openwork hose. Her delicious, tiny pedal extremities appeared in all their luminous splendour, and I had not enough kisses and licking caresses to devour them as they deserved with the gluttonous lips and tongue.
“I'm still hungry to flog you?” she said suddenly, leaping to her feet, wet and bare.
With a neurotic twist of her lascivious loins, she stooped and picked up a new rod while I, tamed and obedient, calling myself for the birch's terrible smart on my raw buttocks, wsa just about to lie down again. But she had a new idea, seating herself on the edge of our couch, and throwing me across her lap like a child.
In this position, her arm had not much room to swing the rod. I was very happy at finding myself tightly clasped in her embrace, feeling her body pressed against mine. But she grew tired at having to birch me, without finding me plunging or quivering.
So she lost all patience, and ordering me curtly to bend over the bed, she got her whip again. After a few barbarous strokes, dealt with the greatest possible violence, I writhed on the carpet at her feet in a superhuman spasm where acute pain produced the acme of manly felicity. The gush of blood from my mangled bottom kept time to the throbbing torrent of my essence of virility torn from me by the red-hot searing stripes of the whip.
Miss Rosey ws perfectly exhausted. She reclined at full length, languidly on the bed. Her ravishing little feet were abandoned to my loving moist caresses. Seeing the adorable young creature close her eyes, I grew more bold. My fierce kisses of lust mounted in spiral garlands of wet tonguing delight all along her divine legs and massive thighs, until the sacred depths of paradise were reached.
My mouth officiated at the soft altar of female worship where every delight is centred. I greedily sucked the dewy rosebud, until Miss Rosy's soul melted between my clipping lips-and I once more joined her in the ineffable bliss of the highest degree of ecstasy to which man or woman can possibly reach.
CHAPTER XVI
The hours I passed with adorable Miss Rosey in our discreet apartment will always remain in my mind as imperishable memories, for she caused me to enjoy sensations that can never be forgotten.
I now had to think of my departure. It was drawing nigh. I regretted to have to go. In Chicago, I had met the incomparable female flagellants: Miss Nelly Lamb, Miss Florence, and above all, Miss Rosey, the sweet little hotel- bookkeeper, who, beneath an appearance of candid simplicity, hid the soul of a bacchante and the sculptural form of a legendary princess. Where on earth should I ever find again such a casket of pearls? My passionate devotion to birching games had increased and developed through being enjoyed in the company of such ideal partners.
That lovely Thursday with Miss Rosey had been one long dream of radiant voluptuousness, but her rod unnerved me, when it ought to have appeased my craving. Her strokes, on the contrary, had awakened my desires, creating an impetuous inward need for some great, energetical shock. Therefore, before leaving the windy city, I sought for some severe punishment, which I thought should be inflicted on my shrinking stern, not by a lascivious flogging beauty, but by a severe governess, capable of inspiring me with awe.
I was within an ace of going to see Miss Florence, when a fortuitous circumstance caused me to find something better.
I luckily met once again the disciplinarian matron of the neighbouring school, who, it will be remembered, had so rigorously birched the young chambermaid at my boarding-house. The flogging lady was alone at this time, and I had to summon up all my courage before I dared address her. I stammered out my request quite timidly, but I had hardly uttered a few words before she flatly refused.
“No, sir, I don't whip men for their pleasure! There are heaps of women who make a business of this sort of thing. Go to them!”
I persisted, telling he that I prized a beating at her hands, because she was no common whipping woman, and that to be punished by her was almost ah honour; a privilege possessing peculiar piquancy.
“No, no, I cannot consent,” she said, “except on one condition. Had you committed some fault that really deserved chastisement, I might see things in a different light.”
Her declaration caused a glimmer of hope. I fancied I had found a way to realise my secret longing idea by mentioning some trivial motive, but I had hardly opened my lips than she stopped me.
“You are about to invent some foolish story. It won't go down with me. If you should do something deserving of punishment, write to me at the school. I shall then reflect. If I judge that the nature of your backsliding permits me to intervene, I will drop you a line to that effect.”
She turned on her heel and left me rather puzzled. I imagined a thousand things, rejecting them soon afterward one by one, until, at last, I recollected perfectly well that a few days before I had indeed been guilty of an error that was worthy of expiation.
I bought some gloves and neckties in a large drapery story, paying with a hundred-dollar bill. The young woman who served me had handed me fifteen dollars too much when she gave me my change. I saw the mistake soon after I left the shop, but out of sheer carelessness, I did not go back to reimburse the lady assistant.
I therefore wrote to my stern governess accusing myself of this slight sin of heedlessness. I awaited a reply with a feeling of great anxiety, but a note soon reached me. It read thus:
“Sir, ” wrote the whipping matron, “what you call negligence is real larceny. You had discovered the mistake and knew who would have to suffer from it. Your education and your social position ought to have rendered you incapable of such lightheaded conduct, causing you to neglect to set that striking example a man of your rank in the world should always be able to show his inferiors. There is not the slightest doubt but that your duty is to return without a moment's delay the sum of money you dishonestly appropriated to the person to whom it belongs. I will chastise you. You deserve severe corporal punishment. In order to endure it, you will present yourself at the school to-morrow, Saturday, at three o'clock, after the pupils have left. The janitor will show you my office. My fee is one dollar.”
I had attained my ends. I was to be deservedly birched by an official whipping matron, almost a legal flogging governess, if I may venture to say so. The modest figure of her emoluments proved that she deemed herself invested with honourable functions and did not seek to make money.
When I reached the school, a boy between twelve and thirteen, holding a letter in his hand, was talking to the janitor, who, as he lead me to the office of the disciplinarian schoolmistress, told the lad to follow him as well.
The flogging teacher, without troubling about me, except by replying to my respectful bow by a slight nod, glanced at the note brought by the youth.
“Quite well, Harry?” she said. “Your father and mother ask me to give you a good dressing down. Come along here, I shan't be long over it!”
On hearing these threatening words, the little chap started as if he had received a shock from an electric battery, and began to sob.
“Oh no, please ma'am! Don't whip me! Oh don't, I pray you!”
“I shan't be more than ten minutes birching this young fellow,” she said coolly, addressing me. “I will attend to you immediately afterward.”
She opened the door of an adjacent room and dragged the boy, still lamenting and struggling, in with her.
“Down with your pants!” was the order given to the weeping lad.
“Oh no, please forgive me, ma'am! I'll never do it again!” howled the child.
The door had been left ajar. I could see distinctly what was going on in the other room, where there was a heavy form and a heap of birch-rods piled up in a corner.
“Didn't I tell you to let down your pants!” repeated the matron in an authoritative tone.
“Yes, ma'am. But oh! — do pardon me. Never again will I be naughty!” the wretched boy trembled like a leaf, and the impatient woman slapped his face with such force that his head waggled about his shoulders for a few seconds afterward.
“So you won't take down your breeches?” she said.
“I'm letting them down-really I am!” stuttered the youth.
Without allowing him to complete this necessary act of partial disrobing, the termagant, in a rage threw herself upon him. Gripping both his hands, she tied them together at the wrists. She then threw him brutally on to
