Monday, 4 June 2012

The Schooling of Lady Caroline

Story from Janus 11.

The Schooling of Lady Caroline


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,

* * *

Oakfield Road,
Tunbridge Wells,
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,

* * *

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!


* * *

Grosvenor Road,
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,

* * *

Grosvenor Road,
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,

* * *


Grosvenor Road,
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,


  1. What a refined and delicious language!

  2. Marvellous story which sums up the correct attitude towards women; whip them well; fuck them hard; and love them thoroughly. It is a recipe for happiness.
    Old Tom