Click on image to enlarge.

Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: A Contemporary Classic of the Cane! If the biblical admonition to spare the rod and spoil the child has any merit, none of the girls at Freemantle School for Young Ladies of Refinement would be spoiled. But, there is this one student who seems to be able to get away with anything. And it is her classmates who suffer the paddle or birch switch for her antics. But, retribution is coming!
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: June 2008

4 Reader Ratings:

Great	Good	OK	Poor

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [374 KB]
Words: 82846
Reading time: 236-331 min.

Chapter One

Will Benteen, c/o Florence Freemantle School for Young Ladies of Refinement

Hogan's Landing,

Massachusetts USA

June 7

In The Year of Our Lord, 1892

My dear old chap,

As you predicted with such acuity so many months ago, the Chapelle affair has turned into a dreadful tar pit. Quite the career-buster, I'm afraid...

I paused and stretched back in my high-backed leather chair. Lord, who would have imagined even a few weeks ago, that I'd be brought to this? Sitting here in my tiny, warm pool of light from my desk lamp, watching the shadows move ever so slightly as tiny air currents disturbed the yellow-orange oil flame, sensing the murky London morning brightening outside as the occasional carriage clopped its way past on wet cobblestones in the heavy fog. Sitting alone behind the heavy drapes of my study, writing a letter which, it was now fervently to be hoped, would eventually see me in the new world, in a position somewhat suited to my station. Certainly far above anything I could ever hope for again in England.

My eye fell upon the address to which my missive would soon be on its way. Hogan's Landing. What a barbarous name. Somewhere in our once far-flung former colonies, south of the town of Boston by a day on the train, and the best part of another day by carriage, or so I had been led to believe.

It has certainly set the cat amongst the pigeons in the old foreign office, and I blush to inform you that yours truly, E. Edmund DeBarquet, is among the fattest of squab.

It has been made abundantly clear that my career in the diplomatic corps is over, and I would encounter grave difficulties should I attempt to find any other occupation suitable to my station.

I stopped writing again, gently blotting the flowing copperplate. I wondered if I were perhaps disclosing too much. But no, Will certainly had a right to know why I was suddenly about-facing on his kind offer. I dipped my quill pen in the inkwell again and leaned forward, considering what next I should say.

At that moment, there was a soft click down the hall from my study. My young maid, a buxom country girl of 21 or so, with more coquettishness than sense to her, slipped quietly past my study. In a trice, I'd gained my feet and crossed to the door.

"Molly," I said, quite sharply.

She stopped as though she'd been quite shot, and turned to look at me, her striking blue eyes shining in the dim gas light of the hall.

"I was just off to get the milk, sorr," she trilled, dropping the slightest curtsey. The Irish brogue creeping back into her voice betrayed her sudden anxiety.

"That will be fine," I replied, a steely tone to my voice that made her swallow with nervousness, "you will attend to your normal morning duties and report to me when you've done."

I walked back and resumed my position behind my massive oak desk. Or somebody's massive oak desk. I supposed I would never find out whose. Sothby's auctioneers would take care of that and, some months from now, somewhere in the cursed colonies, I should receive a bank draft that would tell me my last material connections with my country had been severed.

Therefore, old chap, it will be a pleasure to take you up on your kind offer of a principal position at the Florence Freemantle School for Young Ladies of Refinement. I read your letter, as you know, with great interest.

Discipline, Will had informed me in his kind letter offering me a position, had been lacking at Florence Freemantle for some time. In fact, several prominent families had recently withdrawn their young charges from the school, dismayed at the lack of manners and decorum displayed by their offspring home on holidays.

You may be assured I shall bring to the post of headmaster the sort of discipline that will turn out young ladies of the quality you seek.

There was a rustle of silks at the door to my study and Molly stood before my desk, her bosom heaving with anxiety.

"You wanted to see me, sorr?" she said, wringing her hands in front of her.

"Yes, I most certainly did," I replied. "Yesterday, the post was not picked up and I trod on Lady Asquith's invitation when I came in."

"Sorr, I was..."

I raised my finger, forestalling further excuses.

"The fact that we are ending our relationship, young lady, is no excuse for dereliction of duty," I said. And so it wasn't. The empire was not built by shirkers, I can assure you, and duty does not end until the job is done and done well. There may be those who, especially these days, do not share this feeling, but I can assure you it is most appropriate.

"I have before me a letter of reference for you, Molly," I said, "but, before you receive it, I must do my duty and assure that you are trained as well as ever I could train you. Your next master would expect no less of me, I'm sure," I said.

"Y-yes, sorr..."

"Fine. Then we understand each other. Go and get the birch, Molly."

She gasped, her eyes going wide. She had heard about the birch, indeed, I knew for a fact that the Asquith's maid, Loretta, had been soundly birched not a week before. I should be quite amazed if the little sluts didn't discuss it between themselves when they met at marketing. Molly knew well that I had a birch on the premises, but in the three years she'd been in my service, she'd not felt it across her ample young bottom. Oh, to be sure, there had been moments when I'd taken my belt to her backside to smarten her up and bring her to a sharp attention to her duties, but the birch was a bird of quite a different feather.

"Sorr, I pray thee..."

"Get it, Molly, and be quick or there'll be no reference for you."

This was a potent threat. A girl of Molly's age would be presumed to have been in service somewhere, and without a letter of reference, she'd get no other work.

I rose and walked around the desk as Molly went to an oak cabinet set into the wall and opened it. In the corner was bundle of whippy birch branches, their bases bound into a handle.

Never did I see a more reluctant maid than the tearful little creature that brought me the birch whip, her hands trembling with terror. I took it from her and swished it through the air, the switches giving a hissing whirr...

"Oh, my God, sorr, pleease..."

"Turn and face the desk, Molly," I said. "Bend over and rest your forearms on it, if you will."

Gulping and glancing at me with tearing eyes, Molly did as she was bidden.

"I'm sure you know the drill from Loretta," I said.

Molly stifled a sob as she reached back and drew her skirts, petticoats and chemise up, exposing her shapely legs and bottom encased in cotton, knee-length drawers.

"A-all, sorr?" she quavered.

"Yes, please, miss," I replied, swishing the birches through the air again.

She fumbled in front of herself, then the drawers came free and slid off her legs to the floor, exposing her round, firm bottom to the cool air of the room. She tightened her bottom cheeks, as though to hide herself from my penetrating gaze, then rested her forearms on the desk and buried her head in her hands. Her shaking shoulders betrayed the fact that she was sobbing already.

Discipline is difficult, I'll be bound. Molly had been with me these three years past, and had done a good job, by and large. But I would be remiss, should I send her forth uncorrected for slacking in her job at the last minute.

I measured the distance to her quivering bottom, then swung the birches in a whistling arc that ended across her bare cheeks with a sharp SSSSNNAAPP!!

"AH!" came her strangled gasp as, almost upon the instant, five angry white, raised welts sprang up against her pale skin, lying in a tree-like pattern across her bottom cheeks, just above her thighs.

"OH! Sorr!!!! OHH!!" she cried as the truth of the stinging birch twigs began to dawn on her. Her bottom flexed and quivered as the wheals darkened and became angry red.

SSSNNNNAAPPPPP!! The birches whipped across Molly's bare bottom again, imprinting their swollen traces just on top of the last.

"EEEEEE!!!" That had gotten my young country maid on her toes!! "OH MY DEAR LORDIE!!" she squealed, clenching her wounded bottom for all she was worth as the fiery sting sank in.

"OH, please sorr, I'll be..."

SSSSNNNAAPPPP!!

I landed the birches again, bringing a whistling gasp from Molly and sending her onto her toes even as the next stroke sang through the air and lashed across her red-traced mounds!

By God, this young creature would pass many a day before mail was once again left undisturbed upon the floor!

SSSNNAPPPPP!!!!

SSSNNAAPPPP!!!

SNNNAAPPP!!

The wicked birch switches whistled and sang in the still air of the library, snapping about my young maid's bare fundament with the sting of a thousand hornets.

She was howling as the strokes landed, treading the floor with her shoes making a clopping sound as she drove them against the hard boards, joggling her welted bottom in the air, writhing as though to through off the burning sting of the twigs.

I paused at three dozen strokes.

Molly's bottom was a fiery red, the wheals standing out in a massive bar that covered her cheeks from the top of her bottom cleft to where they joined her thighs. She was sobbing and biting at her forearm, wriggling her bottom still, though the strokes had stopped.

"Stand where you are, girl," I ordered.

A job is never complete until it is done to perfection.

How many times I have tried to get that ever so simple message through the heads of the dolts with whom I've been forced to deal!

I stepped over to the cupboard and brought out a long, snaky carriage whip that I'd placed there only minutes after treading on my Lady Asquith's missive.

I took my place behind my squirming, wriggling, well-whipped young maid, and sent the whip whistling through the air to snake across her flaming bottom undershelf with a sizzling CCCRRRACCCKKKK!!!

Upon the instant her head snapped up, mouth wide and straining, eyes like saucers as the incredible truth of the whip dawned on her!

"There'll be six of the best here, girl," I said.

"Nay, if you dare move, I shall start all over with the birch," I added as my young miss seemed about to straighten from the desk.

"Ooohhh, godd, sorrr..." she moaned, her ripe young bottom gently writhing in the cool air of the study.

CCRRRACCCCKKKKK!!

"Eeeeeeeeeeee!!!"

Well, I shan't detail each of the six final strokes, other than to say young Molly was a most thoroughly well whipped maid when I was done.

With her pantaloons back over her doubtless flaming bottom, and tears streaming down her cheeks, I can tell you she was a fetching sight. More than fetching. And suddenly, I decided that I should take her with me. Why not? To the colonies, with a maid in service to attend to my creature comforts.

"Now, my fine young miss," I said, sitting back behind my massive desk, "tell me whether that was as sound a thrashing as young Liza got from Lady Asquith last week."

"N-n-n-no, sorr," her reply was a mumble.

"Speak up, girl, or you'll be back over my desk," I said.

"No, sorr, t'wasnt," she managed, rubbing her backside through her maid's dress and petticoats. "Liza, she got w-worse. 'Twas the whip all the way, so I'm told..."

"And tell me she didn't take you into the pantry and show you her stripes."

"S-sorr, she did, an' I'm sure, and dreadful they were..."

"You cannot expect better in service, Molly," I said.

"Y-yes, sorr."

"Unless, of course, you accompany me to the colonies."

"Sorr?"

"I have on my desk a letter to my good friend Will Benteen accepting a position in the colonies. The letter will leave on tomorrow's mail packet; we shall follow it as closely as possible. Pack your things, Molly Blakney. You'll be coming with me."