From the Top Shelf - Emily's Turn, Part 1

Last week we left Emily wondering when it would be her turn for corporal punishment in the Grimes household. She didn't have long to wait. Here is the final part of the S.T. Rogers' "Victorian" trilogy.

When Susan entered the study, Mrs Dickens and Mr Balfour were already present.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, "on my way here a tradesman called at the back door and I was forced to attend to him."

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed as she took her position - exactly 3 o'clock. Glancing momentarily at the calendar beside the mantel, she noted the date: twenty-third of November. The year - 1996.

The anachronism never failed to amuse her, when it infrequently occurred to her. She was content and that was all that mattered. It did not matter that the study was filled with Victorian furniture and decorations; nor that its occupants all wore the livery of that era.

She was content and that was that.

Master Grimes was particularly fond of the Victorian age and expected his serving staff to feel likewise. If they didn't they were free to seek employment elsewhere; no one was forced to comply with the master's wishes. Emily certainly wasn't.

She stood holding her ankles in the middle of the study; around her waist, pantalettes open behind, awaiting the kiss of the master's cane......

* * *

It was a week to the day after Emily had stood in the attic and witnessed Susan's punishment on the rocking horse. The staff were seated at dinner in the downstairs kitchen and Master Grimes was entertaining business colleagues in the drawing room.

Mrs Dickens, placing her knife and fork neatly by her plate, turned to Susan.

"The master has informed me of his pleasure at Emily's appointment and her decision to remain as part of the staff here. He was impressed by her conduct in the attic last week and he feels it's time she 'does the rounds'.

Emily, watching Mrs Dickens intently, felt irked that the housekeeper ignored her and spoke to Susan about matters that concerned her. However, she was still sufficiently wary of Mrs Dickens to remain silent. Moreover, her excitement seemed to outweigh all other considerations; she had waited patiently for the master to turn his attentions in her direction and now, at last, that seemed to have happened.

"When is Emily to begin her rounds?" asked Susan.

"This afternoon," replied Mrs Dickens, "the master will have concluded his business by one o'clock. He then has matters to deal with in the city. He will expect Emily to be in his study by ten minutes to three and the rest of the staff five minutes afterwards. She will visit my quarters at two o' clock precisely and thereafter report to Mr Balfour."

Susan nodded and returned to her meal. Emily's attempts to catch her eye met with failure. Her eyes remained focused on her plate.

After dinner, Emily accosted Susan in the hall. "Susan, what's going on? What is all this about me 'doing the rounds' ?

Susan smiled. She put her finger to her lips and led Emily upstairs to her bedroom. When they were both inside, Susan began to explain. "Doing the rounds is an expression, a roundabout way of saying...an initiation ceremony."

Emily looked mystified.

"I went through it when I first arrived here. Let me explain..."

* * *


At two o' clock precisely, Emily presented herself at Mrs Dickens' room. The housekeeper showed her in and ordered her to stand by the bed while she cleared away the embroidery material she had been working with.

"Now then, my child," said Mrs Dickens eventually, seating herself in a plain armless chair, "You know why you are here?"

"Yes, miss," said Emily, lowering her head shyly.

"Of course, I shouldn't call you child - you are nineteen years old, you're an adult. You have seen what goes on in this household. You were in the attic with Susan when the master administered her...punishment."

"Yes, miss, I was there," said Emily. She almost blurted that she had also witnessed Mrs Dickens being thrashed by Master Grimes, but managed to bite her tongue.

"Well, I'll get to the point, " said the housekeeper. "Frankly, I am not very happy with your work, young lady. I think you need to be taught a lesson, don't you?"

"Yes, miss," whispered Emily, entwining her fingers and wiggling her hips; every inch the naughty girl about to be punished.

"Come over here then," said Mrs Dickens, patting her lap, "and bend over my knee."

Emily complied. As the housekeeper raised her skirt, Emily wished it was the young master's knee she was bent over. He was so handsome and she was half in love with him. Still, she had to come to terms with her submissive nature and, though Mrs Dickens would not have been her choice as punishment administrator, she was still overwhelmed by erotic excitement.

Mrs Dickens undid the buttons and pulled apart the seams of Emily's pantalettes, exposing her bare bottom. The pearl-white cheeks seemed to please her and she uttered a barely audible grunt of approval. Without further ado she began to smack the girl's delightful cheeks. Emily expressed herself freely; kicking her legs and feigning resistance, but Mrs Dickens held her firmly and continued with unwavering determination.

SMACK!
OWWWWWWWWW!
SMACK!
OOOOOOHOWWWW!

Emily sensed her bottom was getting very red, what with the firmness of the hand spanking and the rapidity of the blows.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid my hand is becoming sore," said Mrs Dickens. Still holding Emily firmly in place, the housekeeper reached over and took a hairbrush from her dressing-table.

"Oh no...please don't use your hairbrush," pleaded Emily, when she turned and caught sight of the implement. The hairbrush had a large, oval-shaped head which was made of ivory.

The spanking continued with Mrs Dickens declaring that the hairbrush was an ideal tool for saving one's hand. The beating grew to a crescendo as Emily struggled wildly.

"Don't you struggle with me, my girl!" barked Mrs Dickens.

She administered six firm and righteous strokes before pulling Emily to her feet. "Now," she said, "I hope you've learned your lesson, my dear."

Emily stamped her feet and wiped her eyes. "Yes, Mrs Dickens, I have" she moaned.


Five minutes later, Emily stood in Mr Balfour's room. She had made herself as decent as she possibly could. Her bottom was still smarting from Mrs Dickens's hand and hairbrush and she rubbed it gingerly.

"You seem to have a sore bottom," observed the butler.

"It's not that bad, Mr Balfour," Emily replied.

Mr Balfour went to his bed, reached under it and brought out one of his slippers. He tapped it against the palm of his hand several times before approaching the young maid.

"Leather upper, leather sole," he declared indicating the slipper, "the master brought them home from Italy and gave them to me as a present. I haven't worn them yet - but then slippers aren't just for wearing."

Emily shrugged and began to chew her finger.

"Take your finger out of your mouth and come over here."

The butler's tone brooked no disobedience. "Kneel on the bed and stick your bottom out."

Emily obeyed and Mr Balfour raised her skirts. "You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you? I've seen the way you giggle and caper at my expense, you and that other minx, Susan. Laughing when you pass me in the hall, teasing me at breakfast, lunch and supper. You think I'm a stuck-up old buffoon, don't you?"

N-n-no sir, honest I don't." Emily's pleading was ignored as the butler yanked her white pantalettes down to the bend of her knees and began to slipper her pert posterior.

"Raise that bottom higher," he demanded.

Emily pressed her face into the bed cover and pushed her rear into the air as high as she possibly could. Mr Balfour seemed satisfied with her efforts. "That's better," he barked.

He varied his strokes, first the far buttock, then the near; alternating between them with gusto. Every sixth stroke he paused and stroked her smooth skin, relishing the warmth he was creating. It was so good to be in control, he thought. How many men had merely fantasised about what he was actually doing? Being the butler in the Grimes household certainly had its rewards.

Emily, too, was in a kind of heaven. Despite the smarting of her belaboured backside, she was deliriously happy. How many nineteen year olds held a job which embodied and fulfilled their fantasies? Mrs Dickens must have seen her potential at the interview stage; had realised she was a ripe submissive who was ignorant of the fact.

"Now my girl, " said Mr Balfour, after what seemed to be an eternity of slipper strokes, "I'm going to give you six final smacks across both cheeks and I want you to count them out and thank me for each and every one. Understood?"

"Yes, sir...Mr Balfour," sniffled Emily.

SMACK!

"AOWWWWWW! One...thank you, Mr Balfour."

SMACK!

"AOWWWWWWWW! Two...thank you, Mr Balfour."

When he reached the sixth stroke, the butler paused.

"This is the final stroke and I'm going to make it a good one. Are you ready, girl?"

SMACK!

AAAOOOOOOWWWW! Six...thank you, Mr Balfour !"

Taking his hand from the small of her back, where he had held her firmly throughout, Mr Balfour pulled Emily off the bed. "Are you going to be a good girl in future?" he asked.

"Yes sir," she replied. But Emily suspected that she would not be a good girl and would visit this room many times in the future.

But that's not all; Emily still has her meeting with the Master at 3:00.