From the Top Shelf - Emily's Turn, Part 2

Here is the final part of the S.T. Rogers 'Victorian' trilogy. Last week, Emily began "doing the rounds" as her initiation into the household. Now the final test begins.

At ten minutes to three, Emily reported to the master's study. She rubbed her glowing bottom with one hand and knocked timidly on the door with the other. "Come in, Emily." She recognised the master's voice and he had used her name for the first time.

He was sitting behind his desk when she entered, reading one of his numerous ledgers and making notes therein. He looked up and noticed Emily standing by the door. "Come over here, girl - don't be shy."

Emily shuffled over to the desk, still rubbing her bottom and avoiding his eyes. Master Grimes told her to sit down and smiled gently when she did so, noting her discomfort as she rested her weight on her tender behind.

"I see you have visited Mrs Dickens and Mr Balfour," he said.

She raised her eyes momentarily and looked at his face. She thought she might swoon; his handsome face was creased into a wicked grin and there was a twinkle in his eye. She stared at her hands which were clasped in her lap.

"Do you enjoy working here, Emily?"

"Oh yes, sir," she replied, "very much."

"And do you want for anything?"

"No sir, I have everything I need." She found the courage to look him straight in the eyes. "This is the best job I've ever had. I hope my duties are performed in a satisfactory manner, sir?"

"Yes, Emily, I am very happy with your contribution to the household. I shall tell the rest of the staff so when they arrive shortly. You are exactly the type of girl we need here and the fact that you were willing to do the rounds today is a testament to your suitability. Now, you have only one test more to undertake. Are you willing to undergo this final hurdle?"

"Yes, sir. I hope I may please you in whatever duty I have to perform," Emily said firmly.

"That's the spirit," Master Grimes said enthusiastically and rose from his seat. "I want you to stand here," he said, indicating the middle of the floor.

Emily stood where she was told.

"Now I want you to bend forward and clasp your ankles. That shouldn't be difficult for a healthy nineteen-year-old girl, eh? And one as pretty as you."

Emily returned his smile and did as requested. She found the position somewhat awkward initially and had to adjust her stance several times in order to maintain her balance.

A knock at the door was followed by the entrance of Mrs Dickens and Mr Balfour. They exchanged pleasantries with the master for several minutes and then took their places at the side of the room. Master Grimes undid the buttons at the back of Emily's pantalettes and pulled apart the seams of the garment. He stroked the exposed cheeks of the girl's bottom and admired their angry red hue, complimenting the housekeeper and the butler on the thoroughness of their handiwork. He then went to his desk and took a short thin whippy cane from one of its drawers, brandishing the implement by its crooked handle and swishing it through the air several times with perfunctory coolness.

Susan knocked, entered and apologised for being late as the master approached Emily and stood directly behind her. He seemed unhappy with the position of her legs and ordered her to move her feet further apart which, with some difficulty, she managed to achieve.

"Well," he said eventually, "now that we are all present and Emily is in the correct position, I think we should get down to business."

Susan watched Emily closely as she awaited the kiss of the master's cane. She was reminded of herself when she first arrived at the Grimes household; a naive eighteen-year-old with a lot to learn about life. She was sure that Emily would cope as well as she had four years previously; she certainly had the right attitude to do so.

"This is a test of discipline, Emily," said the master, stroking the cane over the surface of her already reddened rump, "and I must ask you to be silent while punishment is administered. Any sound you make will detract from your performance of the test. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," said Emily, apprehensively.

Without further ado, the master began to cane Emily's pretty bottom with firm, but not excessive, strokes; steadying her with his hand on the small of her back. Susan, Mrs Dickens and Mr Balfour looked on impassively.

To her credit, Emily did not utter a sound, even after about five minutes of punishment. The master paused and rested his arm.

"You are doing well, Emily," he said.

Emily was determined to please Master Grimes; she held her leather ankle-boots tightly and when he continued her chastisement, she remained silent - apart from the occasional muted gasp or groan.

"The final six strokes, " said the master. "I want you to count them out loud and clear."

Susan and the others had a perfect view of Emily's well-decorated bottom as he administered the final blows. Her fiery cheeks were delightfully framed by the parted seams of her frilly white pantalettes.

With a final righteous stroke of the cane, Emily's punishment ended and she was allowed to stand and rub her scorching bottom. Master Grimes turned to the others.

"You may leave us now. Emily has passed the final test with flying colours and she deserves to be soothed."

Susan gave Emily an encouraging smile as she left the study behind Mrs Dickens and Mr Balfour. At last Emily was alone with the young master. Her heart leapt when he put his arms around her and gave her a sympathetic cuddle, stroking her bare bottom with his free hand. She had often asked herself when it would be her turn. Now that time had come, and when the master produced a bottle of soothing oil, she hoped that her job in the Grimes household would develop into a long and satisfying career.

Sadly, that's all, folks.

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.

From the Top Shelf - Susan, Part 2

Last week we found Emily and Susan in the attic, awaiting the Master. I won't keep you in suspense any longer; let's see what happens next.

"You know the penalty for disobedience?" he asked.

"Y-yes sir..." stuttered Susan.

"Give me the whip." Susan took the riding crop which was hanging by the strap from her wrist and placed it in his hand as ordered.

"Now adopt a proper riding position. I ordered you not to mount this beast and I come into the attic and find you doing exactly that. Well, you'll get a hotter ride than you bargained for, my lass."

Susan straightened her legs in the stirrups and lowered her head in the classic jockey position. Master Grimes lifted the tail of her jacket with the end of the horsewhip so that the full expanse of her exquisite backside was visible, its pertness emphasised by the skin-tight riding breeches which enhanced the roundness of its contours.

Without warning, the master delivered six stinging blows to Susan's rear in rapid succession.

"AAAAAAAAAOWWWWWWW" Susan cried. Her white-gloved hands, which had been gripping the reins, flew back instinctively to protect her punished posterior.

"Did I tell you to put your hands there?" the master asked.

"N-n-no." Her voice rose in pitch as she uttered the word but she kept her hands on her bottom. This meant she had to use her shoulder against the horse's neck to remain in position. Emily marvelled at Susan's skill in doing this and at the position she was able to maintain; her head low and her bottom impossibly high in the air. She must have had a lot of practice.

"Take your hands away, girl," the master ordered, his voice calm and authoritative.

Slowly and hesitantly Susan complied, placing her hands back on the reins. The young master produced a pen-knife from his pocket and, reaching forward, cut a long straight line from the top of her riding breeches down to the crotch under the cleft of her buttocks. This meant that the skin-tight material split, pulled apart and formed a perfect 'O' shape.

Susan's bottom was now exposed; perfectly framed in the oval of the straining white cloth. Emily thought how ingenious this was. It meant Susan could be punished on the bare without having to dismount and remove her breeches. Master Grimes seemed unhappy with his work. He reached out again and adjusted the cloth so that even more of the maid's voluptuous bottom was exposed; still framed in the perfect O shape. Resting the whip across Susan's waist, Master Grimes removed his waistcoat and rubbed his hands briskly.

"Now," he said, "let's get down to business!"


Susan's feet rested in the stirrups and she held the reins tightly, her bare bottom pushed high in the air as the riding crop descended on the bare for the first time.

Emily watched. She felt a warm glow inside, feeling more and more that she belonged here. Outside the world was gripped by the stresses and strains of the 1990's, but here, reality seemed far away. It was like living a dream; a fantasy.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaooow!" cried Susan.

The crop gave a crisp thwack! each time it descended on the quivering orbs of her buttocks.

Several more times the crop descended and Susan's cries followed each one.

Obviously, Master Grimes did not believe in sparing the rod. Emily lost count of the strokes as Susan's bottom became red with criss-crossing stripes. All of this was being done for her pleasure and she sighed ecstatically when the master ceased belabouring her glowing rear and rested his arm.

"Now then," he said, "since you think you're such an accomplished rider, young lady, I'd like to see you work up a fine gallop."

Whimpering quietly, Susan began to work the rocking-horse into motion. "Come on, girl, faster!" urged the master as she gained momentum. Emily thought she looked like a prize jockey in the Grand National and put her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. The huge rockers trundled back and forth on the wooden floor relentlessly until the master was satisfied with the speed and motion generated by his senior maid.

Then, each time the horse tipped forward, he began to apply the crop to Susan's straining buttocks.

"Oh, Master, please stop..." she moaned.

"I'll stop when it pleases me to stop," he replied tersely.

He was now making use of the twin leather flaps at the business end of the whip rather than the pliant staff which had previously created a striped pattern. The result was a dappled effect of reddening rectangles over horizontal stripes. Wickedly, Emily thought of Susan's thrashed backside as a canvas, with Master Grimes the artist, and the O-shaped cut in her breeches as the frame.

"Enough!" he called eventually and Susan stopped her rocking action. As the movement abated, he reached out and caressed the chastened girl's glowing nates, admiring, as he did so, the extent of his handiwork.

"Excellent!" he declared. "Now you may dismount."

Sorely, poor Susan got off the horse and stood before him.

She dabbed at her eyes with one white-gloved hand and rubbed her bottom with the other. Master Grimes raised her face with his hand. "Keep your chin up, my dear," he said.

Turning to Emily he ordered her to bring a wooden stool. Nervously, she located one in the corner of the attic and brought it to him. Sitting thereon, he pulled Susan over his knee and unceremoniously yanked her mutilated breeches down to the bend of her knees, fully exposing her bare bottom and the backs of her thighs. The unfortunate maid began to struggle as he administered a thorough and sound spanking, on top of her already glowing buttocks, ignoring her kicking legs and unconvincing pleas for mercy. Emily looked on, beginning to understand the consummate pleasure that Susan and Mrs Dickens derived from such rigorous chastisement.

Master Grimes finally allowed Susan to get to her feet. "Do you see what happens to young ladies who disobey my strict orders?" he asked Emily.

"Yes sir...indeed I do," she replied meekly.

"Good, now go to your room and consider what you have witnessed this afternoon. Consider what will happen if you choose to disobey me."

Despite her pain, Susan gave Emily an encouraging smile as she turned and walked to the door. As she opened it, she turned briefly and saw that Master Grimes and Susan were locked in an embrace, her arms around him as he soothed her bottom.

Closing the door behind her, she again asked herself; when will it be my turn?

When indeed? We will learn the answer to that question next week.

From the Top Shelf - Mrs Dickens, Part 2

Last week we started The Chastening of Mrs Dickens by S.T. Rogers. I'm sorry you had to wait a week for the rest of the story, but I know you will agree it was worth waiting for.

As you may recall, Emily has recently started working as a maid in a Victorian household. The year is 1986 but it might just as well be a hundred years earlier, for the house is run exactly as it would have been in the year 1896. Emily is hiding in a small storeroom and peering through a hole hidden behind a small landscape painting. Without further ado, let's find out what she sees.

"Have you missed me?" he hissed.

"Oh Master, I need your discipline so much. I have missed your firm hand and I deserve so greatly to be chastised but please do not be too harsh with me."

In the smallness of the room, Mrs Dickens' voice sounded hoarse yet was laden with lust. "I will deal with you in any way I see fit," snapped the young man. "Now adopt the position I have taught you."

The housekeeper, with an almost orgasmic moan, proceeded to straighten her long shapely legs and push out her bare bottom; arching her back to maximise the erotic effect. Without further ado the young Master began to smack the older woman's bottom with relish; each crisp, resounding blow delivered with a slow and precise conviction and alternating between each deliciously rounded cheek. Emily noted how Mrs Dickens' big white bottom, prettily framed by the black dress bundled around her waist, began to glow red beneath the Master's hand. Every inch of her posterior was systematically beaten by the expert hand of its tormentor; from the tops of the buttocks to the tops of her black silk stockings. And all the while the poignant noises of Mrs Dickens' chastisement echoed around the small study.

After what seemed an eternity of methodical punishment, Master Grimes began to increase the speed and ferocity of his blows.

"Oh Master, oh please sir..." sobbed the housekeeper, but Emily did not feel the least bit sorry for Mrs Dickens. She knew, with a woman's intuition, that the household matriarch was enjoying every minute of her 'ordeal'. Indeed, Emily realised that one of the most erotic aspects of the scene before her was the housekeeper's play-acting. Adding to the eroticism was the incongruity of the ages of the participants; Mrs Dickens was old enough to be the Master's mother, yet here she was bubbling and sighing like a soundly spanked schoolgirl for the young man's pleasure and amusement. But Emily knew that the pleasure was mutual and that knowledge brought a heady sensation which left her close to swooning.

"Now, now...there, there..." said Master Grimes soothingly, holding the woman to him by her slim waist and gently stroking her tanned posterior. After several moments he turned her round and manoeuvered her back to his mahogany bureau so that her bottom was pressed against its edge. He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. With an expression of mock dismay, Mrs Dickens sat on the table, leaned back and slowly raised her legs in the air. Her white bloomers,which had fallen down to her ankles during the spanking, slid back over her knees and back to her thighs. Noticing this, the Master reached out, pulled them down her legs again and took them off completely.

Opening a drawer in the bureau, he then brought forth a leather tawse which he tested on his open palm before stroking it sensually over the delicate flesh of the woman's quivering rear. Mrs Dickens' light whimpering continued as Master Grimes took hold of her black leather ankle boots and pushed her legs back and up so that she was in a more satisfactory position for punishment to recommence.

As the tawse descended continually on the housekeeper's bottom, Emily observed a change in the woman's behaviour; her previous verbal remonstrations having been replaced by an almost inaudible moan - even though the beating had actually increased in intensity. As the young Master delivered numerous firm strokes with the tawse, Emily noticed that Mrs Dickens was wriggling her buttocks in an increasingly suggestive manner, almost mimicking sexual intercourse. Her movements were overtly feminine and deliberately sensual.

Master Grimes released the woman's legs so that she was obliged to maintain her rather awkward position without assistance, flat on her back with her long shapely legs pointing to the ceiling.

Eventually tiring of the position, the young Master ceased and fetched his high armless chair from behind his desk. He placed it in the middle of the room.

"Come here, girl!" he said scornfully as he settled in the chair and patted his knee. "I haven't finished with you yet." Emily could barely suppress a giggle at his use of the word 'girl' for a woman who was old enough to be his mother and the way Mrs Dickens hurried to obey his commands; tiptoeing in towards him, weak at the knees and rubbing her scarlet behind. Without fuss, the Master took her by the hand and pulled her over his knee, pausing to admire the redness of her rump before recommencing its torment. He delivered each stroke with the flat of his hand and, with the other, reached out and grasped her by the hair so that her head was held high and back.

The housekeeper, initially silent, began a low orgasmic moan which, growing in intensity, seemed to spur the hand of her punisher who increased the speed and vehemence of his strokes. The speed and ferocity of the spanking grew to a crescendo as did the movements of Mrs Dickens who was grinding and bucking her hips in response. The low guttural moan she had been emitting changed to a high pitched wail as she thrust her voluptuous bottom wildly towards the hand of her assailant.

Master Grimes, sensing the approaching climax of his housekeeper, stayed his hand in mid-stroke and rested it on the woman's soundly thrashed and scarlet backside. Finally Mrs Dickens threw back her head and uttered a final shriek of passion before the Master released his grip on her hair and she slumped forward exhausted and trembling, her thrusting hips gradually growing still. Master Grimes, his face flushed with exertion, smiled triumphantly and caressed her glowing bottom cheeks.

***

As Emily, dizzy with prurient thoughts, made her way to Susan's room afterwards, she struggled to maintain her composure. Her thoughts strayed continually to the events she had just witnessed. Before concealing the peephole and exiting the store room, she had witnessed the handsome Master holding Mrs Dickens very close, and tenderly caressing her burning bottom. She had only one question in her mind...when will it be my turn?

Wasn't that worth waiting for? But wait! There's more to come.

A Lovely Victorian

I saw this elegant bottle opener in the Victorian Trading Company catalogue.

"A most accommodating pose invites one to open a cold one. This delightful antique reproduction was popular among many of our grandfathers while grandmother would probably raise an eyebrow!"

It's labelled a best seller, and I can understand why. The pictures only show the lovely lady's front. You have to buy it in order to get a glimpse of her well-rounded derriere.

From the Top Shelf - A Man with a Maid

A Man with a Maid - Book 2 is a sequel to the original Victorian Man with a Maid,  the ultimate male fantasy concerning Jack, a wealthy man who converted his study into a punishment room for naughty girls. In this excerpt, Jack has enticed his fiancee's haughty sister Marion into visiting him, then has  her bound and secured in his punishment room. He intends to teach her the error of her ways, but she does not give in without a struggle, cursing, slapping and spitting at him for his outrageous behaviour. This, of course, does not help matters in the least.

I went to the cupboard and procured the glove box of feathers and the springy whip, then resumed my place behind her. Taking up the whip first, I put my left hand to the back of her neck and enquired, When you and Alice went to school, Marion, were you ever birched or caned?"

"No-o....o-o-nly on my hands once," she replied in a faint trembling voice.

"Suppose" I continued grimly, "you had slapped your teacher? How many strokes do you think you would have deserved?"

"Oh please," she groaned nervously, "more than I could bear, I am sure of it!"

"And then what if you had spat in her face?"

"Oh please don't torture me so! I-If you must have your revenge then take it while I still have the courage to endure it. But if you only knew how uncomfortable I am, how my limbs ache, you would show kindness and put an end to it," she sobbed.

"Very well, I shall pronounce sentence. For the slap, eight good cuts with the whip on your naked behind!"

"Oh dear!! Oh my!!"

"For spitting, twice as many. You may prepare yourself, Marion, and I shall keep an exact count because, this being your first whipping, I very much doubt your ability to retain an accurate accounting."

I pushed her lovely cascading black hair to one side so that I could grip her neck firmly with my left hand and, standing off to the left and with the whip in my right, raised it slowly so that she could not help but see it in the mirror in front of her. She uttered a sob, closed her eyes and tensed herself with all her might. The play of her muscles under the rippling satiny olive skin was enchantment itself. My cock was as hard as it had been at the very start of our afternoon.

But now there was a difference. Now I had learned much of Marion's secret nature and I could proceed undaunted to adapt and shape it as Pygmalion fashioned his immortal Galatea, to my very own whims, fancies and lusts!

I kept Marion waiting a long, languishing moment with my whip upraised and my left hand gripping the back of her slender neck. I must say she showed more bravery than could have been expected after her emotional breakdown and her confessional. I daresay if I had been thoroughly pacific with my intentions, I could have shown a nobility of character by forgiving and releasing her, then persuading her to make love to me.

However I think I correctly estimated that this would be a show of weakness on my part in turn and that she might try to regain her lost terrain and be haughtier than ever. No I must harden my heart and proceed to a thorough subjugation of my sister-in-law to be.

At last I brought the whip down smartly across the top of her hips. It made a soft smacking sound but left no mark, although Marion sucked in her breath and jerked nervously, perhaps more from the torturing suspense than from the stroke itself. "That is one!" I counted aloud.

She bent her head, closed her eyes, while I stared over her shoulder at the mirror, feasting my appetites to the utmost. You can have no idea how really mouthwatering Alice's sister was, standing there stark naked except for her black stockings and the flouncy rosette garters, her legs slightly spread, her arms drawn up so high that her pectoral muscles were in bold relief, and the uptilting insolent pears of her breasts surged out in dazzling elegance as if in a contest of love goddesses!

I dealt the second cut a little lower down, just over the top of her prominent and firm bottom ovals, and I enjoyed the sight of the lash clinging to those tender hemispheres and the tip flicking round towards the area of her tender groin. Marion gasped a little more loudly this time, nervously tried to shift from foot to foot, and dragged on her wrists. From the way her sides were trembling, for I could see her ribcage plainly outlined against the taut olive skin, I knew that she must be fatigued from the long duration of her atonement. As this would increase the overall stress on her nerves and psyche to bring me the most voluptuous gratification I hardened my heart and directed the third cut about an inch below the place where the second had landed.

Her hips gave an involuntary swerve to this side and that, her head tilted back a little and her eyes opened wide. Intently following her reflection, I perceived that her eyes were full of tears and that her nostrils were beginning to dilate rapidly...

Naturally, Marion eventually succumbs to the delights of the whip and the later erotic ministrations from Jack, and another spanko is born.

You Completed the Caption for Vintage III

Ronnie said: "Yes, but suppose hubby finds it out that I've spent my month's housekeeping allowance. You know he'll administer the maid's carpet beater to my bottom.

Prefectdt said: "Yes, but suppose hubby finds it out about me spending all my time phoning spanking pay per minute phone lines."

SixoftheBest said: "Yes, but suppose hubby finds it out that tonight I've invited 'six of the best', over to my house, and he has promised me I am going to have a spanking good time, by having my knickers taken down, for a good caning, on the bare bottom."

Hermione said: "Yes, but suppose hubby finds it out that I've been writing for a naughty magazine called The Pearl. He'll want a free subscription."


Thank you all for participating.

Complete the Caption for Vintage Photo III

What could this lady have in mind that she doesn't want her husband to know about? Could it possibly involve, oh, I don't know, maybe a spanking? Giving or receiving? That's up to you.

Tell us what you think is going on in this photo. I will publish your responses tomorrow.

From the Top Shelf - The Pearl Revisited

This is without a doubt my favorite passage from the Victorian underground magazine, The Pearl. Taken from the serialized novel called Miss Coote's Confession, it features such a fun image that I wish I were talented enough to draw it.

I devoted myself to promoting a Ladies' Club exclusively for the admirers of Birch Discipline. The meetings were to be held at my house, where my servants would be sworn to secrecy, and to act as sub-members.

The rules specially enjoined secrecy on every member, so that novices had not the slightest inkling of the ordeal they would have to undergo when initiated into the mysteries of Lady Rodney's Club, as it was called, our object being to make our seances for the receiving of new members the means of affording us the most exquisite enjoyment, by bringing out all their modest bashfulness, and studying their distress at finding themselves stripped and exposed for flagellation before all the sisters of the rod.

The sister of one of the members wishes to join the club, and she is brought to the meeting. She is astonished to discover that she will be birched.

Lucretia is silent, but her scarlet face and nervous twitchings of the corners of her mouth attest how she feels about the approaching taste of the rod. Her eyes are cast down in shame, and presently nothing but her drawers, chemise, boots and stockings on, they lead her to a ladder, the president and all ladies rising and clustering round the victim.


Miss Coote (the president) says, "have the ladder nearly upright, with her wrists secured high up, and let her toes only just touch the floor. Woe to her bum if she dares to step on the bottom rung of the ladder without orders."

The victim with tears of shame and apprehension protests... as she feels her chemise rolled up and fastened under her armpits, and her unbuttoned drawers pulled down to her knees.

The president says, "Don't show the white feather, young lady; we're going to initiate you into a most delightful society," taking from Jane a very elegantly tied-up rod, ornamented with blue and gold ribbons, then just lightly switching the victim's bare bottom. "Now ask me to birch you properly, and beg pardon for your frivolous objections."

Lucretia, in a tremor of fear, and with a faltering voice, cries, "Oh! Is there no getting off? Why must I be cruelly whipped?"

The President, with a smart cut across her beautiful buttocks, which at once brings the roses to the surface, declares, "There, that's a slight taste. I can't waste more time, there, there, there," giving three more sharp cuts in succession, each leaving their respective long red marks.

The birching continues in a similar, repetitive vein, stops, then unexpectedly resumes, so that our victim cries out:

"Oh! Ah! How cruel! Just as I thought it was all over, and began to feel a delicious warmth in my posteriors."

And now the focus of the narrative shifts to the assembled club members. Their reaction is nothing short of remarkable.

The ladies at first watched the scene with rapt attention, but gradually the blood courses in warm excitement through their veins, mantling their cheeks with a flesh-like bloom; their eyes sparkle with unusual animation, and at last, by a common impulse the eight ladies, with Jane and Mary, each take a fine long light rod of green twigs; they form a circle round the President as she continues to flagellate the victim; each raises her skirts under her arms so as to leave all exposed from the waist downward.

For a moment there is a lovely scene of plump white buttocks and thighs, fascinating legs encased in silk stockings, pretty garters and attractive, elegant shoes, set off with jewelled buckles... Then all is in motion, the birch rods soon put a rosy polish on the pretty bums, each one doing her best to repay on the bottom in front of her the smarting cut she feels behind.

Laughter, shrieks, and ejaculations fill the apartment, and their motions are so rapid as to make quite a rainbow of excited peris round the central figures.

But this luscious scene only lasts three or four minutes. The victim, under the president's rod, gets exhausted, her shrieks sink into sobs, and at last she sighs lower and lower, then fairly faints, with her head hanging helplessly back...

The president, throwing aside her broken and used-up rod, says, "There ladies, stop your game and all help to bring her round, she'll soon recover. How pretty your rosy bottoms look; I shall join in the next ring that's formed."

It would be wonderful to see a drawing or picture of that birching ring. Are any of my readers talented enough to create such an image? If so, please share your efforts with me.

From the Top Shelf - A Poem from The Pearl

This poem, first published in The Pearl in 1879, is a little extreme in its description of a birching, so be warned. Clearly, birching is an aphrodisiac, as told from a woman's point of view, but was the poet actually female or male?

The Spell of the Rod

When Lucy's fine rump we first bared to the twigs,
She was finely cut up and her flesh torn to shreds;
She cried out for mercy in her dire distress,
Promising amendment as we lowered her dress.

She had been most naughty, and a bad rude girl,
Who presumed the hair on her fanny to curl;
But the birch reached her quim as well as her bum,
The height of her agony was glorious fun.

Her frightened looks, and deep blushes of shame,
Set our hearts pit-a-pit, and our senses in flame;
The old cockolorums our cunnies would grope,
Then tossed us on sofas and had a fine stroke.

So all those slow coaches, who a rise scarce can get,
Come, pay your respect to Our Lady St. Bridget;
She'll warm up your blood till it boils in your veins,
And your penis all his pristine vigour regains.

Let the birch be your love, St. Bridget your saint,
Never flinch from the rod, nor think of a faint;
Swish--swish--let it fall, till the glow of desire,
Will run thro' your senses, and set them on fire.

You Completed the Caption for Vintage II

Here is the sentimental Victorian card from yesterday, with the young lady's complete wish. I prefer the suggestions you made. Here they are:


P said:
Send me a husband who is big and strong
And will spank me when I do wrong.

Em said:
Send me a husband who knows what to do,
And how to turn my bottom red.


Sixofthebest said:
Send me a husband like 'six of the best',
who knows what to do with a grown up women who errs in her life.
Send me this man, who can raise a naughty woman's dress waist high,
take down her knickers, and cane her bare bottom with painful stripes".
Please, I beg of you?
 
Mitch said:
Send me a husband who spanks me well
And makes my bottom red!


Prefectdt said:
Send me a husband who does not notice
that I have balanced a bucket of water on the top of the door.
 
Ronnie said:
Send me a husband who will take me over his knee
and spank me hard until my bottom is red and sore
just like the girl in the book.

KellyRed said:
Send me a husband who always knows,
how to keep me up on my toes,
with thuddy whacks,
and stingy smacks,
will keep my bottom a ruddy rose.
Amen.

A Lurker said:
Send me a husband who knows how to
spank me through & through
When I don't do what he wants me to
Because I'd rather be red than blue !!!

Dioneo said:
Send me a husband who's well-bred,
Across whose knees I will be led,
With hands I'll come to love and dread,
And please make sure he's good in bed!

Hermione said:
Send me a husband who loves to spank
My curvy bottom, and I'll thank
him for his strong and caring hand,
applied whenever I demand.

Complete the Caption for Vintage Photo II

Here's a lovely postcard of a beautiful lady preparing for bed. That bed looks quite high; just the right height for bending over and getting a good... Sorry. I digress. Unfortunately, the bottom of the card seems to be missing. "Send me a husband who - " Can you finish her request?

I will post your responses tomorrow, and I just might be able to restore the bottom half of the card by then, so you can see the original.

Now, where's my tape dispenser?

From the Top Shelf - The Pearl

The Pearl, the underground magazine of Victorian England, has been published in its entirety as a single book. Called "a journal of voluptuous reading" by the publishers, the three volumes of six issues each contain serialized novels, short stories, letters, jokes, poems and much more.

Here is a tantalizing snippet from a serialized novel called Lady Pokingham, or They All Do It.

Christmas came, and with it arrived several visitors, all young ladies and gentlemen of about our own ages, to spend the festive season with us; our entire party consisted of five gentlemen and seven ladies.

New Year's Day was Frederick's eighteenth birthday, and we determined to hold a regular orgy that night in our corridor. Plenty of refreshments were laid in stock, ices, sandwiches, and champagne.

Frederick was master of the ceremonies, with Alice as a most useful assistant... When all had assembled in Alice's apartment, they found her attired in a simple, long chemise de nuit.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said. "I believe we are all agreed for an out and out romp; you see my costume, how do you like it?" and a most wicked smile, "I hope it does not display the contour of my figure too much," drawing it tightly about her so as to show the outline of her beautiful buttocks, and also displaying a pair or ravishing legs in pink silk stockings.

"Bravo! Bravo! Bravo Alice! We will follow your example," burst from all sides. Each one skipped back to his or her room and reappeared in mufti; but the tails of the young gentlemen's shirts caused a deal of laughter, by being too short.

Alice said, "Well, I'm sure, gentlemen, I did not think your undergarments were so indecently short."

Frederick, with a laugh, caught hold of Alice's chemise, and tore a great piece off all around, so that she was in quite a short smock, which only half-covered her fair bottom.

Alice was crimson with blushes, and half-inclined to be angry, but recovering herself, she laughed, "Ah! Fred, what a shame to serve me so, but I don't mind if you make us all alike." The girls screamed, and the gentlemen made a rush; it was a most exciting scene. The young ladies retaliated by tearing the shirts of their tormentors, and this first skirmish only ended when the whole company was reduced to a complete state of nudity. All were in blushes as they gazed upon the variety of male and female charms exposed to view.

Frederick, advancing with a bumper of champagne, said, "We've all heard of Nuda Veritas, now let's drink to her health. The first time we are in her company, I'm sure she will be most charming and agreeable."

All joined in this toast, the wine inflamed our desires, and there was not a male member present but what was in a glorious state of erection.

"Look, ladies," said Alice, "what a lot of impudent fellows, they need not think we are going to surrender anyhow to their youthful lust. They shall all be blindfolded, and then we will arm ourselves with good birch rods, and then let it be everyone for themselves and Cupid's dart for us all."

"Hear, hear," responded on all sides, and handkerchiefs were soon tied over their eyes, and seven good birch rods handed round to the ladies.

"Now, gentlemen, catch who you can," laughed Alice, slashing left and right into the manly group, her example being followed by the other girls. The room was quite large enough, and a fine romp ensued.

The girls were as lithe and active as young fawns, and for a long time sorely tried the patience of their male friends, who tumbled about in all directions, only to get an extra dose of birch on their plump posteriors before they could regain their feet.

At last, the Honorable Miss Vavasour stumbled over a prostrate gentleman, who happened to be the young Marquis of Bucktown, who grasped her firmly round the waist, and clung to his prize, as a shower of cuts greeted the writhing pair.

Victorian Souvenirs VII

In this week's sketches from Souvenirs of a Boarding School, a naughty satyr chases a nude woman through the woods. Will she trip?



The school principal birches an idle pupil - one of the older girls who should have known better - while the Physics master looks on approvingly.

Victorian Souvenirs VI

For your enjoyment, here's another set of sketches from Souvenirs of a Boarding School. The naughty cherub is at it again, this time with a flogger, and the lady is enjoying it thoroughly.



Ladies, please! Form a line to the left, and one at a time, in an orderly fashion.




I love this fragment. The whips float in from nowhere, and the chains disappear around what seems to be a tree.

Victorian Souvenirs V

More sketches from Souvenirs of a Boarding School. The cherubs are busily preparing some sort of spanking apparatus.



The dresser does not look at all comfortable for this poor servant, being beaten by two ladies. That's quite an array of implements on the wall.

Victorian Souvenirs IV

More sketches are from Souvenirs of a Boarding School. The naughty cherubs have found some birch bundles, and it looks like they are summoning an audience.



Long whips can encourage ladies to assume very strange positions.




The spankee looks very pleased with herself. Shouldn't she stand up first?

Victorian Souvenirs III

More sketches are from Souvenirs of a Boarding School. The ladies above seem to be enjoying the meadow. No benches, then?



This disciplinarian has two maids to assist her. Perhaps they're next for a paddling.

Victorian Souvenirs II

More sketches are from Souvenirs of a Boarding School. The cherubs or babies appear for the first time in the above picture, then again below. Naughty little disciplinarians, are they not?




Both ladies seem to be enjoying themselves. The whip is a questionable addition. Nothing of the sort was ever used in the book, but then, perhaps the sketches were simply commissioned and the artist never read what he was illustrating.