst into choking sobs and desperately fumbled with the offending drawers. But even then she halted in her tracks, crying out in despair: 'I cannot! I just cannot! It's too shameful!'

'Very well then,' I retorted implacably, 'since you refuse, I'll prepare you myself. Of course, that will mean extra strokes!' and I approached her with the intention of yanking down her drawers to below her knees.

But with a cry of alarm, Caroline D'Arblay performed the shameful duty herself, pulling them down to her ankles and stepping out of them – heedless of the highly indecent spectacle she was making of herself. I feasted my eyes on the sturdy growth of blonde pubic bush, and on the unravished, virginal slit coyly hiding beneath. I bade her turn around, for I was eager to inspect the target area. She guessed my purpose and bit her lower lip in anguish, but nevertheless did as she was told.

Her chemise ended where her back ended: her black silk stockings were gartered just above the knee. My lustful gaze lingered on her naked behind. Broad-cheeked and womanly, it jutted out in the most enticing manner, wobbling slightly whenever she moved. I measured the birch experimentally across the full width of her naked seat. She flinched to feel the sharp prickle of the buds. I turned it on its end and rubbed it teasingly up and down between the broad division of her cheeks. She shuddered and squirmed to feel it probe her cherished maidenhood. Then I rubbed and kneaded her trembling buttocks with my other hand. They felt deliciously warm and birch-worthy! I laughed out loud to think of that nincompoop, Bateman, fondly feeding on air: fantasising about the joys that I was palpably tasting! Joys he would never now know – for she was mine, all mine! A might of blazing birchings and furious fuckings would see to that! No woman is proof against such drastic medicine.

With one hand still clutching the birch, and the other firmly grasping her round the middle, I guided her to the door and up the stairs to the master bedroom. I had taken pains to procure a small step-ladder, over which I made her bend. Her long blonde tresses fell in delicious disarray almost to the floor, concealing her face and the deep blush thereon. Her bottom was raised up at an almost grotesquely indecent angle. It struck me as being a comic parody of a schoolroom chastisement. The twenty-four year-old heiress's bottom was a trifle too well-fleshed and generously proportioned for a stripling schoolgirl's!

During the preparations Lady Caroline had been mute to the point of sullenness, but when I measured the birch judicially across the width of her plump seat, she broke into fresh lamentations and tightened the muscles of her bottom, tensing her cheeks in agonised anticipation of the pain to follow.

I brandished the birch high above my head, took careful aim, and delivered a whistling cut to the base of her saucy big behind. Lady Caroline uttered a stifled gasp as if she had just been doused with scalding water, squeezed her bare buttocks together even tighter to try to conceal her virgin charms, and emitted a strangled sob as she struggled against her bonds and endeavoured frantically to glance up at me. Her bottom writhed and convulsed as the sharp needle-like little buds did their work of leaving a pattern of tiny weals which soon merged into an all-over sanguine stain, incarnadining the whole surface of her well-endowed posterior. Before she had time to recover what little composure she possessed, I swished her again, hard, aiming for the plump rotundity of her right buttock cheek – causing it to redden up more fiercely than its neighbour. She flinched at the hissing, sibilant impact and gave a loud groan of despair. While she was yet struggling to regain her self control, I landed another stroke on the same spot with such force that she cried out:

'Oh PLEASE no more! I beg you! No more! No more!' And she contorted her roseate backside in a series of vulgarly suggestive – though I hasten to add, totally involuntary – muscular spasms.

'Keep still, Lady Caroline!' I warned her, obliged to raise my voice above the swelling tide of her sobs and wails, 'or else I shall aim for your legs!'

'Oh you brute! You brute!' she shrieked hysterically. 'How can you go to such lengths to degrade a lady so?'

'Lady Caroline,' I retorted wryly, 'from where I am standing I see no lady – only a wanton, shameless, bare-arsed trollop!' And with that I delivered two whooshing cuts, one after the other, to the smooth coppery crown of her left buttock so that it too, crimsoned and broke out in a rash of goose-pimples.

Its pretty owner was now mewing and blubbering in abject submission. Try as she might, she was unable to keep her bottom still – it seemed to have taken on a life of its own. The pain of the birching was as nothing compared to the bitter mortification she felt at being made to appear to deliberately flaunt her well-birched bottom at her oppressor.

Towards the end Lady Caroline abandoned all efforts at hiding her private parts from view. Her crimson, welted derriere danced hither and thither in a desperate attempt to evade the stinging torment of the flailing birch rods, and I was rewarded with uninterrupted vistas of her blonde pubic hairs, and of her unmistakably damp, fully engorged little fortress of love that I was soon to lay siege to. The helpless rudery of her frantic bottom-rolling; her once-proud, disdainful features now wet with tears, nostrils flaring (a sign, Edgar, of true contrition! ); the agonised biting of her lower lip, and, above all, the heaving sobs that shook her entire body and filled the room – all eloquently testified that the schooling of Lady Caroline had indeed been accomplished.

No rebellious schoolgirl had ever suffered such a birching! Although I had taken care not to break the skin, there were angry purple blood-blisters forming in several places, notably on the sauciest prominence of both out-thrust cheeks. The over-all hue of her behind was that of pillar-box red – as though she had sat down on a hornets' nest; the criss-cross streaks and striations caused by the birch buds resembled an intricate cartographical design – a map of India, or maybe one of our lesser colonies in Africa!

I then led the weeping girl, over to the bed (she went like a lamb, without protest), freed my erect, swollen member from its bursting confines and, with one bold thrust, breached her precious maidenhead. It proved to be an easy task since she was swollen and abundantly lubricated – the birch had seen to that. Her tender, enflamed buttocks made her agonisingly sensitive to every thrust I delivered, but though she flinched and grimaced several times during the early stages, she made no complaint and even returned my embraces with reciprocal fervour, as we bucked and cavorted our way to mutual bliss. We entered the gates of paradise many times that night before our spent bodies dissolved into the arms of sleep.

Next morning over breakfast, with our servants as witness, a sore, chastened, yet thoroughly contented Lady Caroline gave verbal expression to what her body had so eagerly demonstrated the night before: she gave her consent, freely and unforced, to be mine forever!

'Could I do but otherwise, Rodney dear!' she laughed teasingly, 'with the marks of your ownership so plainly, so embarrassingly, imprinted upon my private person!'

I turned to our grinning, nudging servants, who seemed every whit as jovial as their master and mistress.

'And have Higgs's disciplinary measures effected a cure in you, too?' I demanded of Eliza. But she blushed and hid her head coyly in remembrance of her well-whipped bottom on full display the night before. Proudly my manservant announced that I was in fact looking at the future Mrs Higgs!

'You've made a good catch there, Higgs!' I congratulated him heartily. 'She's a comely, buxom wench – broad in the beam and thus excellently built for bearing you a dozen or more little Higgs! Treat her well – but never fail to whip her when she's contrary!' Eliza blushed and giggled as she and he respectfully left us to our own devices – he slapping her bottom all the way to the scullery, she laughing and shrieking encouragement.

In deep contentment I regarded my radiant bride-to-be across the breakfast table. Our hands met over the marmalade.

'Promise me, dearest one,' she appealed coyly, 'that you'll whip me too, whenever I am wicked?' She held her breath, waiting for my answer.

'On one point, dear lady, you may rest assured!' came my merry reply. 'Ours shall be a household where the man is truly master – above, as well as below stairs!'

Dear cousin — my cup runneth over! My pen leaps for joy! We are to be married secretly here in vulgar old Brummagem within the month... My lady assures me that her father will, given time, bless and approve our union – for she is the apple of his eye, his spoilt darling, and can do no wrong...

My heartfelt thanks to you, dear, dear Edgar! Without your timely intelligence all this might never have come to pass. Hasten to join us! Your services are required as Best Man!

Your loving cousin,
Rodney

Valerie – as promised

Story from Blushes 07.

Valerie – as promised

The continuation of the story of Valerie's 're-education' at the hands of a certain Mr Fultonby.

THE NEW GIRL MEETS MR MIGGINS

'Hey! No touching, Mr Miggins. Anyway your hands must be quite filthy messing about with those pots.'

In the potting shed in the corner of Mr Henry Fultonby's extensive gardens Cynthia Harlow was still sitting on the bench with one foot raised high to display the full extent of two slim and shapely legs, but as she spoke she pushed her skirt firmly down between the tops of her thighs thus closing off from view what Mr Bert Miggins had been raptly gazing at and indeed what he had now, lurching forward, attempted to get his hands on. What to be frank, Cynthia had been deliberately displaying to Mr Miggins' aroused eyes, namely that very essence of her young girlhood, that split peach, adorned with soft brown curls and with its outer lips parted by her spread-legged posture to reveal delectable and quite irresistable coral pink inner parts. All this, quite bare due to the absence of knickers was now abruptly covered up by the skirt.

But the chances were that this most delicious part of Cynthia would soon once more be revealed and indeed made available. For she calculated that Mr Miggins was now sufficiently on the boil to be prepared to open his wallet and pay for certain esoteric pleasures. Naturally, though, a girl did not want hands which had come straight from cleaning out old plant pots to be in contact with that most intimate of parts.

Hot-faced, Mr Miggins went to his sink and made a big show with soap and water, and then with a reasonably clean towel. Breathing somewhat like a panting dog he came back to Cynthia who made a quick inspection of the scrubbed hands.

'I don't know that I should let you,' she pronounced coyly. 'And also you shouldn't want to do such things.'

'Come on, young Cynthia,' urged the aroused gardener. 'You know you love it.'

Cynthia would not admit to 'loving' it, certainly not to Mr Miggins, or indeed to that new girl Valerie or to Mr Fultonby who in any case were not privy to the fact that she permitted such intimacies from the gardener. But it did give her a nice tingle of excitement letting a member of the lower classes get his work-gnarled hands on her. The thought of what Mummy would think was really quite a turn-on.

'How much're you going to give me?' she inquired sweetly. It is an unfortunate fact that some girls can get to know the value of what they've got at a very early age.

'A pound,' ventured Bert Miggins, though not too hopeful that this would get him very far.

'You've got to be joking, Mr Miggins; you won't get much of a feel for that I can tell you, I am not one of your common village girls, you know.'

'Two pounds for the whole works then. With me 'and, I means.'

Mr Miggins had better mean only his hand, he certainly would not be allowed anything else. Anything else could only be permitted to a proper gentleman, e.g., Mr Henry Fultonby. But yes, for £2 Mr Miggins might be allowed quite extended manual manipulations.

'Let's have it first,' Cynthia stipulated, aware that if she waited until after Mr Miggins had had his pleasure he can easily claim to have no money on him.

Two one-pound notes were handed over. Clutching them, Cynthia lay back on the bench and drew both legs up with raised knees spread in an abandoned manner. Mr Miggins, bending over her, pushed Cynthia's skirt back to her waist and slid an eager hand between silky thighs. Cynthia emitted an urgent gasp. Fingers explored and entered and then commenced a very expert massage. In no time at all Cynthia was grunting rhythmically and rocking her crotch against the busy fingers.

A visitor from Mars, say, might be excused for asking why it was that Mr Miggins was paying for something which would seem to be at least as much for Cynthia's enjoyment as for his own – but that, happily or otherwise, is the way it can be with desirable young ladies. Cynthia's orgasm was not long in coming, for she had a short fuse when expertly handled and though Mr Bert Miggins might be a common gardener, nevertheless in certain areas he knew exactly what he was doing. Perhaps that is they mean by having 'green fingers.'

When she was finished Cynthia pushed Mir Miggins' hand away. But Mr Fultonby's sturdy retainer was not yet ready to call it a day, complaining that he had not had his full £2's worth. He would, he said, finish up by giving Cynthia a little spanking.

She protested but not too desperately as he moved to his chair and pulled her over his lap. Having your bare bum spanked by a member of the proletariat was also a turn-on, even though it could hurt. Cynthia wriggled and yelped, feeling Mr Miggins' throbbing bulge pressing urgently against her soft belly. The hand kept coming crisply down; and then by way of variety slid firmly in between her hot thighs.

She gave a strangled yell, and immediately started thrusting rhythmically against the hand in much the same way as she had five minutes earlier when on her back on the bench. Cynthia climaxed, for the second time, just before Bert Miggins reached his own satisfying conclusion.

Meanwhile, in the house, Henry Fultonby had also just finished his first disciplinary session with the new girl, Valerie. The cane vigorously applied to her pertly pretty 16-year old bottom and then what, if you weren't used to it, was an equally breath-stopping massage afterwards. With a dismissive smack to her bottom, Valerie was told she could go outside until lunch time; she would probably find Cynthia somewhere out there. Quite devastated by what had happened, Valerie was only too eager to go. At least she would be away from Mr Fultonby.

They met on the lawn, Cynthia feeling nice and sprightly, thank-you very much, and Valerie decidedly the worse for wear. Cynthia asked brightly about the caning which she knew the new girl would have had. 'When you're not used to it it can really make you feel sick, I know.'

Valerie did feel sick. They sat under a magnificent copper beech tree. In the distance Mr Miggins was now to be seen dutifully trundling his wheel-barrow. Everything looked quite idyllic and it was really difficult to believe that those horrendous happenings had just taken place in Mr Fultonby's study. Considerately Cynthia offered to rub Valerie's bum for her. It would ease the soreness, she said. But Valerie said no thanks.

'I 'spect he'll give you another one, before tea or just after,' Cynthia said helpfully. 'The softening-up process, like I said.'

'Softening up for what?' asked Valerie.

'Oh you know: it! What every man wants from a girl. Beasts, aren't they? Not Mr Fultonby of course, he's not a beast. But most of them. Mr Miggins for instance. Mr Miggins has very beastly instincts.'

For the moment Valerie wasn't too worried about Mr Miggins and his instincts. It was Mr Fultonby. 'What about Mr Fultonby; what does he want?'

'It. I told you.'

Valerie's eyes widened as understanding dawned.

'Yes,' said Cynthia. 'But like I say I wouldn't call it beastliness with Mr Fultonby. He's really super. You'll like it. Why, haven't you done it before?'

'No!' gasped Valerie, who truly hadn't done it before; she hadn't even thought very much about doing it. Like Mummy said, as she conveniently forgot her own little lapses with 'Mr Smith' and others, doing it was for marriage and should definitely be kept for your husband.

'It's very good for you,' stated Cynthia. 'Stops you getting spots or anything else. Yes, a girl should really be doing it by 16 for her health. It's a natural function; Mr Fultonby will tell you that.'

Valerie could well believe Mr Fultonby would tell her anything to get what he wanted. And anyway she didn't have spots, her fair skin was quite free of any blemish. Cynthia's was too but what did that prove? With any luck Mummy would respond in a day or two to her plea to come home. But before then...?

They went into lunch, a salad prepared by Mrs Douglas who asked brightly, 'Had a good morning, girls?' Henry Fultonby greeted both his young guests by squeezing their bottoms, then said something to Cynthia which Valerie didn't catch. Cynthia licked her lips in a sexy way. Over lunch Mr Fultonby said he wanted to see Cynthia afterwards. Valerie, recalling what had just been said outside and also that sexy look of Cynthia's, felt her face colouring. Was Mr Fultonby going to do it to Cynthia again?

Whatever he was going to do at least it wouldn't be her and so she was spared a bit longer from another awful caning. Mr Fultonby said Valerie was to help Mr Miggins. When their host left the table for a moment Cynthia rolled her eyes in a most suggestive way. Afterwards, before going off with Mr Fultonby, she managed a whisper, 'Remember: Mr Miggins has got very beastly instincts!'

Valerie gulped out that surely he couldn't be worse – or even as bad – as Mr Fultonby, gentleman or not.

'You'll probably find Mr Miggins in the potting shed, I shouldn't wonder,' advised Mrs Douglas.

It was over in a far corner of the grounds screened by some shrubs. In less than 24 hours at Mr Fultonby's establishment Valerie had noticed the potting shed but had had no reason to go there before. A nice secluded little hidey-hole for Mr Miggins where he could do more or less what he wanted. Like, as we have seen, get his hands on his employer's young ladies. Now, after his lunchtime sandwiches, Bert Miggins was seated comfortably in his chair puffing at his pipe and serenely contemplating life – including the morning's encounter with Cynthia – when Valerie knocked at the door.

He got smartly to his feet. The tentative nature of the knock made it unlikely to be anyone other than the new girl – whose acquaintance Bert Miggins had not yet made though he was eager to do so. Yes indeed! 'Come in!' he welcomed, a large and rustic-looking spider confronting a delicious young fly. 'Come in, Missy. You must be our new young girlie.'

Valerie explained that she had been told to help. She stood hesitantly just inside the door. Here she was alone with this man who according to Cynthia had 'very beastly instincts', while she for her part was free of knickers under her dress – a fact which Mr Miggins could be very well aware of.

Bert Miggins was indeed aware of this, for Mr Fultonby always insisted on the 'no knickers' rule when girls were about the house. He licked his lips: she was another very tasty specimen. You had to hand it to Mr Fultonby, he certainly knew how to find girlies.

There was only one chair in Mr Miggins' hideaway – perhaps designedly so. He told Valerie he would have to explain what had to be done. He sat heavily down again on that one chair. And then told Valerie to sit on his lap.

Valerie went red. 'Thank-you,' she stammered, 'I... I can stand.'

'Come 'ere,' growled Mr Miggins in his most aggressive tones. 'You does what I tells 'e and no 'oity-toity nonsense, or Mr Fultonby'll 'ave 'is stick to that pretty bum again.'

Unwilling to contest such an argument Valerie moved unhappily forward. Bert Miggins pulled her onto his lap – at the same time holding up her dress at the back. It was therefore Valerie's bare bottom which made intimate contact with Mr Miggins' somewhat work-grimed flannel trousers. She gave a startled yelp. This was dreadful! Mr Miggins pushed and pulled, getting her just right – so that the considerable bulge which had rapidly appeared in the front of his trousers fitted nicely to the declivity between bottom cheeks and tops of thighs.

'Please!' pleaded Valerie weakly. It was all a bit overwhelming. At close quarters like this Mr Miggins had a very strong odour of pipe tobacco which if not entirely unpleasant did rather take your breath away. In addition to this there was what was happening – whatever it was – beneath her bottom. And in addition to that was the fact that Mr Miggins had straight away cupped two large sinewy hands round Valerie's pert breasts, protected as they were, if protected was the word, only by the thin material of her summery frock.

Mr Miggins was saying something about plant pots but Valerie's head just wouldn't take it in, what with everything else. His hands were really squeezing her breasts and Mr Miggins was sort of rocking about. Then he abruptly pushed her to her feet, getting up himself as well. Still clutching her tightly from behind he propelled Valerie the two steps to the work bench. His hands left her breasts for a moment to reach for a flower pot and put it in Valerie's hands. These pots had to be cleaned out, it seemed. Valerie's head was still spinning round and round and it seemed that Mr Miggins' voice had a breathy excited edge to it now.

As Valerie took hold of the pot Bert Miggins' hand went behind her and did something to the zip of his trousers. And then some other fumbling action in the same area. Red in the face, he again came tight up against Valerie's back where her dress was still up round her waist. Leaning over her, describing the pot cleaning operations, Mr Miggins' hands seemed to be everywhere, almost it seemed in front and behind at the same time. He seemed to be rocking himself against her again but Valerie's mind was still not working properly, almost as if the powerful tobacco odour had narcotized her, and she just wasn't sure what was happening. Then it seemed Mr Miggins made a sort of groaning sound and after that he let go of her and went over to the corner of the room where a sink was.

With her mind clearing now, Valerie realised her dress was all rucked up at the back. She pulled it down, conscious that her bottom was bare. As she did so she felt she was all wet and sticky. It was hot in the potting shed and she must have been perspiring, she thought. She carried on cleaning out the pots as Mr Miggins had showed her. Miraculously he seemed to have suddenly stopped all that groping and rubbing up against her.

* * *

In Henry Fultonby's bedroom the heavy curtains were drawn against the bright early afternoon sunshine but a slight gap in the centre near the top allowed a narrow shaft of light to enter, splitting the soft gloom. The ribbon of light crossed above the broad bed, where figures could dimly be seen in measured rhythmic motion, to produce a bright pool of light on the far side. The patch of light moved slowly with the earth's rotation but at 2.30 or thereabouts, when Valerie was being instructed in horticultural duties in the potting shed, it was impinging directly onto Henry's bedside table. Thus by chance brightly illuminated on the polished rosewood surface were a small jar and a little foil packet, broken open. Next to the table on the floor, but out of the bright beam of light and therefore not to be clearly seen, were a girl's crumpled summer dress and a pair of white high-heeled sandals. Also some items of male apparel.

A girlish giggle from the centre of the broad bed. Then a likewise girlish voice: 'When's Valerie going to get this treatment, Mr Fultonby?'

Henry Fultonby did not stop what he was doing. 'Don't you worry about Valerie, if you please, young lady.'

* * * * * * * *

THE NEW GIRL LEARNS WHAT LIFE IS ALL ABOUT

Four o'clock and the sun was still high in a cloudless blue sky over Lower Grindleham in the county of Suffolk. The two girls were once more lying on the grass in the shade of Henry Fultonby's splendid beech tree but the rest of the garden, shimmering in the heat, seemed deserted.

'Old Miggins should be watering those plants,' pronounced Cynthia. 'Look, they're all wilting.'

'No, I don't think you're supposed to water them in the hot sun,' said Valerie. 'It's too much of a shock. You wait till the evening and then do it. That's what my father told me.'

Cynthia considered this information for a moment. 'I bet old Miggins doesn't water them in the evening either. Lazy old sod. He's only interested in one thing. Did he do anything particularly beastly to you in the potting shed?'

Valerie's memory of events in the shed was a bit hazy. He had certainly made her sit on his lap and had squeezed her breasts in a not very nice way. And then at the work bench...

She broke off her thoughts to listen to what Cynthia was saying. Describing what Mr Miggins had tried to do to her. Got her up against the work bench and pulled her skirt up at the back. She didn't have any knickers on, of course. Valerie listened in increasing horror as Cynthia went on to describe in graphic detail exactly what Mr Miggins had then attempted. She now saw her own experience in a new light; as if someone had suddenly wiped away mist from a window. Mr Miggins' hands, which had seemed capable of being both in front and behind Valerie at the same time... And that stickiness... Valerie felt suddenly sick.

'Of course I pretty soon made him cut that out,' stated Cynthia primly. 'But that's what a lot of these men like Mr Miggins are like. Wanting to do all kinds of things to nice middle-class girls. You have to be on your guard.'

Valerie felt like weeping. 'Should soon be teatime,' said Cynthia. 'I'm starving.'

'D...d'you think that I... could have a bath?' queried Valerie doing her best to keep her voice firm.

'Why not? Anyway tea might be a bit late if Mr Fultonby's taking a nap.' Cynthia gave a coarse laugh. 'Resting after the enjoyment of his pleasures.'

Valerie certainly did not feel like pursuing that line of discussion. She got up. 'I... I think I'll have a quick bath. I feel all... all sticky,' she finished weakly.

'It is sticky with all this heat,' Cynthia agreed. She lifted her skirt, flapping it up to her waist. 'But I'm also starving. Doing a certain thing makes me really hungry.'

After tea, when Cynthia certainly showed a very healthy appetite, Mr Fultonby said he wanted to see Valerie again. Cynthia gave another eye-rolling performance behind his back. In his study Henry said, 'Time for another little disciplinary session I think, young lady.'

Valerie protested that she hadn't done anything. Henry smilingly agreed that this might be so but the discipline was required for general improvement and was not aimed at a specific fault. 'Over these next few days you're going to need it quite regularly, my dear. After that, well, we'll see. But don't worry, it's quite normal.'

Don't worry! All Valerie had to hang on to was the desperate hope that Mummy's letter might arrive tomorrow saying that she could come home and all this awful business would just be a bad memory. She clutched at this thought whilst she did as Mr Fultonby told her. Not up on the desk on her back this time, but almost as bad if not as bad. Kneel on a leather-covered stool, about 14 inches high, and put her hands down on the floor and then lower her body until her head was down on the carpet as well. Valerie was upside down with her bottom high in the air. Mr Fultonby flipped her dress back so that it fluttered down about her head. Cringingly she knew that her high-arched buttocks were quite bare.

Henry reached out his hand gently to stroke the pale moons which still bore marks from the morning's caning. A choice young lady with a delectably choice bottom and Henry really could hardly wait for the full enjoyment of her. Indeed it had been the excited arousal generated by his morning caning of her which had necessitated calling Cynthia to his bedroom for that extra afternoon session. According to that young Miss Valerie was somewhat shy at the moment and that did seem to Henry to be a reasonably accurate assessment of the situation. But shyness, as he knew from much experience, could be overcome and then the pleasure was that much the greater. The cane was an extremely effective agent in overcoming shyness. The cane followed by a nice show of affection for the distressed recipient.

And so in the pleasantly cool confines of his study Henry proceeded to apply his long thin rattan; to those firm pale globes and to the upper rear surfaces of the slimly rounded thighs. Nice fresh red stripes to go with the darkening ones of the morning. The delectable bottom jerked and bucked, not at all happy with what was happening to it, while from the blonde head down on the carpet came unhappy sounds. Sharp shrill yells and cries, and sniffling sobs. Henry's study had naturally seen and heard all this, or something very like it, many times before.

With the rattan's work completed Henry pulled Valerie to her feet. The flowered dress fell back into position to cover that smarting bare bottom and at the same time reveal the tearful face. Henry drew the exquisitely distressed girl to him. Arms went round the shaking slim shoulders. Firm young pointed breasts, confined under the single thin layer, squashed deliciously against Henry's shirt front. One hand slipping down to gently play with those quivering rear quarters, Henry uttered words of comfort and solace.

Later that evening over a game of scrabble, Cynthia asked, 'How's it going?' Mr Fultonby was in his study doing some writing. Valerie knew what Cynthia meant, not the game but the caning. She made a face. Her bottom still hurt horribly and she knew that for two pins she could burst into tears again.

Cynthia said, 'Let him know that you're ready for it, then he'll stop caning you all the time. When he comes in to say goodnight give him a nice big sexy kiss. Stick your tongue in his mouth. Then he'll get the idea.'

No doubt Mr Fultonby would get the idea but Valerie could not possibly see herself doing that. She had never kissed anyone like that, not man or boy, and the thought gave her goose-pimples. And besides she wasn't ready to do it. Mr Fultonby was not unattractive, for an older man, but the thought of doing it, even if it did stop the canings, was quite outside Valerie's orbit. Her only hope was that Mummy's letter would arrive tomorrow. She couldn't tell Cynthia that, though; she might tell Mr Fultonby.

'I couldn't possibly do that,' Valerie said, meaning put her tongue in Mr Fultonby's mouth. 'And I don't want him to think I'm ready to do it because I'm not.'

Cynthia shook her head. 'When you've had a few more canings I bet you change your mind. Anyway, doing it is what life is all about, isn't it? And you are old enough!' Smiling, she reached over and squeezed Valerie's knee. 'Would you like me to rub some cold cream on your bum? I've got some in my room.' Flushing, Valerie said no thanks.

Mr Fultonby did come in to see Valerie later, coming into her room with a cup of cocoa when she had just got her pyjamas on and was about to get into bed. He said he had looked in to see if she was all right; then he made Valerie take her pyjama bottoms off again. For a moment she thought she was going to get her third caning of the day but that didn't happen as Mr Fultonby said he wanted to inspect Valerie's bottom. He sat on her bed and made her get over his lap, face down, as he had after that caning in the morning. Mr Fultonby ran his hand gently over Valerie's bare bottom, stroking it. And then he did what he had also done in the morning after the caning – put his hand between her legs and took hold of her.

Valerie started crying. Not that what Mr Fultonby was now doing hurt because it didn't, but it was just too awful having his hand there and on top of everything else it was simply too much and all she could do was cry. As she cried Mr Fultonby's voice, soft and understanding of young females, told her to be a good girl and open her legs nicely. It was quite devastating what he was doing but it was also a relaxation from all the tension and Valerie couldn't help herself; she started reacting to it, her hips automatically rocking against Mr Fultonby's hand. She couldn't stop herself and that made it even worse and made her cry even more. She was sobbing and gasping as Mr Fultonby brought her to a climax.

After she'd finished he stood her on her feet and put his arms round her. 'There, that was what we needed, wasn't it?' Mr Fultonby said. Valerie just went on sobbing.

Mr Fultonby made her drink the cocoa he had brought and somehow she managed to get it down without choking. After that he helped Valerie into bed, then bent down and kissed her on the mouth. She remembered what Cynthia had said. Stick your tongue in his mouth. Valerie didn't do it but instead Mr Fultonby did it to her. Pushed his tongue between the soft trembling lips and right into her mouth. Valerie didn't resist, but for a moment thought she was going to choke just like with the cocoa.

Valerie intended to get up early and get the post but she slept soundly – perhaps her body feeling it needed rest after all the excitement – and she was only woken at 9 o'clock by Cynthia bursting in shouting, 'Hey! A letter for you, lazy dog!'

It was from Mummy all right, Valerie could recognise the writing. She grabbed it with trembling hands and tore it open. The words were at first a blur, her eyes reluctant to focus after the abrupt awakening. Then it cleared. Her mind put the words together. Valerie's heart started thumping. She re-read it.

Dearest Valerie,

Just a note. I don't know if you have written by now but as you see from the address I am not at home but staying with Mrs Carrington. I really felt I needed a short break, to relax. Anyway I expect you are having a really super time with Mr Fultonby who I believe has another girl staying, is that right? If so I expect the two of you can have a really splendid time. As regards Mr Fultonby I am writing to him separately to see if he would mind having you for three weeks. I really do need a rest, darling, as I said, and I am hopeful that Mr Fultonby can oblige. I understand he is usually very accommodating in such matters. Quite a Godsend actually.

Mrs Carrington is not on the phone, dearest, but you can of course write and I shall look forward to that. Be a good girl for Mr Fultonby, won't you, and do just as he tells you. And I'll look forward to seeing you in three weeks.

Love and kisses,
Your very loving Mother.

It was impossible; quite quite impossible! The words again became blurred, this time because Valerie's eyes had filled with tears. The tears brimmed over and started trickling down her cheeks.

'What is it, Val?' asked Cynthia sitting down beside her on the bed. Blubbering, Valerie managed to convey the horrendous news. Cynthia pushed her back onto the pillows and came down on top of her. 'Don't cry' she commiserated, and a pretty pink tongue came out to delicately lick away the salty tears from Valerie's face.

'But now you'll have to be nice to Mr Fultonby,' Cynthia told Valerie between licks. 'I mean you can't take that sort of caning for three weeks.'

Valerie's distress, confronted with this bleak prospect, became decidedly worse.

Henry received his own missive from Mrs Hartnall by the same post and perused its contents with considerable pleasure. He would, naturally, be delighted to oblige, as he always did in such circumstances. Shortly afterwards he had a word with his delightful Cynthia and from that young lady learnt of Valerie's distress. It seemed the unhappy girl had been hoping to be summoned home immediately rather than hear of this proposed extension to her stay. Henry assumed a thoughtful air – while his hand absent-mindedly fondled Cynthia's bare bottom. Some further thought was accompanied by continued bottom fondling, an excellent stimulus to the mental processes. Finally Henry made a 'hmm' sound which might indicate a decision had been made, and gave the bottom a conclusive slap.

'Send Valerie to see me, would you, Cynthia dear?'

The girl was evidently shocked and distressed and it seemed to Henry that the proper course of action was encompassed in the time-honoured saying: Strike while the iron is hot. 'Strike' in this instance could be taken very literally.

A smiling Henry informed the pretty young girl of the contents of her mother's letter. He would naturally be only too happy to oblige. Valerie looked as if a fresh flood of tears would appear at any moment. 'Among other things,' said Henry, 'three weeks will provide a nice extended period for your training – if that proves necessary of course.'

'Now then,' he went on in brisker tones, 'I rather think it's time for another little session, don't you? Get up on the desk, my dear; on your back. Then lift your legs up and grip your knees, as you did yesterday.'

Henry fetched the cane and, following the old adage, duly struck. Six nice crisp cuts to the up-ended bottom. There was a stimulating show of quite extreme unhappiness from the youthful recipient. An hour and a half later, after his coffee, Henry delivered a second dose of the same medicine. Six more. Another very arousing display of distress. As Henry Fultonby saw it, that old saying would better have been: Strike, strike and strike again while the iron is hot.

With the second dose well and truly delivered he sent Valerie out into the garden to sit and contemplate her unhappy lot. After ten minutes of such contemplation Cynthia was told to go out and have a quiet word,

'You know what I mean, Cynthia. Tell her she doesn't have to suffer.'

'I already have, Mr Fultonby,' said a bright-eyed Cynthia. 'But I think it will be different now she knows she's here for three weeks. I think it will sink in more.'

Valerie was sitting morosely under the beech tree. She didn't answer but made some sniffing sounds when Cynthia flopped down and asked how she was.

'Well, you don't have to have it, Val. He doesn't cane me all the time.'

There were more sniffs and then a quiet, hesitant voice said, 'It's really awful, you letting Mr Fultonby do that.'

'Who says so?' demanded Cynthia. 'I'm 16, you know, I can do it legally if I want.'

'What about your mother,' asked Valerie. 'I bet she'd kill you if she knew.'

'My mother can't talk,' Cynthia replied spiritedly. 'She does it with whoever she wants. One time at a party at our house she did it in my bedroom on my bed! With this man. I opened the door and there they were and I had to shut it again pretty quick. While my father was downstairs pouring the drinks. That's what mothers do, Val. I bet your mother's just the same.'

Valerie said her mother didn't do that but as she said it the whole thing crystallised in her mind. Those horrible thoughts she had had the first night here. Three weeks was how long Daddy was going to be away. All at once Valerie was quite certain that Mummy wasn't with Mrs Carrington, she was with that Mr Smith somewhere. Letting him do it to her. For three whole weeks presumably.

Cynthia said, 'I bet your mother does, if you knew. They all do it, whenever they get the chance. When our fathers are out of the way, at work or something. And then they tell us we must be so good and pure and not even think about it. But why shouldn't we do the same as them?'

Valerie had stopped sniffing, the pain in her bottom and indeed her whole general misery much less intense with the excitement of this new insight. And really, if Mummy could be beastly and abandon her just so she could do it with Mr Smith, perhaps Cynthia was right. Perhaps she should do something to pay Mummy out – and at the same time avoid Mr Fultonby's sickening cane. She gave Cynthia a wary look.

Cynthia said encouragingly, 'It's not against the law, you know. You should be doing it. It's what life is all about when you're grown up.'

Hesitantly Valerie asked, 'What... what is is like? Doing it, I mean.'

* * *

'I don't want to be caned any more,' Valerie stated, doing her best to control the emotion in her voice.

Mr Fultonby smiled. 'I don't suppose anyone wants it, Valerie.' It was still morning, about 12.30, and Henry was intending to strike once more before lunch. And then continue striking through the afternoon and evening.

Valerie said, 'What I mean is I want to be like Cynthia. Whatever you... you do to her. But I don't want those canings all the time. Please.'

She couldn't actually bring herself to say any more than that but Mr Fultonby seemed to get the message. He put his arms round Valerie in an affectionate way. She knew what to do now and, knowing about Mummy, she was ready to do it. She kissed Mr Fultonby; a real grown-up kiss, pushing her tongue firmly into his mouth. It felt funny all right but also sexy. Valerie didn't know anything about such things and just trusted to instinct. She pushed her tongue in as far as it would go and then slid it in and out. This seemed to be the right thing for she could sense Mr Fultonby getting quite excited, his hands really gripping her and then one hand going down between her thighs. She opened her legs to allow free access because obviously there was no sense trying to hold back now as she had made her decision. Actually Valerie found she was getting excited herself – all wet between her legs for this thing.

Valerie wondered for a moment if Mr Fultonby will do it to her right there in his study. On his settee perhaps. But after getting her all excited like that he stopped and said it would be better if they continued after lunch. For one dreadful moment Valerie thought that might mean another caning first as he hadn't actually done it yet. But Mr Fultonby, rather red in his face, said no. So that was all right.

They went into Mr Fultonby's bedroom right after lunch. He had a big double bed, for everyone else it seemed. How funny, being in bed in the afternoon, and also not having the clothes on, not even pyjamas. Valerie was scared, quite naturally, it being her first time, but it turned out OK. It hurt a bit of course but you expect that in first time. It was a tight fit but Mr Fultonby managed. Mr Fultonby got very excited indeed, grunting and groaning. He didn't take long to finish which was just as well as it was very tight and also hurting. And as Cynthia said the first time was bound to be tight but after that you were opened up and ready for it.

While Valerie was in Mr Fultonby's bedroom getting her initiation into what life is all about Cynthia and Mr Miggins were in the potting shed again. In that cosy sanctuary Bert Miggins was angry opening his wallet as Cynthia, once more, told him firmly that you certainly couldn't to expect that sort of things for free from a nice girl. It was getting to be quite a drain for his resources and he thought that he might have to cut bargain something – perhaps pipe tobacco. And there was else that other girl. Valerie. Once the two of them got talking together Bert knew she'd want paying for it too. Still, this is the life and, like a child in a sweet shop, he found such delight impossible to resist.

END

We believe we predicted this would happen, didn't we, in Blushes number Six? Well, there's no telling some people – at least she has the grace to blush for letting herself get into this position – or was it him who put her into this position? One can never be quite sure in these cases, can one.

I'll Never Forget Auntie!

Story from London Life Vol.1 No.7

I'll Never Forget Auntie!

Reading the magazine "London Life'' prompted the following story sent in by one of our lady readers. She has asked us not to publish her name, and we respect her wish. In her covering letter she tells us the following:

'When I first saw ''London Life" I thought it was just another sex magazine with emphasis on the female bottom! My dear husband is bottom mad, believing it to be the most attractive part of the female anatomy; every time I bend down he gives me a wolf whistle... and I am middle-aged! However, when I started to read "London Life" the memories came flooding back to me. My husband often spanks my bottom for fun... and sexual pleasure — I told you he was a bottom "fiend". But I remembered another occasion, when I was sixteen and boy mad. The story I have sent you is mainly fiction, though some of it is factual. I got great pleasure in writing it, and my husband enjoyed reading it, as I hope you do. It amazed me how certain events clicked into my mind once I got on my typewriter, forgotten incidents flooded back to me, the events that led up to my ultimate punishment, even how I felt at the time. I do hope you find it suitable for your magazine.'

We did find it suitable, Mrs K., and we have pleasure in publishing it, more or less as you wrote the story down.

* * *

Auntie Gladys wasn't really my auntie, she was an old friend of my mothers who lived in Nottingham. I'd always called her auntie from being very small, as most children do to special friends of the family. I must have had a dozen aunties and uncles, just like other children. But Auntie Glad was someone special to me. She lived alone in quite a large house just on the outskirts of Nottingham, a place called Mapperley Park, and I used to visit her for a few weeks during the school summer holidays. She was kindness itself to me, playing with me in the garden when the weather was nice, or draughts with me in the large room when it was raining. I think I loved her almost as much as I loved my mother. As I grew up she would advise me, especially warning me about boys! This amused me more than anything. She had been married, but lost her husband early in the marriage. I only vaguely remember Uncle Sid, as a man who bounced me on his knee while singing: 'This is the way the ladies ride'.

At sixteen it was to be my last long holiday with Auntie Glad, I was going to start work at an office in September. I could have started earlier, but I wanted a few weeks rest before joining the rat race of the outside world... there was also a boy in Nottingham I was sweet on! I'd met him the year before, when I was fifteen, and although we hadn't exactly made love, we had been very near to it. He could excite me, and work me up more than any other could, and I had already made up my mind that if he wanted to go the whole way with me, I would let him. Girls of sixteen are very impressionable, and I had been reading a lot of books loaned to me by other girls, and making love was depicted as the most beautiful experience in the world. The books are right of course, making love is beautiful, but what they ommitted to say was, to a girl of sixteen it can be a traumatic experience, and rather frightening. However, my seduction by Billy is not the main part of my story, although it does play a part!

I arrived at Auntie Glad's on a glorious Saturday morning, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. Auntie met me at the station as she always did, and we took a cab to her home.

Nothing bad changed, it never did, the same furniture that had been there since I was quite small. I unpacked my suitcase, then telephoned Billy to tell him I was once again in Nottingham. He was older than me, at least eighteen or nineteen, I forget his exact age. Auntie heard me talking to him of course, and when I put the 'phone down she looked at me very seriously.

'You're getting to be quite a young woman Maureen, I suppose you have a lot of boy friends?'

I told her I had a few, but I liked Billy the best of the lot.

'You want to be very careful of Billy,' she said. 'I see him quite a lot, and he always has a different girl with him. I don't want you to do anything that would upset your mother, I am responsible for you during the next few weeks. I realise of course that you will want to go out dancing and to the cinema, and you won't want me hanging around you all the time... not like you did when you were a child. Heavens Maureen, I still look on you as a child, and here you are, a young woman on the threshold of her life!'

I told auntie I would be a good girl, but thought what a silly old frump she was getting to be!

'I hope you will be', she murmured, 'I'd hate to have to spank you, like I did when you were small!'

I laughed. 'I don't believe it auntie, I don't remember you ever spanking me.'

'Oh yes I did, when you were small. I used to give you a slap when you were naughty. Why, once when you threw your dinner onto the floor in a rage I took your knickers down and smacked your bare bum.'

'Well I'm too old for that sort of thing now,' I giggled.

'You're never too old my dear,' said Auntie darkly. 'Now, what do you intend doing tonight?'

I told her I had arranged to meet Billy, but I had no idea where we were going.

'Don't go into any public houses my dear, you're not old enough.'

I didn't tell her that was the intention... I looked older than my sixteen years, biggish bust etc. I didn't go drinking a lot at home, just the occasional glass of cider or shandy.

I put on my fancy underwear, some that my mother had never seen, a friend of my sister's had given them to me. Black frilly panties, and a bra with two holes cut in the front for my nipples to peep through. I felt delightfully wicked and grown up wearing them. I smoothed my hands over my body, wondering what it would be like if Billy did that! I didn't put much make-up on, somehow I felt that Auntie would frown at me wearing make-up, that would wait until later.

Billy had arranged to meet me at seven-thirty outside a public house on Mansfield Road, and he was late and I felt very embarrassed standing outside. All sorts of men tried to chat me up and invited me in for a drink. I was very grateful when I saw Billy. He had another boy with him and a girl, Mark and Sheila. Sheila was eighteen and ever so nice, she made me feel comfortable straight away. I told Billy I had promised auntie I would be home by eleven o'clock.

'A right little Cinderella,' he laughed, 'home before the last stroke of midnight!'

'Last stroke of eleven,' I corrected. 'She will worry if I am home late... anyway she has promised me a spanking if I am a naughty girl.'

That made them all laugh!

Later Mark and Sheila went off on their own, intending to go to the Palais. I would have loved to have gone, but it would make me very late, and I didn't want to upset auntie on my first day. I felt a little bit tipsy when we left the public house, I'd had a lot of cider, and I had to cling onto Billy's arm as he walked me home.

We stood in the porch kissing and cuddling. He caressed my breasts over my jumper at first, then he slid his hand up while kissing me. When he felt my nipples through the holes he kissed me more passionately.

'You're very sexy,' he panted, obviously very worked up. I could feel him throbbing against my leg. He then put his hand up my skirt and between my legs. I started to breathe heavily, the way he touched me was beautiful. He took my hand and placed it between his own legs, he had taken his penis out and it felt very hard. Oh but I wanted him to make love to me, but not there on auntie's front porch, it was too dangerous, I knew she was still up, the light was on in the lounge. I made him stop it, but he insisted I play with his penis while he caressed me. This I did, until with a groan he ejaculated.

It was just turning eleven when he went.

'Enjoyed yourself dear?' asked auntie when I got in. 'Where did you go tonight?'

I told her that we had just walked around the town, seeing as it was a warm evening. I sat down on the sofa, and I noticed auntie staring at me thoughtfully. Then I remembered my skirt, there was a damp stain where Billy had ejaculated. I hurriedly covered it with my hand, muttering that we'd had a glass of lemonade and I'd spilt some. She just nodded, thin-lipped. When I went to the bathroom I sponged the stuff away!

I had just taken my jumper and skirt off when auntie came in my bedroom with a cup of Horlicks for me. I'd forgotten, she always brought me a nightcap to bed. She took one look at me in my fancy underwear and nearly dropped the cup in her astonishment.

'Does your mother know you have such underwear?' she wanted to know.

'Oh yes auntie,' I lied, 'she was with me when I bought them.'

She put the cup of Horlicks on the bedside table. 'Well I think they are positively disgusting, and please don't wear them again while you are staying with me. Girls who go on the streets wear such underclothes, not sixteen-year-old girls. Now drink up your Horlicks, you can have a lie-in tomorrow. I'll bring your breakfast to you in bed, then we'll go to church for the morning service.'

Auntie Gladys was a devout church-goer, that was the only thing I hated about staying with her, going to church every Sunday morning... the Vicar had clammy hands! I lay in bed that night thinking about dear Billy, and what we had done. I had never touched a boy before, not down there anyway, and it had given me a great thrill. I felt all itchy thinking about it, so I opened my legs and played with myself until I had an orgasm. I don't think I did anything wrong by masturbating, most girls at sixteen do such things.

We sat next to Mr and Mrs Underwood in church, and their son, Ken, the same age as me.

'Now there is a nice boy,' whispered auntie. 'Well brought up and very polite.'

Personally he made me sick, always had done. When small he would cry at the slightest thing, and he was a cheat and a tell-tale. Once when pinching some apples when I was fourteen he had told auntie and she had been cross with me. So I was very cool to him. To make it worse, auntie had invited Ken for Sunday tea.

'I'm going out with Billy again tonight,' I whispered in alarm.

'Well you'll have to ring him up and say you can't make it,' she said. That put me in a bad mood straight away.

Sunday afternoon I went for a walk with auntie around the park. She spotted Billy before I did. 'Look, go and tell him you aren't coming out tonight.'

At least I would be close to him, if only for a few seconds. Billy told me not to worry, he would see me tomorrow night, his parents were going out. I would be able to spend the evening alone with him. My heart beat wildly in my chest, alone with Billy in his home, we would be able to make love properly, no-one to disturb us.

Ken was his usual obnoxious self, though auntie fawned over him like a long-lost son. I decided to have a bit of fun with him, see if he had any natural feelings in his body. I deliberately hitched my skirt up before crossing my legs, knowing he would be able to see the tops of my stockings. At first he ignored me, then his eyes kept flickering across. I pulled my skirt higher and parted my legs. Now he would be able to see the gusset of my white knickers. Suddenly he asked to be excused and went to the toilet. I smiled to myself. Now what had he gone to the toilet for... to play with himself? When he had left the room auntie glared at me.

'Maureen!' she snapped. 'Please pull down your skirt, most immodest. You are making Ken feel embarrassed, showing all your legs.'

'Sorry auntie,' I murmured, and pulled down my skirt to a more modest level. Of course, a few minutes after he came back, looking flushed I thought, it managed to ride high again. I was turning a boring evening into quite a pleasant one. When it was time for Ken to go, auntie suggested I walk part of the way with him. Heavens, he only lived around the corner, on Lucknow Drive.

Just around the corner he gave me the surprise of my life. He pushed me against the wall, kissing me hotly and trying to run his hand up my skirt. I pushed him away, telling him to behave himself.

'Let me touch you Maureen, just once, honest. I won't try anything else.'

'Indeed I won't,' I stormed. 'I'm not that sort of girl!'

'Please,' he panted, 'you've been teasing me all the night, making me want to touch you, showing me your... your legs.'

He pushed his hand up my skirt again. This time I smacked him across the face. 'Stop it Ken, or I'll scream!'

That frightened him to death, he kept away from me. 'I'll bet you let Billy play with you,' he muttered.

'It's nothing to do with you what Billy and I do... anyway he's older than you are!' I left him then and went home. Auntie was surprised.

'You're back quick,' she said.

'I do not like Kenneth Underwood,' I said. 'He... he is sloppy and coarse, and anyway his hands are sticky!'

That amused auntie for a few moments, then she said: 'You were teasing him tonight Maureen, something a girl of your age should never do. Ken is just growing up, and staring at your legs all night made him act the way he did.' She half smiled. 'I used to tease the boys when I was young, but not as young as you! Now run off to bed like a good girl, Ken will be feeling very ashamed of himself at this moment.'

In a way I felt quite gratified that I had teased Ken into making a pass towards me. He wanted me, and Billy wanted me. Maybe after I had let Billy make love to me, I would let Ken touch me where he wanted.

The following morning I stayed with auntie, helping her to clean her large house. Mrs Underwood came around and invited me to go for tea on the Wednesday, and stay for a few hours.

'Ken has some lovely records he would like you to hear. You can sit in the lounge, we won't disturb you!'

This was getting to be a conspiracy between auntie and Mrs Underwood, trying to pair us off.

'She'll be glad to come,' said auntie, for me. 'I'll send her around about four.'

I was getting my dates made for me!

I put on my fancy underwear before going out to meet Billy; I was talcumed and perfumed, ready for anything. Auntie didn't like the idea of me meeting Billy again, and she gave me a bit of a lecture before I set off.

'Just slap his hands and leave if he does anything you don't want him to.'

I promised I would, but I couldn't see him doing anything I didn't want him to.

We had a few ciders first, waiting for his mum and dad to get out of the way, then went to his home. He played a few Frank Sinatra records as we cuddled on the sofa. He got very excited of course, and so did I, and I made no objection when he pulled my knickers down. How can a girl describe the first time she makes love all the way? To me it was two things, painful yet exciting. I was so in love with the boy, I adored the closeness of his body, and after it was all over I told him I loved him very much. A little later he made love to me again, and it wasn't as painful, more like the beautiful experience I had read about.

It was when I got back that it really got to me!

I lay in bed shivering, worried to death. What if I had a baby? Would auntie know what had happened by looking at my face. I clambered from the bed and stared at myself in the long wardrobe mirror. My breasts looked a bit different, a bit swollen, and there was a mark on the right one where Billy had sucked me in his excitement. I examined between my thighs. I didn't look any different there, only felt a little sore, which was natural after what had happened. Then I had a good cry. I don't know to this day whether I cried because I was sorry to lose my virginity, or whether it was a cry of relief!

I went with a heavy heart to Ken's house for tea. I was dreading it, I felt sure that he would try it on with me again, and I didn't want that. I was in love with Billy, and I couldn't bare the thought of Ken mauling me about. We had a nice tea, and afterwards we went into the lounge to listen to records. I didn't mean to tease the boy, but I must have done; he kept staring at my legs. Everytime I caught him, I would push my skirt down over my knees. Anyway, the inevitable happened, he started messing about. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't; kissing me, trying to slide his hand under my skirt, and pawing my breasts.

In the end, this constant pawing aroused me, and I relaxed, returning his kisses and letting him feel me about. I was surprised that I could feel sexy with Ken, when so in love with Billy, but I was, and was ready for anything he wanted to do. He had my jumper pushed up around my neck, kissing my nipples, his hand between my legs, under the knicker elastic, his finger pushing in and out of my vagina. The lounge door opened and there stood Mrs Underwood with a tray in her hand. She gasped, and I hurriedly pushed down my skirt and straightened my jumper.

'How disgusting!' she said. 'Maureen, I think you had better go back to your aunties at once. My husband will see you home.'

Mr Underwood took me home in silence, and at the gate he took my hand.

'I'm not angry,' he said, with a smile. 'I was once sixteen!'

When I went in auntie was waiting for me, a stern expression on her face. 'Mrs Underwood had just phoned and told me why you are home early. She is most distressed that this has happened. Ken doesn't go out with many girls, he is shy and reserved, yet a few moments with you, and well... it was disgusting.'

'It wasn't my fault,' I protested. 'He started it, I couldn't stop him!

'I saw the way you behaved on Sunday, showing him your legs and knickers. No doubt you did the same thing this evening, leading him on, making him act the way he did. You wanted him to... to touch you. I am annoyed with you Maureen, Mrs Underwood is a good friend of mine, what is she going to think now? You gave that boy immoral thoughts.' I sat down and sulked. It was so unfair, he had started it; if he had behaved himself it would never have happened, anyway I was in love with Billy. I told auntie that. Her face darkened. 'I see. If you are in love with this Billy I dread to think what you get up to with him! I'm going to teach you a lesson Maureen. A long time ago I spanked you for being naughty. Now I am going to spank you again. I am sure that your mother would agree were she here.' She sat down on a hard-back chair. I stared at her.

'You must be joking!' I exclaimed. 'You can't spank me, I'm sixteen.'

'I don't care how old you are. You have misbehaved tonight, caused Mrs Underwood a great deal of distress. No doubt she will punish Ken in her own way, and it is only right that I should punish you. Now come over here and lay across my lap.'

I hesitated, the colour flooding to my cheeks. At sixteen I was very conscious of my body, and showing my bottom, even to my auntie, would cause me embarrassment.

'I told you to come here Maureen,' said auntie, in a tone of voice I had never heard her use before. 'If you insist on disobeying me I will have no alternative but to send you home with a letter explaining why. I am going to spank you, then I can tell Mrs Underwood that you have been punished for your disgusting behaviour.'

'It wasn't disgusting,' I muttered. 'It was nice!'

I shouldn't have said that, I knew it the moment the words came out. Auntie's face went grim, her lips set in a tight line. I looked down at the carpet, knowing I would have to be spanked, it was the lesser of two evils. It would upset my mother if I was sent home under such circumstances. Slowly I got up.

'What do you want me to do?' I asked in a small voice.

'Pull your skirt up and lay across my lap.'

Thank goodness I hadn't my sexy underwear on, that would have made auntie even more angry. I lay across her lap, feeling very exposed, my skirt pulled up to my waist. It seemed ages before she started to spank me. She pulled at my knickers, making them stretch across my bottom, settled herself comfortably, then brought her hand down. Crack! It seemed to explode and I jerked as a dart of stinging pain went through me. Crack, down came her hand again, landing in exactly the same place. I wriggled and squirmed.

'Keep still,' commanded auntie, 'or it will be the worse for you.'

She gave me six hard spanks on my bottom, each one seemed more painful than the last, and when she released me there were tears in my eyes.

'Don't think I enjoyed that Maureen,' she said, 'because I didn't. I do not like punishing anyone, least of all a mature young woman. Now get off to bed and we'll say no more about it.'

I went to my bedroom and got undressed. My bottom felt to be on fire, but it was only slightly reddened when I examined it in the mirror. As I lay in bed I became aware of a warmth running through my loins. My bottom didn't feel as painful to the touch any more. I fell into a troubled sleep, my mind filling with strange thoughts. Billy was spanking me, on my bare backside while Ken watched, in a sort of gleeful fascination. Then it all changed. I was making love to Ken, not in the proper position, but with me on top of him, and all the time we loved, Billy was spanking my bare bottom. When I awoke I was covered in perspiration, my hand between my legs. My mind was in a turmoil, I couldn't get rid of the strange images in my brain. I lay in the darkness trembling with sexual excitement, my fingers caressing down below. Billy would never spank me, not like auntie did, so hard. His spanks would be caresses, loving caresses. Or would they? Would he get as excited as me when spanking me. Would I like to spank his bare bottom. I moaned to myself as an intense orgasm swept through me. Then I fell asleep again, and didn't dream anymore.

For the next two weeks I did behave myself, I only went out with Billy once, and all we did was pet each other. I saw Ken a couple of times and studiously ignored him. As for Mrs Underwood, every time she saw me she swept by me like a darn duchess! On Thursday nights auntie went to the whist drive. I had been twice with her, but didn't enjoy it. A whist drive isn't the place for a sixteen-year-old, having old men playing 'kneesie' under the table. Horrid I thought. So I arranged to meet Billy, telling auntie I had a headache. She nodded knowingly.

'I understand dear,' she said sympathetically, 'I had a lot of trouble when I was your age.' I didn't bother to tell her how wrong she was!

Billy must have watched for her leaving, because he was in the house within a couple of minutes, jacket off, snogging and caressing me on the sofa! He had me half undressed before I knew, telling me how beautiful I was, and how much he wanted to take me to bed and love me properly. So we went to my bedroom and got on the bed. I didn't take all my clothes off, I kept my knickers on. This was even better than making love on the sofa, we could be more intimate with each other. Just as he was about to come over me, I asked him if I could come over him. He was very pleased, closing his legs so that I could sink down onto his erect penis. As soon as I felt his hands clasp my bottom I was filled with a strange urge.

'Slap me,' I muttered. 'Not hard, but just taps.'

And he did, not hard, but light stinging slaps that made me very passionate. I had an orgasm before he did, and managed to get away before he ejaculated. When we got up from the bed I just pulled my knickers on, then slipped my jumper and skirt over them. I wasn't going out anywhere, I didn't need my bra, and anyway, I wanted him to caress my bare breasts again before he left me.

We sat on the sofa, cuddling and kissing, and quite forgot the time, until the front door opened and in walked auntie. I just managed to get my jumper down and my skirt straightened before she came into the lounge. Her eyes raked over us, and I glanced down at Billy. His flies were undone, and he hurriedly covered them with his hand.

'I thought you had a headache Maureen?' asked auntie.

'I had, but it's gone now.'

'I can see that.' I didn't like the tone in her voice. 'I think you had better leave young man, it is getting very late.'

Billy got up and put his jacket on.

'Good night,' he murmured, red in the face.

When he had gone auntie sat in the chair and gazed steadily at me. 'You must think I am an idiot Maureen. Tell me, why haven't you got a bra on?'

Instinctively I looked down. My nipples were jutting the front of my jumper, making it obvious I was braless.

'I am beginning to think you are becoming somewhat of a slut,' she said, evenly. 'My spanking the other night didn't do anything for you. Don't try and interrupt me. You lied tonight when you said you had a headache. You were expecting that young man to call. Why didn't you tell me?' I didn't answer, I stared down at the rug. 'I suppose you have been doing with him what you were doing with young Ken. I am not having it Maureen, even if I have to spank you black and blue. Go on like this and I'm going to have every boy in town hanging around my front gate looking for you. This time I am going to spank you very hard, last time was not hard enough, you haven't learned your lesson.'

'Weren't you ever young auntie? Didn't you ever have any boy friends who... who wanted to... touch you?'

She took a deep breath. 'The only boy I ever had was your Uncle Sid, and we waited until we were married before we did anything like that. Come across my knee young lady.' I sighed heavily and got up. If it would satisfy her she could spank me. I lifted up my skirt and lay dutifully across her knees, and thinking about what Billy and I had done in my bed earlier.

She spanked me three times over my knickers and I didn't make a movement. I hardly felt anything, and anyway I was concentrating on Billy. Then, to my chagrin she put her hand in the waistband of my knickers and drew them down to the backs of my knees. My bottom was bare and vulnerable! I felt awful on her knee in that position, knowing what she could see of my body.

The blow landed and I cried out. 'Ouch, auntie, that hurt!'

'It is meant to hurt,' she said grimly, 'I'm not giving you love taps.'

Her hand came down again with a slap that seemed to echo around the room. It was terrible, I could feel my buttocks quivering and burning. Her hand came down again and again, slap, thwack, slap, thwack, until I felt to be on fire. I started to sob, but give her more vigour.

'I'll teach you young lady,' she growled, laying her hand into me fast and hard. 'Before I have finished with you, you will be sleeping on your tummy.'

Tears were streaming down my cheeks, blinding me. All I could see was the blur of the carpet. When she stopped I tumbled from her lap and sank to the floor, crying bitterly. Her face streamed with perspiration, and I got a little satisfaction when she rubbed her hands, as though they hurt her. They ought to, the number of times she had spanked me.

'Now get off to bed, Maureen. If you do anything like this again I will more than spank you, I will cane you!'

That put the fear of God in me. I had once been caned at school, and the memory will live with me forever!

I stumbled up the stairs and got ready for bed. I tried to bathe my sore bottom, but even luke-warm water was painful. She was right. I couldn't sleep on my bottom, I had to sleep on my tummy.

It was three days before I felt any-think like. Needless to say I behaved myself for the rest of my stay, never being alone with Billy.

Now to something that may surprise you. For a few years I didn't visit auntie, going on holiday with friends, until I was twenty-two and went to stay with her for a week. I met Ken again that week; we made love on our second date. We fell in love, and now he is my husband. He told me that his mother had spanked him the night she caught us petting. We spank for pleasure, not punishment, we are both stimulated by the act. I don't get a very sore bottom, not like when auntie spanked, more a pleasant tingling that sets my loins on fire. There is a huge difference between being spanked because you are naughty, than being spanked for fun.