Amanda's Punishment [Mrs. Smith's Academy #1]
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by Clemency Jopling
Category: Erotica/Classic Erotica
Description: Erotica In The Classic Victorian Tradition As Only The Brits Can Write It! When a bestselling British novelist set out to pseudonymously create a work in the idiom and style of the great works of classic Victorian erotica, the result is a sizzling must-read for fans of My Secret Life, Fanny Hill, and other genre masterpieces. Based on a true story, Amanda's Punishment is set at a thinly-disguised Victorian academy specializing in the training of intractable young women and run by the notorious "Mrs. Smith." The novel tells the story of Amanda, a hot-blooded young lady, whose amorous misadventures have earned her father's displeasure (and are detailed in beguiling Victorian prose). When Amanda's father goes abroad on an extended business trip, he leaving the eighteen-year-old Amanda in the care of her stepmother. But when Amanda discovers her stepmother is having an affair with a South American diplomat, her stepmother, afraid Amanda will reveal the affair to her father, the evil woman has Amanda sent away to Mrs. Smith. The notorious Mrs. Smith is famous for instilling discipline, and soon after her arrival Amanda is on the receiving end of Mrs. Smith's cane. Soon Amanda finds herself undergoing a series of classic Victorian punishments and humiliations, as well as practical lessons in sex education. Although she hates the regime at first, as the months pass, Amanda begins to discover the life more congenial, particularly when she is promoted to the role of assistant to Mrs. Smith. That's when she begins to think of ways to even the score with her stepmother, as will be told in "Clemency Jopling's" Mrs. Smith's Academy, Vol. II: Amanda's Revenge.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2005
eBookwise Release Date: June 2005
16 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [160 KB]
Reading time: 109-153 min.
It was the Reverend Mr Rudloe who suggested that I should write an account of my year with Mrs Smith. He was fucking me in the hayloft at the time. No--I tell a lie. It was after he had fucked me in the hayloft.
What happened, you see, was this--
The year was 1875; the season, summer. I had arrived in the small country town of Tinley by train, that morning. On the train I had a little adventure with another gentleman, who ended up by fucking me from behind as I lay on the seat of a first-class carriage. He had earlier bitten me most fiercely on the backside, which only goes to show that the mildest of men can be driven almost insane by passion--but all that is quite another story which I will record in a later chapter.
As I say, I arrived at Tinley by train. I had only a small suitcase with me, which I handed to a porter as soon as I alighted. I left the other gentleman--he of the passionate teeth--to calm himself and adjust his dress. Fortunately he was traveling to a station further down the line. I say fortunately because when I left him he was still sweating profusely and was very red in the face. He needed time to compose himself.
I knew that I was to be met at the station by the Reverend Mr Rudloe, and I had been told by Mrs Smith that he was a young man of about twenty-five, passably handsome, and dark-haired. But as I looked about I could not see him.
The porter guided me over the footbridge to what proved to be sole entry and exit point from the small, rural station, and I found at once that the gentleman I was seeking had positioned himself there to meet me.
He raised his hat in greeting--a straw hat it was, the day being warm--and smiled in welcome. I was pleased to see that he had good teeth. If there is one thing I do like in a gentleman it is good teeth.
Mr Rudloe introduced himself to me, and I made myself known to him. It would have, of course, been far more proper if we had initially been introduced by a third party, but I had noticed that Mr Smith was quite careless of some of the finer points of etiquette; and since Mr Rudloe also knew Mrs Smith of old, we thought nothing odd in being left to our own devices in this respect.
Mr Rudloe and I walked together to the vicarage, he carrying my suitcase. When we arrived, he showed me to my room, and advised me that lunch would be ready in fifteen minutes.
After I had tidied myself, I went down the stairs very quietly. I often find that it is useful to do so, as one is inclined to hear little snippets of conversation which would not otherwise come one's way. So it was on this occasion.
'The Vicar's little fucking-girl has arrived,' I heard one servant say to another. Later, when I had got used to their voices, I realised that it was Cook talking to the lady who came in from the village to clean.
Well, I did not much care for being called a 'fucking-girl', though it was true that I had frequently been fucked (the last occasion being approximately forty-five minutes earlier), and would be so again. And I was not 'little' either, being of quite normal height and weight for a young woman of nineteen.
However, I could tell from the tone of voice that the comment was not meant unkindly.
'Oh, good,' said another female voice (which actually belonged to the cleaning lady). 'Perhaps now he'll be able to forget his troubles and cheer up a bit.' And she sounded so worried and concerned about her dear Vicar that I quite forgave her and her companion for referring to me in such blunt terms. They were country people, after all.
Mr Rudloe and I enjoyed a pleasant luncheon together, during which no mention was made of his 'troubles', whatever they might be. He inquired, naturally, about the health of Mr Smith, and we then moved on to discuss such harmless matters as the warmth of the weather.
After a suitable pause, to allow our luncheons to settle, we went out for a walk.
I had been told by Mrs Smith that 'poor Mr Rudloe', as she called him, was a most dedicated man of the church. However, being unmarried, he had no means of regularly satisfying his natural desires. He therefore found, from time to time, that an urge for the sight and touch of naked female flesh almost overwhelmed him. On such occasions, he was apt to dispatch a desperate postcard to Mr Smith, asking her if she happened to have, staying with her at that particular point in time, a young lady who could oblige.
'He will fuck like a rabbit for two days,' Mrs Smith had advised me. 'Possibly three. Then it will all subside and he will lose interest for a while. Usually about three months. But he's a very sweet fellow. Keep him company for a couple of days, Amanda. And do be nice to him.'
Having now made the acquaintance of the reverend gentleman, and having come to the view that he was indeed a very sweet fellow, I resolved that I would be as nice as pie.
Much as he would have liked to, Mr Rudloe obviously could not have led me upstairs at the vicarage. Not with servants in the house. So instead he now led me, as rapidly as he decently could, towards a barn on a neighboring farm.
I say a barn. It may have been a stable. I regret to say that my knowledge of agriculture is severely limited. Anyway, it was a wooden building, and the ground floor looked as if it was used for housing horses, though there were none there at the time.
At one end of the building there were stairs to what I believe is called a hayloft.
'Let us go up here, my dear Miss Mentmore,' said Mr Rudloe. 'It is quiet, and private, and no one will disturb us while we talk of personal matters.'
'By all means,' I agreed.
Upstairs, the floor was covered with a foot or so of hay. Or straw. Or whatever. To tell the truth it was prickly stuff, whatever it was, and I might have wished for a more comfortable base on which to rest myself. But needs must, and Mr Rudloe was in a hurry.
He took off his jacket.
'It is a most warm afternoon, Miss Mentmore,' he said. 'I do hope you will not be alarmed if I take off my jacket.'
'Well,' I said, 'if you are going to fuck me, Mr Rudloe, I think we had better take off everything, don't you? I always find it is much more satisfactory to do so.'
And do you know, the dear fellow actually blushed! Not much, it's true, but just a little.
'Well, yes, indeed,' he said with a smile.
I led the way in disrobing, and it was such a warm afternoon, and the air in the barn was so sultry, that I was very glad to be rid of what I wore.
As I stripped off, Mr Rudloe spread out a blanket over the straw. He had found it hanging on a peg, and it was none too new or clean, but any sort of covering was, I suspect, to be preferred to the straw itself.
I had pretty well slipped out of all my things before he had finished preparing the marital bed so to speak. I did, however, retain my shoes, as I did not fancy walking barefoot and getting that yellow stuff between my toes. I didn't fancy getting it in any other crevice either, but I was obviously going to have to take my chances on that.
When I was stripped I stretched myself luxuriously, rather as a cat does. My arms went up, my head bent back, and I stood with my legs a little apart.
Mr Rudloe stared at me for a moment. And then he lunged at me--yes, he did, he really lunged, making me for a second, quite alarmed--and he took me into his arms.
He began to kiss me passionately all over my face and neck, clutching me to him most tightly and running his hands all up and down my bare back. And as he groped and stroked and kissed and nibbled and panted, he made urgent grunting and groaning noises.
'Mmmm, yes, mmmh, ah, yes mmm,' he went. And his hands roamed everywhere: down my back, deep into the crack of my bum, round the front, both bosoms firmly gripped and groped, and then a gasping ecstatic plunge downwards to feel the full furry heat of my pussy.
Dear, dear me, I thought. Mrs Smith was absolutely right. The reverend gentleman had been without female company for far too long.
After a moment he broke free and began to pull off his own clothing with a reckless disregard for the welfare of buttons and the preservation of appropriate creases. In a moment or two, he had discarded everything and stood about three feet away from me, as naked as the day he was born.
His cock stood out firm and proud and he made a most pleasing image to the eye. Not that there was anything very unusual about him--but he was, as Mr Smith had described, a passably handsome gentleman with a good six inches of tool. He had a black bush, and fine round balls. Big ones, I was pleased to see. Very possibly a little swollen on account of the hot weather.
I have noticed that gentlemen's balls are a pretty good guide as to the temperature on any given day. On hot, humid afternoons they hang heavy and low. When the winter comes they seek refuge in the warmth of the body. And if you dip them in the cold, cold sea--why, then they panic and disappear entirely.
The tip of Mr Rudloe's knob glistened with a mixture of passion and sweat. It was red and seemed to bulge with accumulated spunk, and I could see that the first fuck was not going to last long. Never mind.
I sank to my knees then lay back on the blanket, my arms by my side, my legs still together. Then, looking at him directly, I licked my lips slowly and allowed my knees to move apart.
With a choked cry of anguish Mr Rudloe almost fell upon me.
I would have liked, of course, to have allowed some time to enable us to get to know each other physically. A slow, gentle exploration of each other's bodies would not have been out of place. A few whispered intimacies about what we liked and did not like would not have gone amiss. But, while Mr Rudloe did not disgrace himself, Mrs Smith's prediction that he would fuck with some urgency proved to be correct.
I had, it is true, given every indication, both by word and by action, that I would like him to enter my person, and enter it he did. He lay down between my legs, shuffled a little to ensure that he was in the right position for the target, and then thrust forward.
Even though I was ready and willing, he went in with such vigor that I gasped. He took this for a sign of pleasure and went to work with a will. He thrust in deeper with every stroke, encircling me with his arms, his head lying beside mine, his panting breaths hoarse in my ear, his heart beating ever more frantically against my chest.
In--in--in--ever harder and quicker he went. The gathered-up passion of all those months without the sweetness of a feminine frame to lie on took command of his body. Any chance he might have had of controlling himself was lost in the first few instants of our coupling. He was, for the moment, the victim of nature, the prisoner of the reproductive urge which is found in all animals. He fucked me, his whole frame driving his cock into my cunt, his balls hot in my groin, our sweat mingling and grinding.
In perhaps a minute it was all over. He gave one huge, monumental heave, pushing me upward and backward to the top of the pile of hay, and I felt his cock pump in spasms of joy as the hot sperm flooded into me. He thrust onward, as men do, finishing off the pleasure of his coming, ensuring that the creamy fluid was splattered as far into me as possible. And I squeezed him tight with my legs, stroking his back and his bum to speed the release of his tension.
He lay for a moment, his whole weight upon me, his heart pounding to recover from the effort of spending with such eagerness. Then he lifted himself slowly on his hands, and, after the briefest of pauses, slid his cock out of my opening. He groaned and flopped down on the straw beside me.
'Oh! Oh, Miss Mentmore,' he gasped. 'Whatever must you think of me?'
'Well, Mr Rudloe,' I said, lifting myself on one elbow to look at his flushed countenance, 'what I think of you is that you are a promisingly capable lover if only we can control this schoolboy impetuosity of yours. Anybody would think that sexual intercourse was going to be banned in two minutes' time.'
'Oh, my dear Miss Mentmore,' panted the embarrassed Vicar, 'I am most dreadfully sorry. It was incredibly selfish of me--I do see that now. But at the time, you see, I just couldn't stop myself.'
I relented. 'Oh, say no more about it,' I told him, flicking him playfully with a length of straw. 'I managed to give myself a few little thrills while you were thrashing about, even if I didn't come quite as hard as you did.'
'Oh, thank goodness for that,' said my companion.
We lay still for a few minutes, each of us needing time to return to a relaxed state.
Now my situation, dear Reader, if I may refresh your memory, was that I had already been worked on by one man in the morning, on the train. The carriage was first class but the love-making wasn't, and I had been left feeling aroused, but with capacity in hand. (Plus a bite on my bum, which I was hoping the Vicar would not notice.) Now a second gentleman had shot his load into me, and I was ready for a third helping. And this third round, if I had anything to do with it, would be longer, slower, and altogether more satisfying from my point of view.
I decided that Mr Rudloe was fully capable of supplying my needs in due course, provided I gave him time, so I determined to encourage him to further efforts. When his breathing returned to the normal rate, and I leaned over and began gently to squeeze his cock.
He started to perk up a little. He opened both eyes and looked at me thoughtfully.
'Tell me, Miss Mentmore,' he said, 'is it true that Mrs Smith punishes her young ladies by birching them on the bare bottom?'
Now, this was a very naughty question indeed. For several reasons.
First, I knew for a certain fact that Mr Rudloe had been acquainted with Mrs Smith for some years. Second, I was not the first of her pupils to have visited Mr Rudloe. And third, I could not believe that the other girls had not given him a full and frank account of Mr Smith's disciplinary methods.
So what the worthy Vicar meant by his question was this: 'My dear Miss Mentmore, I very much enjoy hearing about pretty girls being stripped naked and beaten, and I would be much obliged if you would tell me an entertaining story of that kind, with the aim of making my cock even stiffer the next time, than it was the first.'
And why he couldn't say so directly I really don't know. However, I forgave Mr Rudloe for approaching the subject from an angle, and I answered his question as if I had no idea what his ulterior motive was.
'Oh yes indeed it is true, Mr Rudloe,' I replied. 'Mrs Smith has made quite a reputation for herself by taking on difficult and intractable girls, whom no one else can control, and turning them into well-behaved young ladies who can be taken anywhere with no fear that they will disgrace themselves.'
'Really?' replied the scheming Vicar.
'Yes indeed,' I said. 'And of course she could not effect this improvement in conduct and character if she did not punish any bad behaviour most severely.'
'With the birch?' he inquired.
'Well actually with a cane, nine times out of ten. Though she uses other implements from time to time.'
I realised that Mr Rudloe had probably heard quite a lot about Mr Smith from other young ladies, so I decided to tell him about someone else instead.
'As a matter of fact,' I said, 'our little academy had a visit a while ago from a sort of Scottish equivalent of Mr Smith. A Mr MacIntyre. He makes a specialism of giving tuition to young men who are seeking to get into university.'
'Oh really?' said the Vicar politely. But I could tell from his tone of voice that he could not possibly have been less interested in the tuition of young men. The manufacture of pagan statuettes by the natives of New Guinea would evidently have been of greater concern to him than the education of mere boys.
'Yes,' I continued. 'And Mr MacIntyre proved to be a most famous beater of young ladies himself.'
Ah. Mr Rudloe's prick gave a little leap of excitement in my hand. What had formerly been limp and soft, though very pleasant to the touch, began to swell and raise its naughty head again.
'Oh yes,' I said. 'Mr MacIntyre brought with him two young men aged about eighteen. They came down from Edinburgh on the train, all three of them wearing kilts with absolutely nothing on underneath--I do think that's a most barbaric custom--and on the afternoon of the second day, Mr Smith took away the two lads for a private lecture on how to conduct oneself at fashionable dinner parties, while Mr MacIntyre took Charlotte and me up to the punishment room.'
'I say! Whatever had you done?'
'Well, that's what we wondered, Mr Rudloe, I don't mind telling you.'
'And who is this Charlotte?'
'Oh, a young lady very much like myself. Eighteen, with quite a buxom figure and freckled face. Comes from a very well-born family, and was in severe danger of causing it scandal before Mr Smith took her in hand. And in fact she is Lady Charlotte if we are to be formal about it. She is not beautiful, but is saucy given the opportunity.'
'I see. And Mr MacIntyre was deputed to teach you the error of your ways, was he?'
'Well, after a fashion. And a very curious fashion it was too.'
Mr Rudloe's member was now quite pleasingly plump, and I gently rolled the foreskin upwards with my thumb, noticing with satisfaction the little flicker of his eyelids as I did so. To return the favor, he reached down between my legs and began to stroke my hairy pussy.
I then proceeded to give Mr Rudloe a detailed account of my encounter with Mr MacIntyre. What happened was this: