whole affair would be over.
All was now in readiness, and I sat down on a chair to wait for a minute or two before beginning the task which I knew would afford me the greatest pleasure. I revelled in imagination at the thought of it! I had not touched Frances’ bottom with the rod since the day long past on which I had birched her for spanking the little boy.
To some readers of this story, it may seem strange and unnatural, that I should have looked forward with great delight to flogging, in an ignominious and painful way, the girl who loved me, and of whom I was fond. But anyone who is a “lover of the rod” will easily understand, and enter into the feelings which possessed me at that moment. In every one, male or female, there is more or less, a “lust of cruelty,” which shows itself in different ways, in different people. “Lovers of the rod” like to give pain to their victims by flogging them in various ways. But many a man who takes pleasure in seeing a woman writhing, and crying with pain while undergoing corporal punishment at his hands, may in all other respects be tender-hearted. It is a strange, but true fact, that when a man, who has a fancy for using the rod, finds himself birching the naked bottom of a female, he has no feeling of any sort except one of strong sensual pleasure.
But to proceed. I called to Frances telling her to come down. And in a few moments she came into the room, carrying in her hand the rod, which she handed to me, and then stood meekly waiting further instructions. She was looking very lovely, but her cheeks were pale, and there was a frightened expression in her great blue eyes. Her long, golden hair was arranged in shining coils at the back of her shapely head, and on her white forehead there was a soft fringe of tiny curls. She had put on a loose pink silk wrapper, that draped her lissome figure in straight folds from her shoulders to her little feet, which were daintily shod with high-heeled French shoes.
Taking the straps in my hand, I ordered her to place herself in position. The tears welled up into her eyes when she saw the straps; for she guessed that I would not have produced them had I not meant to flog her severely; but without a look, or word of remonstrance, she laid herself down with her arms stretched out at full length. I quickly secured her-wrists and ankles to the legs of the couch; but I did not fasten her body in any way; so there would be plenty scope for her to wriggle her bottom when she felt the sting of the birch. The French call the movement, “la danse de la croupe.” Then I drew the skirt of her wrapper up to her shoulders, turned up her pretty, lace-trimmed, white petticoats, and rolled up her pale blue chemise. Her drawers, also of pale blue silk, had not the usual slit at the back, but were buttoned at the sides. Her beautiful legs were cased in dark blue silk stockings fastened at the middle of her thighs with pink satin garters. I undid the buttons of her drawers, and pulled down the dainty garment, laying bare her superb white bottom. It seemed at that moment to be more lovely than ever as it lay upturned, framed above by the pile of snowy drapery, and below by the blue silk of the lace-frilled drawers. I gazed at it rapturously, with my eyes glistening, and my cock as stiff as a poker, at the same time thinking that such pretty cheeks were more fitted to receive the soft kisses of a lover, than the stinging kisses of a rod. Then I passed my hand several times over the alabaster white, smooth, cool skin, which my strokes would soon make fiery red, rough, and hot. But I had no feeling of compunction-, and taking up the rod, I made it hiss in the air, saying: “Now Frances, I am going to flog you severely.”
She shuddered, and drew in the cheeks of her bottom till the division, between the half-moons of plump flesh, looked like a thin line. “Oh, Charley!” she exclaimed in a tone of fright. “Don’t be too hard upon me!”
I brought the rod down with a drawing cut upon her broad bottom, instantly marking the delicate, white slim with many red lines; she winced convulsively, her flesh quivered, she uttered a low gasping cry, and she buried her face in the sofa cushion. Again, again, and again, I drew the rod smartly across her shrinking bottom, which grew redder and redder at each cut, and also became speckled with the dark red dots made by the hard buds on the twigs of the birch; she threw back her head with a jerk, so that her long hair came loose, and moaned piteously. I went on flogging her slowly, and laying each cut upon a different spot; the long, dark red weals rose in all directions on her quivering flesh, and she began to scream with pain. The “lust of cruelty” now fully possessed me, and regardless of her shrieks, I continued to birch her. She twisted herself from side to side as far the bonds which held her would allow, arching her loins at one moment, and then at the next moment flattening herself down upon the couch, in vain attempts to escape the stinging cuts of the rod.
Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder at me, with an imploring expression in her fear-dilated eyes; the loose coils of her hair partly hiding her pain-distorted face; the tears were streaming down her scarlet cheeks, and her lips were quivering with anguish, “Oh, stop! Stop!” she gasped out between her shrieks. “I-can’t-bear it! Oh-h! I can’t-bear-it! Oh! Oh! do-have-mercy-on-me! Oh! you-are-cutting-me-to pieces! Oh! Oh!! Ah-h-h!! Oh-h-h- h!!!”
I stopped for a moment. I had been flogging her from left to right, and I now went round to the other side of the sofa, in order to flog her from right to left, so that both cheeks of her bottom should receive equal punishment. She had thought that the birching was over, but she was mistaken; and when she saw me again raise the rod, she uttered a long wail of terror, beseeching me in most pitiful accents not to flog her any more.
I again began to lay the rod across her wealed, scarlet, sore bottom; her screams grew louder and louder-it was lucky I had thought of sending the servants out of the house-her struggles and contortions became more violent, and she wriggled and writhed, shrieked, and screamed; and pleaded and prayed for mercy.
I stopped, and throwing down the rod, inspected the girl’s bottom. The whole surface from the loins to the thighs was covered with a network of livid weals, and speckled all over with purple dots, and there were a few drops of blood on each cheek where the skin had been broken. I had not flogged her with any great severity, but her skin was so extremely delicate that it had been easily cut by the rod; and she had suffered acutely. In fact, she was in a half-fainting state; there was a cold dew on her forehead, her face had grown pale, and her eyes were closed. I pulled down her clothes, and unfastened her wrists and ankles, with as little delay as possible; then I got a glass of water and moistened her lips.
I still had a cockstand, and would have liked to poke her; but to have done so at that moment would have been sheer cruelty. I am only cruel with the rod. My feelings towards her had undergone a revulsion; I was no longer angry with my sweetheart, but felt full of pity for her. She had paid dearly for her indiscretion! I put my arms round her, kissing and soothing her till the faintness had passed off; and after she had drunk the glass of wine I brought her, the colour began to return to her cheeks. Looking at me reproachfully, she said in a weak voice: “Oh, why did you flog me so dreadfully? I had no idea you could be so cruel.” Then, whimpering a little: “Oh! how sore my bottom is! The flesh is throbbing in a most painful way.”
“I will bathe it for you, and it will soon stop throbbing,” said I.
Taking her up in my arms, I carried her to the bedroom, and laid her face downwards on the bed, then again turning up her petticoats, I sponged her sorely disfigured, burning bottom with cold water, until the skin had got quite cool; then I applied some vaseline.
She appeared to be quite worn out, and inclined to sleep, so I covered her up, lowered the blinds, and left the room quietly.
I went down to the drawing-room, locked up the rod and straps in a cabinet, and put everything in order; and just as I had finished, the two servants came back. At five o’clock, the housemaid brought up the usual afternoon tea; and after I had refreshed myself with a cup, I took one up to Frances, whom I found fast asleep. I stood and looked at her for a moment, but she did not wake; so I left the cup of tea on a little table at the bedside.
Our dinner hour was half-past seven, so there was still two hours before me, but as I did not feel inclined to go out, I settled myself down in an easy-chair in the drawing room with a book, and managed to pass the time pleasantly till the maid came to tell me that dinner was on the table. I did not expect to see Frances, and was just going to send her up some soup and a glass of wine, when she came into the room. She was dressed in a pretty dinner frock, and her hair was neatly arranged; but her cheeks were rather pale, her eyes were not so bright as usual, and the lids were red; and when she sat down, she did so very carefully, making a little grimace when her bottom first touched the chair. “Oh, dear me!” she said dolefully. “It is awfully tender; and I have had to put on a clean chemise, the other one was spotted with blood.”
I gave her a glass of champagne, and talked gaily to her, telling her the she was again my sweetheart That seemed to cheer her up a little; she began to eat her dinner, and by the time the dessert was on the table, she had commenced to talk, and smile a little; not appearing to be the least sulky, or angry the me for having given her such a severe Bogging. But I knew her disposition thoroughly, and could pretty well guess how she reasoned. She would say to herself, the she had committed an offence deserving punishment; she had received the punishment, and I had forgiven the offence; so all was right.
After dinner, we went into the drawing-room to have our coffee and she lay on the sofa while I read to her for a time; then we had a little chat, and at half-past ten o’clock we went upstairs to our bedroom, Frances walking
