From the Top Shelf - Ellen's New Fashion

We continue with the escapades of Ellen and Roderick, from the anonymously authored novel Ellen's Story.

The following weekend, on the Saturday, he took me to the house to show me his paintings, which I had expressed eager interest to view. He led the way up to the attic, which, with his father's permission, he had converted into an artists studio. The room was impressively Bohemian: it reeked of oil paint and turpentine; the bare floorboards were littered with discarded brushes, paint-smeared rags, and all the flotsam and jetsam one associates with an artist's calling.

Nearest the window, a large easel stood on rickety legs, and on it rested an unfinished canvas. About a dozen or so completed canvases lay propped against the furthest wall. I pounced on them eagerly, and examined them with delighted cries of unqualified approval. They were every bit as good as I had confidently expected them to be.

I was especially taken with one in particular; a powerful landscape scene depicting the Dragon's Teeth on a dark stormy evening. Roderick had captured uncannily the sinister, brooding nature of the area.

"You like that one, do you, Ellen?" he said, running his fingers lovingly through my hair.

"Oh yes I like it enormously!" I murmured admiringly. "You have caught the atmosphere and mood of the place perfectly. It is so good it almost frightens me!"

"It is yours. You may have it," he said quickly, as though embarrassed by my lavish praise. "I shall get it framed and sent to you." Awkwardly I stammered my thanks, thinking how much I would treasure it evermore.

"As yet," he explained, "it has no name...but your delightful presence here in my little studio puts me in mind of a perfect title for that canvas. It shall be called simply The Sacrifice. He laughed and winked at me knowingly while I went red with embarrassment.

It was a constant habit of Roderick's to tease me unmercifully and, being a girl of some spirit, I decided on that occasion to get my own back. Fortunately his father had again gone away for the weekend, and the kitchen maid was visiting her ailing mother some miles distant. We were not likely to be disturbed.

Roderick had previously told Ellen about his collection of naughty books, and she was very curious about them. She seized her opportunity.

Dodging out of the door, I ran downstairs to Roderick's bedroom where, pressing the button to the secret compartment in his cabinet, I removed the naughty book from its hiding place and lay down on the bed, clutching it in my arms. When Roderick entered the room, having chased after me in hot pursuit, he saw immediately what I had done and halted in amazed embarrassment. For once it was his turn to blush.

Then, to hide his discomfiture, he became furiously angry with me. "I'll teach you to go meddling in my private things, you crafty prying little minx!" he exclaimed, growing redder and redder in the face as he waved an admonishing finger at me.

Burning with indignation that I must admit I found indescribably thrilling (I had never seen him angry before) he quickly sat down on the edge of the bed and bundled me, squealing and protesting, over his knee.

He threw back my frock and petticoat then gasped out loud at the sight that greeted his eyes - for my bottom was clad, not in old-fashioned drawers, but in the much briefer garment that was the new fashion craze - knickers! I had seen them displayed the day before in the draper's window and, with a sense of great daring, had walked in and promptly purchased a pair. They were delicately fashioned in white gauze, with scalloped edging along the hems. They fitted my plump little bottom to a tee, revealing a lot more than they concealed - in short they were the most delightfully vulgar undergarments I had ever seen in my life. Needless to say, I kept them well hidden from my mother!

I had been dying all day to goad Roderick sufficiently into giving me a spanking so that he could see them. Saucy, provocative girl that I was, I could not wait to see what kind of effect they would have on him. Would he like what he saw?

I think at first he was so taken aback that he did not know quite what to say. He had been so used to seeing my bottom swathed in long cumbersome drawers that suddenly to discover it so vulnerably exposed, the soft ivory mounds of my buttock cheeks clearly defined beneath the tightly clinging gauze, must have come as quite a shock - albeit a pleasurable one - and all the while he was breathing heavily, as well as doubtless feasting his eyes upon the dainty dish laid out before him on his lap.

Then he cleared his throat and began to lecture me like a schoolmaster. I had a strong desire to giggle.

"Naughty girls who stick their noses into what does not concern them get the punishment they thoroughly deserve!" he growled fiercely, although I could tell from his stiffening penis beneath me that excitement was rapidly replacing anger. "Especially," he added in a softer voice, " naughty girls who disport themselves in such disgracefully brief and frilly underclothes as these..." saying which he ran his hands lingeringly and with evident fascination all over the flimsy knickers which moulded so immodestly to my provocatively raised bottom cheeks.

I felt that old tingling sensation starting again in my loins, telling me that I was already beginning to wet the gusset of my very first pair of knickers in anticipation of the sound spanking he was about to administer - as well as, of course, what was bound to come afterwards.

"Since it would be a shame to rip this naughty garment," he went on, patting the shiny surface of my knickers lightly, " and since, in any case, it will afford your shapely bottom little, if any, protection from what it is about to receive..." he smacked each knickered buttock twice with vigour, by way of a foretaste - and I squealed in alarm, "...I shall spare you the indignity of removing these... these... these..."(he had obviously never seen a pair of knickers before and clearly had no idea what to call them)

"They are referred to as 'knickers'," I piped up pertly, despite the indignity of being semi-naked and over his knee. "They are the 'in thing'. All the stylish ladies wear them nowadays."

"Do they indeed!" he exclaimed with keen interest. "If that is so then they should all be spanked as heartily as I am about to spank you!" and he was unable to repress a chuckle at the thought.

" 'Knickers', did you say they are called?" he asked again, tugging maliciously at the waistband so that a good deal of the bare cheeks of my bottom were scandalously exposed. "Hmmm, knickers eh? Knickers... knickers..." he repeated to himself, pronouncing the word with great relish and patting my bare bottom cheeks each time he said it.

The little interlude over, he pulled me further over his knee so that my scantily clad pubic mound was pressing directly against the large bulge of his erection. He took his time in smoothing out every little crease and wrinkle in the seat of my knickers and pulling up the elasticated waistband still further until they were drum-tight - so much so that I feared they might burst open beneath the harsh impact of his imminent assault.

...I groaned in sweet humiliation and wriggled helplessly, pinned to the spot by his left arm which was clamped firmly round my tiny waist. Was ever a girl so shamed, abused and manhandled as was I? To add to my chagrin, I knew that behind me on the wall there was a large mirror in which Roderick would be able to study closely the uninhibited wriggling and writhing of my soon-to-be well spanked posterior, as well as the unladylike kicking of my black-stockinged legs.

Then he began his cruelly delayed assault on my poor rear. The spanks fell first on my right cheek, then on my left, in an exact geometric pattern. He started from just below the small of my back and slowly, with unbearable thoroughness, worked his way down my entire bottom, ending up with the tops of my thighs just above my gartered stockings.

I gasped and squirmed as the hot stinging sensation grew and grew, and I knew - shameful little hussy that I was - that I was getting wetter and wetter with every additional spank that collided noisily with my burning bum!

"Oh Roderick, stop! Please stop!" I pleaded frantically...but my wickedly perverse sex was simply clamouring out for more, and still more, delicious bottom chastisement...

"Turn your head, Ellen, and look behind you in the mirror!" he commanded, while offering me no respite whatsoever from his hot, punishing palm. Reluctantly I twisted my head around, in bot dread and fascination at what I should see.

"Oh, my poor, poor bottom! How cruel you are to it!" I cried in horror. Such was the angle from which I viewed it that my flimsily knickered posterior, draped ignominiously over his lap, seemed swollen and balloon-like - a vulgarly obscene parody of a girl's backside. Indeed, from the rear, I seemed to be nothing but two inelegantly sprawling black-stockinged legs and an all too prominent, shamefully reddened bottom that was growing conspicuously redder by the second, each time Roderick's outspread palm descended resoundingly upon its nubile amplitude.

The thought did cross my reeling brain that if he persisted in spanking me so hard and so thoroughly then I would in all probability arrive at the pinnacle of my arousal very soon, and achieve a noisy, tearful consummation, just as I had already done twice in the past: once in response to the savage chastisement from Clem's birch, and more recently at the much gentler hands of Roderick up on the Dragon's Teeth.

But just then Roderick's own mounting lust got the better of him. He ceased belabouring my sore, aching bottom, removed my knickers with a deft flourish, pausing only to savour the musky dampness of the gusset, then he tumbled me impatiently into bed where I once more allowed him, nay urged him, to spear me to the core with that gloriously upstanding weapon of his.

Whew! (Fans self.) I think I'll take a cold shower.