Story from Janus 123.
by John Undermeyer
Newly married Joshua Hardstone, aghast that his innocent young wife should have appetites of her own, uses the cane to teach her that 'Ladies don't move'.
* * *
I have been slow to marry, and my honeymoon is the more delightful because my wife is young – 20 compared to my own august 48. My age has brought respect, position and wealth, commodities a 20-year-old will come to value and I am sure, in time, Georgina will get to know and fall in with my ways. She is a good girl with (so far) only one fault – in bed she becomes fretful and discontented, I do not know why. I must take her in hand so she knows how life with me must be.
I wanted the first night of my marriage to be full of delight. I knew I had to respect my bride's innocence (she was an untutored virgin) and treat her with tenderness, remembering always that my own desires must be properly satisfied. She undressed in private and climbed into the honeymoon bed in night attire before I came into the room. I took off my clothes in the dressing room, making conversation to put her at ease. I do not deny my organ did the perfectly natural thing while I undressed – it rose stiffly, anxious for release, before I dropped my night-shirt over it. I extinguished the gaslight and the beams from a full moon shone through the net curtains, so I could see my way to bed across the rug-strewn floor.
Georgina met my first approaches with lowered eyes and shy smiles. But soon she gained confidence and when I kissed her, answered with closed lips. I opened mine, was surprised to find her do the same, and we kissed mouths agape. This continued for some time, then I had my first moment of shock – Georgina actually tried to put her tongue in my mouth. This was forwardness indeed! Could I be mistaken in thinking my bride was a virgin? No, for she had had few suitors and never been alone with any but me. I looked into her eyes. She seemed oblivious of her fault and renewed our mouthing – it showed a libertine's nature. Had I deceived myself? Was I, in fact, married to a wanton?
I am not an experienced man; my nature is reserved and I have never used a whore. I do not know how a girl should behave in bed with her husband but I am sure she should be meek, submissive and ladylike, and certainly not lead or be sexually too forward. My Lord Emanuel Curzon has written that during the sexual act 'ladies don't move' and in the brief exchanges I have had with married men they imply their wives generally lie prone during intercourse and are never hungry participants.
This, as you will gather and I came to find out, was not the case with Georgina. From early the first night she expected to do as much in the way of moving and inventing as I did. Open-mouthed kissing was only the start. She took off her night gown without asking. She offered her breasts, shaped like an Amazon's oval bosom with cherries in their centres which showed their enthusiasm for my attention by growing in size. And later, when I came to take her, she wanted me to spend more time at play with her entrance rather than conquer her.
I need not tell you a man can only hold himself in check for so long and that unless he is soon sheathed can spill his seed on the sheets instead of in that soft feminine place.
Were I to ejaculate before penetration then I should not be able to penetrate at all, for a member loses interest once he has delivered the milk. That is why I took Georgina quickly and at once.
I dismounted from my ride to reflect on the joys of marriage but I could tell Georgina was exasperated and unhappy. She waited a few moments then began to nuzzle and stroke her body against mine in an attempt to renew proceedings. There is a limit to what a man can do and I was forced to suggest she keep her hands to herself. She moaned in dismay, but when I am done I am done.
'Georgina,' I said. 'I have done all a man can do. Let me rest.' 'But Joshua,' she replied, 'I have not... take pity on me. Revive your ardour.'
I had no idea what she meant, yet she persisted. At one stage, it grieves me to write this of my bride of one day, her hands actually went to my organ and she began to fondle me. I removed her hands and turned away, the better to sleep. Georgina I could sense, lay beside me tense and unhappy.
'Georgina,' I said after suffering her sighs for some minutes. 'If we are to have a quiet life together you must learn to be still. I need my sleep. I am master of the house and many years your senior – tomorrow I will take you in hand.'
Halt an hour after we finished breakfast the next day I carried my bride back to the bedroom. She was naked and weeping. You should not be surprised, for she had crossed me in bed, but I had greater reason to punish her than that. Last night after coupling I fell asleep and woke soon after to find the bed in motion. Georgina was playing with herself: I mean my perfect partner as I thought, had her legs apart and was dabbling in the entrance where I had recently deposited my seed. I was furious and vowed that in the morning I should thrash her.
Georgina rose cheerful and inclined to be skittish but I could neither forget nor ignore the night's indulgence.
'Eat now. After breakfast you will go to the bedroom and remove your clothes.' 'And you will come with me? I am keen to make more love... perhaps we can make it last longer.'
'This is not to make love! It is for you to atone!'
'But I do not understand... what have I done?'
'It is too embarrassing for me to discuss. Yet it is a grievous fault and needs a husband to flog it out of you.'
'Flog it out of me? Am I to be whipped?'
'You are to be caned my dear, to put it precisely. I have been to the garden and cut a bamboo. You will go over the breakfast table for your chastisement.'
'Am I not to be told my fault?'
'You do not need to be told what you did last night after I slept.'
'But Joshua, dearest, you do not understand... I had to do that...'
'Had to? What nonsense. I gave you my love. I was tender, thoughtful and made sure you were not distressed.'
'Not distressed no, but nor was I...'
Georgina stopped and hung her head dejected, deciding not to say the words in her mind; I could not think what she wanted to hide.
'Nor would you what? Not upset... I know that. Not ready to sleep? Why not?' Georgina got up from the table, bent onto one knee, looked up and felt for my hand. 'I will do what you say. I know what I did was wrong – there were reasons but they are no matter. I deserve correction and will accept it. I will undress at once.'
My naked wife enthralled me with her beauty. She has a slim, delicate figure. Her breasts as I have said are like shallow bowls, her waist is trim, she is delightfully flat across her stomach and abdomen and she curves out gracefully at the hips. She is a tall girl and her long legs flow enchantingly to petite ankles and pretty feet. She had not put up her hair and it fell onto her bare shoulders and partly down her back, a cascade of chestnut glory. I am fortunate to have landed such a prize, but wantonness must be curbed: I would not have her grow lascivious or lewd.
'I will not cane until I have made your fault clear. You are a young girl and quite innocent I am sure, yet in matters of the bedroom you are forward, not to say eager, wanting to lead where women must follow. I cannot prolong intercourse with you, for a man is not made to withhold his juices for too long; you must provide the receptacle for them quickly and willingly. That is all there is to it. Most important of all, you should not play with yourself I am surprised you do not know so much!'
'But Joshua, can a wife not share the pleasures of the marriage bed?'
'A wife submits and expects nothing except perhaps that she may conceive. Now stick your bottom out, dip your back and make ready.'
I had cut a sturdy stick, long enough to allow a full swing, thick enough to hurt and pliant enough not to wreak excess havoc. Pain and marks there would be but my conscience would not later call me cruel. I cracked the wand down in front of Georgina and it landed before her eyes; she flinched with terror at the noise and closeness of the blow. I stopped her looking up by holding her head; she was not to use her eyes to plead for clemency.
But now I had my desire, an obedient wife before me, her bottom bared for punishment, I did not know how to begin. I had never done such a thing and thought back to the times I'd seen a cane used – when it was applied to my own buttocks by my schoolmaster. I would not want Georgina to suffer as badly as that, the man was ruthless, but right now I needed some of his experience and skill.
Questions confounded me – how far back should I draw my arm? How much force is needed to cause moderate pain? How can I make the cane land where I want it to? I had to trust my own judgement, think it through, decide where to stand, find through trial and error the best way to balance my body. If I were to get every bit of the act right I must be patient and take plenty of time.
My feet were flat on the stone floor, the stick pointed at the ceiling, I knew I was the right distance from the table. Now I had to find the right stance. My shoulders would twist, I knew that, but how far? I lowered the rod to a fraction of an inch away from the bottom and drew back an inch or two, repeating the action to mark the spot I would hit. I focused on that spot, drew breath several times and lifting my arm high, brought it down in a wide loose swing. My fingers tightened round the bamboo in the air for fear it might be knocked from my grasp by the impact. I cannot describe the noise it made when it landed, not loud nor quiet, not a hard sound nor a soft one; all I know is Georgina's cheeks indented at the blow.
Her head left the table top, her mouth gaped, her eyes screwed tightly. Her cry came after she caught her breath, six or seven short ah's in rapid succession, followed by a long wail. I thought back to my boyhood at the hands of my teacher. The pain would have reached its climax by now and Georgina would know how terrible it was to be under the cane. But I could not let weakness get the better of duty, I had a wanton to curb and the sooner lessons began, the sooner she would understand her proper role.
My first stroke seemed to have been at the right speed and from the right height. It had landed near the top of her cheeks; I must try to get the second cut lower, and then proceed down the posterior, leaving lines one below the other until she displayed a pretty wash-board of stripes. Thinking how I had got it right the first time, I repeated the stroke, but giving my wrist a flick as I had seen the schoolmaster do to boys under his sway. My careful measuring paid off with a stripe dead across the centre of the cheeks. I noticed as I compared the two that the top line was turning from a white indentation to a pleasingly long swathe of pink. I had not wasted any of my rod but made sure it cut along most of its length.
Once more Georgina's head lifted from the table and her hands, which had been flattened on the top, clasped tightly, spread wide and stretched as if to try and let the pain flow out of her body. Her feet began to move, until she was running on the spot, toes twisting, showing me a pretty dance. I settled my hand on her buttocks to stop the jiggling as she gave a second howl. It was a good thing we had no near neighbours or they might have thought a poor girl was being murdered. It took me a full 60 seconds to land three strokes but the deliberation played off – all three had cut across the shadowy divide so both ovals were afflicted.
I paused to assess my girl whose erstwhile faultless pillows now showed what a well aimed rod can do. Anyone who looked would have known the stripes were hard to bear and indeed Georgina suffered the whole world to hear that she found them excruciating. Her bottom twitched even though my cane was in abeyance, the tip resting on the floor and I asked myself whether three upbraidings were enough to bring her to full awareness of her defects and convince her that her sexual role was a passive one. Perhaps they were, but another part of me exulted at the power I now possessed and was determined to use it for some little time yet. I would continue the thrashing, it was too pleasant a duty to forego too soon, but I would do so by standing on Amanda's other side, the better to ensure her marks would equalise.
I was not wise to change sides for I had to cane with my left hand which, since I did not have the practice, was difficult to do. I noticed at once I did not have the same power in my left wrist that I had in my right. Never-the-less I made a stroke and it landed well on untrammeled flesh. But I know from the mild way Georgina reacted that it did not carry half the power, not impart half the discomfort I would have liked. Georgina grunted and it was plain to me she was pleased and relieved I was using my left hand; the effect was easily bearable.
I thought carefully, wondering whether to cross Georgina and finish the last two with my right hand. Then I realised I could use my right hand to make a back-swing. I took care to aim meticulously, to stand feet well apart to allow my body to sway, and drove in hard. The back-swing made an uppercut into the lower part of the cheeks and Georgina was immediately up on her toes. I liked the feel of the delivery, impacting on softness and making it quiver. One successful back-swing encouraged me to try another. It would need to be another uppercut and I ordered Georgina to move her hips slightly away from the table. That made them protrude more than usual and I had a better target to aim for. Since it was the sixth – and last – swing and I did not feel I had by any means overdone the severity of my deliveries, I put all my strength into it. By pure chance, and to my considerable satisfaction, it landed immediately over one of the previous five, creating a doubling up effect, and it hurt so much Georgina nearly jumped out of her skin. She leapt up from the table and began to dance around the room crying oh, oh, oh, oh, and howling at the top of her voice. I did not know whether to be sorry for her pain or furious at her getting up but decided the best thing to do would be to let her dance herself to a standstill then remonstrate with her.
I put my cane on the table and waited. My wife of two days soon realised she had gone far beyond what was permitted behaviour and took control of herself. I thought it best to make her bend again.
'I will not cut you again, but get back over the table and ask me for permission to rise.'
'Oh please... please... I cannot take any more.'
'As I say, I have finished. But you must ask for permission to rise.'
Georgina bent and grasped the other side of the table, her buttocks stretched before me. I let my palm move tentatively over the trembling orbs, not rubbing in any way, but searching softly with my finger-tips for the welts. They were rising nicely, twin edges of uplifted skin, white in places but turning even as I looked to a more angry red. My earlier stripes were ruby-tinted already and I knew the others would soon attain that hue. I might have expected my wife to move her hands behind her in protest but she lay flat on the table, breasts and face crushed in a pool of tears which all the time grew deeper. Had my chastisement been so painful? Was she now so sore that she could not stir, but must remain the helpless recipient of my exploring fingers? Drawing their tips over the tramlines with a gossamer touch I felt the flames of desire flicker at first, then begin to burn more urgently, and it was not long before the first pulsing of hot blood found where it had to go and I began to be roused.
I had whipped Georgina to teach her to be more reserved, to play the female role and accept that during union she should have no will of her own. When the lion, king of the beasts, takes his queen, he does not ask for guidance or advice but mounts when ready and roars his way to culmination. I want to love a sweet, tender creature, compliant and passive – that is woman's true nature. Georgina must understand that and what better time to test if she has learned the lesson than now when I have a goat's need on me?
I slipped my hands beneath my wife's hips and round her shoulders, lifting and rolling her until she was off the table and had fallen against me, supported by my arms. I kissed her salty face, stroked the damp hair off her forehead and as I walked to the bedroom began to explain what was to happen.
'Punishment is over. Remember when we couple, your role is to submit. Now I am in the mood to take you. We arc on our honeymoon and I have you naked in my arms, the business will be over quite quickly then I will leave you to rest.'
Georgina said nothing and lay in my arms, not moving when I set her on the bed. I hurried to disrobe, my organ hungry to be buried and did not whisper or coax tenderly for I was driven by a pulsing root which I panted soon enough in its rightful garden. Georgina remained still and virtually silent – a properly bred Victorian girl; what more evidence did I need that she would behave properly from now on? It is true that there were some signs of writhing as I rode to my climax, but that was because her welts were being rubbed against the sheets. And if, in future, she moves only when her bottom hurts, who can blame her for that?