Today we conclude the tale of Annie, the lady and Bertha, her maid. Here's where we ended yesterday.
"That will do, Bertha. Now it is time for the rod. Stand up."
She clambered to her feet, her skirts fell back down and she stood before me, with her hands still busy rubbing away at her seat... Her bosom heaved with both her sighings and the vigorous actions of her arms.
"How does your bottom feel now, Bertha?" The frantic rubbing had been replaced with a more contemplative soothing, her blushes had faded and her tears no longer flowed.
"Better, Ma'am."
"Right, Bertha. It is time. Move that armchair into the center of the room."
The armchair was soon in place and the implement was in my hand. I swished it experimentally, enjoying both the ominous flexibility and the alarmed look on her face.
"Pardon me, Ma'am, but does it have to be on my bare bottom?"
"Do not annoy me, Bertha. I told you that the birch has to be administered to the naked flesh, and that I have no intention ever of wasting my energies beating dust from your clothing."
"Sorry, Ma'am. Will it mark me?"
"Of course not. Well, not permanently. There will be little weals but it will soon heal completely. Now lean over the back."
She did so, resting her hands on the arms of the chair and straightening her back so that her bottom thrust against the seat of her skirts.
"Excellent."
I carefully placed the birch on the seat of the chair so that it was right before her eyes, then moved behind to lay her bottom bare again, slowly rolling the skirts all the way up to her waist and folding them neatly on her back. I retrieved my weapon, moved to her side and tapped her glowing cheeks with it to ensure that I would strike the full center, and that the tips of the twigs would bite into her buttocks rather than her flank.
With my eyes fixed on the nervously quivering orbs, I raised it with tantalizing slowness (fully aware that her moist eyes were glued to it) and swept it smoothly down. The faint hiss as the bundle of supple twigs raced down through the warm summer air; the thwack of their landing; the ripple in her flesh as they bit into the softness; the jerk of her body; her gasping inhalation; all these thrilled me. I could see the swathe of red left by the stroke, narrow on the nearer cheek, broadening as it crossed her bottom, where the twigs had spread.
I heard her mewing softly and delivered the second with another smooth, wristy sweep of my arm. She squealed at that one and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her face screwed up with the pain. She jerked her hips...she tried to shake the smart out of her hips and her fat cheeks wobbled gloriously. Then, with a little sob escaping from her compressed lips, she stuck her bottom out again, then lowered her arms to project it even more. I hit it again. She wailed, wobbled it about again, proffered it again, and I smacked it for the fourth time, inched my feet backwards to alter the landing position of the tips, aimed at the upper parts of her bottom, just below the commencement of her cleft and whisked again, tempering the power to allow for the relative sparsity of the flesh there.
She almost stood upright and I feared for a moment that her skirts would fall but she caught herself in time, slumped forward and stuck her rump out again, with her knees sagging inwards, presenting a sharply rounded and well-divided target. In a flash, I whipped the rod in an upward sweep and landed exactly where I had intended - on the lower, sitting portions of her bottom.
Her resistance broke and she burst into tears, stood up with her hands nursing her blazing hindquarters and dancing from foot to foot. I dropped the birch and pulled her to me, so that she could sob on my shoulder.
"It is over now, Bertha. I hope that I whipped you to your satisfaction?"
I had expected confusion, so her remarks came as something of a surprise.
"Oh, Ma'am, I really needed that. I was feeling all lazy and dozy. I'm all lively now. Thank you."
I smiled at her choice of words, which described the benefits of a loving chastisement so well. "And how about the birch? Was I not right in telling you that it would not be too punishing?"
"Yes, Ma'am. You were. It stung just right."
"Good. And I hope that you now agree that a spanking is much better delivered to a girl's bare bottom."
She blushed modestly and her agreement was a whispered "Yes".
I hope you enjoyed the birching of Bertha as much as she and Annie did!
We continue the tale of the lady and Bertha, her maid, where we left off in the previous post.
"Actually, Bertha, I have had second thoughts."
She looked up and although there was relief and hope in her expression, I recognized a hint of disappointment.
"I shall spank you as your main punishment and then give to a few strokes of the rod at the end. You have been inattentive rather than wicked and so anything more would not be fair. Now stand with your back to me and raise your skirts."
"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."
Her hands were trembling so badly that she had difficulty in grasping a sufficient quantity of cloth and her shaking transmitted itself to her arms, for the hem rose up the columns of her limbs with tantalizing slowness... Her naked thighs were temptingly curved. As she felt the cool air begin to caress their upper surfaces, thus informing her that her buttocks were about to be exposed, her nerve seemed to fail her, for she shook in a series of little sobs and the skirts fluttered in sympathy. I heard her drawing a deep breath and the material resumed its upward creep. There was another stifled sob and her bottom inched slowly into view until it was completely bared.
"A little higher, please, Bertha." She complied immediately. I ran my palm over the entire surface... I patted each side and loved the springy quiver which shimmered across the surface.
"Now place yourself across my knees."
Modestly ensuring that her skirts were held low in front, but still holding them well up behind, she moved beside me, bent forward and placed herself in position without allowing her skirts to fall, a feat which is hard to achieve gracefully...
I rolled up my sleeves, gazing down at my delectable target as I did so, noting that although her posture had caused her buttocks to spread and make them noticeably flatter than they had been when she was upright, their youthful firmness was such that the cleft seemed almost as long and deep.
I placed my left arm across her bottom, firmly gripped the well-fleshed ball of her hipbone, then took aim at the roundest part of her nearer buttock and sent my eager hand flying down to sink gladly into the marvellous flesh, revelling at the sound, feel and sight. Her whole bottom quivered most becomingly. What came as a surprise was the dramatic colour of the imprint of my hand on her fine skin. Even though it could hardly have been described as a hard spank, the mark stood out in a glorious shade of bright pink.
Each subsequent impact produced further delights and for the whole of her spanking, the reddening of her flesh absorbed me almost to the exclusion of the other pleasures, although the soft feel of her under my palm was always delicious.
She was, however, an unusually noisy spankee. From the third blow, her moans were audible and, as the fustigation progressed, they grew to squeals, cries, sobs and howls as she bucked and twisted on the firm support of my parted thighs. I continued until I was quite out of breath, with a smarting palm and aching arms. Her bottom was by then a rich deep scarlet all over, including the very tops of her thighs where I had occasionally strayed in my efforts to ensure that even the folds marking their conclusion were visited.
"Well, Bertha, I believe that will have warmed you up nicely. Does it feel very different being smacked on your bare bottom?"
"Ohhh, Ma'am, it really stung. I feel as though a swarm of bees has been sitting on my arse." Smack. "Owww, I'm sorry, Ma'am, honest I am. I mean my bottom. Please don't smack me no more."
"Any more. No, you can remain where you are for a little longer so your bottom can cool off a bit."
"Oh thank you, Ma'am. Can I rub it please?"
"Of course."
Her hands flew back, sank into the discoloured globes, so that the flesh bulged out from between her fingers, then palpated the masses with happy abandon.
"That will do, Bertha. Now it is time for the rod. Stand up."
I'm afraid you must return tomorrow to read about the birching of Bertha.
We continue the tale of the lady and Bertha, her maid, where we left off in the previous post.
She was as I had left her. Perhaps a little more tense and drawn, but still sitting calmly on the small chair beside mine at the bureau and with our books spread out before her. She rose at my entrance and stood, head down, with her hands folded in front of her. I placed the birch on top of the books and her widening eyes followed it to its resting place.
"You have never seen a birch rod, Beatrice?"
"No, Ma'am."
"Not even at school?"
'I never went to school, Ma'am." I should have guessed.
"Do not be afraid. It is not as fearsome as it appears. And I have no desire to do more than give you a little warning of what will happen to you if you happen to be naughty in the future. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."
Her relief that she was not facing a severe flogging softened her little face back to beauty again.
"Now, you said that your mother spanks you. Does she place you across her knee?"
"Yes, Ma'am. She says, er...she says that sitting down to spank me is the only chance she gets to take the weight off her feet." I laughed aloud. She smiled back at me.
"And your farther. How does he thrash you?"
"I bend over the back of his chair, Ma'am."
"Do your parents remove your drawers?" I kept my voice low and intent. She reddened and looked down.
"Oh, I've never worn drawers, Ma'am."
"So you are beaten over your skirts?" My disapproval was clear.
"No. Just me shift. Nothing else underneath."
"Humph. But it is your posterior which is the target of their attentions?"
"You mean me bum, Ma'am?"
"I do not care for that word, Bertha. From now on we shall say 'bottom' when we are discussing that part of you. Now answer my question."
"Sorry, Ma'am. Well, mainly my... bottom. But my back and legs get quite a few as well."
"I see. Well, I shall strike you only on your bottom. And Bertha, I shall always punish you on your bare bottom."
Her startled eyes flew back up to meet mine... I continued remorselessly.
"The birch is in any case always administered on the naked flesh. Otherwise the ends will snag in the clothing. But I shall bare your bottom even when I decide that a spanking is the right punishment." I watched the confusion and dismay flicker across her features.
"Actually, Bertha, I have had second thoughts."
Oh, dear. Are we not to witness a birching after all? Stay tuned...
Today, Canadians are celebrating Victoria Day, and I thought it might be fun to honour that royal person's memory by sharing a Victorian spanking novel with you this week.
In this second delightful excerpt from Annie and the Society by Evelyn Culber -- here is the first -- Annie, a Victorian lady who enjoys both giving and receiving corporal punishment, decides to hire a lady's maid to assist her with her personal needs. After receiving her husband's permission and overseeing the preparation of suitable accommodations, she begins interviewing applicants.
Then Bertha arrived and I fell for her at once. She was as tall as I, with glorious red hair which cascaded in glorious profusion from under her simple bonnet, green eyes, skin that was almost transparently clear, a pouty mouth and every sign of a richly contoured figure. Even more important, her demeanor charmed me from the outset. Her references were excellent and I hired her on the spot...
She added enormously to my enjoyment of life. At first she was no more than a willing and effective servant but, before long, I discovered in her an encouraging desire to learn. We began with lessons in reading and writing, for she was almost completely uneducated. Perhaps it was my inexperience in the arts of teaching, but progress was slow and my impatience with her apparent inability to grasp the basic principles of the alphabet must have communicated itself to her, in spite of my best efforts to be understanding.
"Perhaps I should be whipped, Madam," she whispered.
I stared at her, my breath stopped in my throat and the thudding of my heart loud in my ears... I remembered that only the day before I had made a nice swishy little birch for us to use in one of our sketches, and that I had never used one in earnest.
"Yes, Bertha. A nice whipping is definitely in order. Have you been treated so before?"
"Oh, often, Ma'am. Both my mother and father beat me. Well, my mother only spanks me but my father uses his belt."
"They still punish you?"
"Yes."
"Your bottom has tasted the birch?"
"No, Ma'am." She looked very apprehensive.
"Then it has a treat in store. Wait here."
With a spring in my stride, I went to collect the implement, thrillingly aware that another chapter was unfolding in what had already been a life rich in sensual experiences.
My eyes lingered on her for a moment before I left. She was blushing and her gaze flickered from downcast nervousness to a steady meeting of mine. Her hands rested on her lap and were trembling visibly. Her fear was tempered with odd stirrings deep within her. I smiled softly at her troubled little face and closed the door behind me.
The birch was in the Studio, so I had time to ponder. Did I simply punish her? Without emotion and with little involvement? Or dared I lead her to the first steps on that strenuous path to the pleasures which I now found rewarding beyond compare?
I walked slowly across the grass until I had reached the Studio, found the delicate little rod and closed the door behind me. The pliant bundle, the handle tied up in a pretty scarlet ribbon, helped me in my decision. As I raised the business end to my lips and kissed the tips of the twigs as though envying the quality of the skin and flesh they would soon themselves be kissing, I determined to make the forthcoming punishment as sensual as possible. I wandered back even more slowly.
I'll let you savour the anticipation too, and resume this tale tomorrow.
Don't let the title of this post worry you or make you scratch your head in disbelief. It's not what you think.
I've already told you what happened before and after. Now here's the story of the best spanking I've had in recent memory.
I was excited as I climbed the stairs to the bedroom, but when I got there and saw the paddle that Ron had chosen lying on the bed, my anticipation turned to dread. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. It was awfully thick. But I didn't have long to ponder my fate; I heard footsteps in the hall. Quickly I put the paddle down and proceeded to slip off my jeans and panties.
When Ron came in I stood up and waited for instructions. They weren't long in coming.
"Bend over," Ron picked up the paddle and gestured to the end of the bed.
I obeyed and felt the smooth paddle caress my bottom. Ron seemed in a chatty mood, which was unusual but very nice. He expounded on the benefits of his chosen implement as he applied it to my cheeks. My exclamations of distress were liberally punctuated with laughter. He was having fun and so was I.
"You're turning a nice shade of pink," Ron observed after a few minutes of effort.
"Ouch! And what colour are you aiming for?"
"Purple."
"Ow!"
Ron continued, but several swats landed with a dull thud instead of a sharp crack. Misfires. I laughed and asked, "What are you aiming at?"
"Quiet!" Ron startled me with the command.
"What? You don't want this to be interactive?" I giggled.
"No. You're too noisy. I want to be able to hear the whacks."
I tried to be quiet, and stuffed a corner of the bedsheet into my mouth. It worked, but then Ron sabotaged my efforts at silence. In between swats to my bottom he gently tapped the back of my head with the implement. Then he escalated the attack by tickling my tummy with the edge of the paddle. It was no use. I laughed until the tears rolled down my cheeks. As I dried them with the sheet I thought, I'm being spanked to tears - tears of laughter!
Ron stopped for a break, and as he rubbed my bottom he complained, "I bent the paddle."
"Turn it over and use the other side to straighten it out."
He did, and reported that it seemed to have worked.
The two sides of the paddle are different, although not exactly like the ones in the above picture. The back has a raised pattern of vines and foliage on it.
"Are you making leafprints on my bum?"
"The leaves are falling off. There are twigs all over the bed."
Again I chuckled as I squirmed and squeaked. Finally, we were both exhausted from laughing, and Ron called a halt to the fun.
"Get up. That's all for this time."
I reached for a tissue to dry my face, then headed to the mirror to check my mascara. As I turned and inspected the reflection of my bare bottom, I praised my husband for a job well done and confirmed what he already knew.
"It really is purple."
Can anyone tell me what the sign really says?
Today we conclude the tale of Annie, the lady and Bertha, her maid. Here's where we ended yesterday.
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