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Category: Erotica/Classic Erotica
Description: IN THE GRAND TRADITION OF CLASSIC VICTORIAN EROTICA? A well-known British novelist, writing under the pen name Clemency Jopling, continues this all-new tour through the psyche and fetishes of Victorian amour. In the second volume of his bestselling saga, which is modeled on a real academy of the time, Amanda has been sent to the strict Mrs. Smith's, an oh-so-strict training school for rebellious young women, to keep her from revealing the steamy affair stepmother has been carrying on in her father's absence. Although old-fashioned in her choice of punishments, Mrs. Smith offers a remarkably liberal curriculum, instilled by caning and other delightful Victorian notions of discipline. The eighteen year-old Amanda has discovered the life at Mrs. Smith more congenial than she dreamed, especially as she has been promoted to the role of Mrs. Smith's assistant, and now has an opportunity to inflict some punishment and humiliation herself. Finding a friend in Mrs. Smith, Amanda reveals the real reason she has been sent to the academy. When Mrs. Smith discovers Amanda's story is true, and her stepmother is living a flagrantly unfaithful life with an unsavory lothario, Mrs. Smith and Amanda plot a delicious, and very sexy, revenge. "Wonderful! As good a read as Fanny Hill and Autobiography of a Flea." (Sibley Whyte, former editor The Fetish Times.)
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2005
eBookwise Release Date: June 2005

11 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [191 KB]
Words: 45235
Reading time: 129-180 min.

Young people are eminently adaptable, and I soon got used to the everyday routine of living at Mrs Smith's, different though the life was from what I was used to at home. As the weeks went by, I discovered that Mrs Smith's disciplinary procedures were applied to many other young ladies in addition to Charlotte and me.

Some of the girls who honored the punishment room with a visit came from some distance away. Mrs Smith had an extensive correspondence with worried parents and guardians who were at their wits' end in knowing how to deal with their growing daughters.

Once a young lady reaches the age of sixteen or seventeen, she begins to think she knows better than Mama and Papa, and indeed is sometimes inclined to say 'Shan't!' and 'Won't!' Most reprehensible, I know, but that is the fact of the matter. Many a parent, faced with such truculence, has found their eye drawn to one of Mrs Smith's advertisements in the press. 'Idle, hysterical, willful girls can be dealt with', the adverts say. 'Advice available.'

Before the end of my time with Mrs Smith, she came to trust me sufficiently to allow me to read some of the letters which arrived in response to such notices. And very concerned the authors of those letters were too.

'Our daughter will no longer obey us,' was the constant cry. 'She lies in bed all morning, and has even begun to swear!'

My word, the nerve of these girls.

Mrs Smith spent much of each day replying at considerable length to these anguished souls. She made a charge of course: half a guinea for each letter. And she would normally add that, if the worst came to the worst, the girl could be brought to her for correction; or, better still, deposited as a boarder for a month, or six, or twelve. Reduced rates for longer terms.

Alternatively, Mrs Smith was prepared to travel, taking her cane with her. The fee for such visits would be five guineas, plus expenses. And such is the moral temper of our times, dear Reader, and so common is the incidence of idleness, hysteria and the like among the female young, that Mrs Smith found herself with more work than she could cope with. She could have gone visiting every day of the week, she told me, and I did not doubt it.

For those who lived locally, of course, the situation was much simpler. They sent their willful daughters, or lazy servants, or incompetent employees, round to Mrs Smith's house to be dealt with there. Thus it was, that on Wednesday afternoons, Charlotte and I usually found ourselves witnessing the application of the cane to a number of bare bottoms other than our own.

On the first half-dozen such occasions, the scene made my heart thump and my palms sweat, but gradually I grew accustomed to the sight of the cane swishing through the air and the sound of the sharp cries of the strapped-down victims.

There was one particular afternoon which I remember well. There were two candidates for punishment: one a mature woman of about twenty-five, and the other a girl of barely sixteen.

The older person was dealt with first. Who she was I had no idea at the time; neither did I know why she was referred for correction. Perhaps she had referred herself, I thought; stranger things have happened. All I knew was that she was ravishingly beautiful, and that, as Charlotte and I watched, she quite took our breath away.

This person was unusual too in that she took her twelve strokes of the cane almost without making a sound. Perhaps in deference to the fact that she was older than most of us, she was not subjected to the indignity of being strapped down. Then, when the beating was finished, she knelt and kissed Mrs Smith's hand.

Only a single tear on her cheek and a slight pallor of the complexion gave any indication that this handsome lady had just been punished. As she rose to go back into the ante-room and dress herself again, I noticed she wore a wedding-ring.

A few minutes later, the second candidate arrived. She, I suspect, was just a little shop girl who had dropped a plate or had otherwise irritated her employer. Whatever the offence, the girl was clearly terrified, and for once Mrs Smith did not make her strip. Neither did she go through with the girl the usual catalogue of offenses.

This time, Mrs Smith simply had the girl stand in front of her.

'Now, Emily,' said Mrs Smith, 'you know you have been sent to me because you have been naughty.'

Immediately, the wretched creature clasped her hands together in supplication and hopped in anguish from foot to foot.

'Oh, please, Mrs Smith,' she begged, tears flooding out of her eyes, 'please do not beat me! I will be good, I promise!'

For the next minute or two, Mrs Smith talked softly to the girl, so softly that, for the most part, Charlotte and I could not hear what was said. But once or twice the girl again pleaded for mercy and did her little hopping dance of anxiety.

Beside me, I could feel Charlotte fidgeting, but I ignored her. As a matter of fact I was cross with her, as I feared we might both get black marks if we were judged to be restless and impatient.

At length, the unhappy little shop girl was sent away with nothing more than a quiet talking-to, which in my experience was unprecedented. Let off with a warning indeed! Perhaps the old bat was getting soft-hearted in her old age.

The day's discipline applied, Mrs Smith went back to her correspondence, Charlotte rushed off to her room, and I returned to my needlework.

An hour or so later, Charlotte appeared in the living-room, where I was sitting alone. She appeared slightly flustered, and moved from the window to the couch and back again several times.

Eventually I was obliged to speak to her. 'Charlotte, my dear,' I said, 'whatever it is that is bothering you, I think you had better spit it out, don't you?'

Charlotte sat down beside me with a troubled look on her face. 'I think I must be a very bad person,' she said.

'Oh? Why so?'

'Well.... Because I take pleasure in the misfortunes of others.'