Humor, groping, spanking, coerced penetration and oral.
[Written for skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com with the plot idea supplied by an anonymous user. Based on characters in the Skyrim RPG game. This one ends up much darker and edgier than the others, and only a small part is about spanking. No romance here - non-consentual!]
Mila ignored the blacksmith's request that she bring news of the dragon to Whiterun, and decided to explore to the west instead. She was inexperienced and impulsive, not yet very good with a weapon, and had only a few spells to protect her. The petite Breton, barely five feet tall, managed to stave off wolves and crabs with a fire spell or a calm spell, until she came to a timber-yard. A sign on it said "Half-moon Mill".
It was just past sundown as Mila approached, and a woman came out of the nearby house and began to stack logs at the sawmill. Mila hoped the house would now be empty, and she could steal food and supplies. When she opened the door a little, it seemed she was in luck. But after entering and closing the door behind her, she suddenly saw a man sitting in the dim light in the corner. He was armoured, had long dark hair and a beard, and there was something odd about the way the torch light reflected in his eyes.
Afraid, Mila searched her options. Run? She wouldn't get the door open quickly enough. Fire spell? It looked like it would take a lot of casts to take this man down, and her power was limited. She settled on using a Calm spell until she could make her escape. She waved her hands and a bluegreen light suffused the man's head and body.
"Hert, my darling!" he said cheerfully. "Back already? Do you need help preparing the wood?"
Mila was nonplussed. The target of that spell was supposed to act friendly, but not to mistake her for someone else! "Ummm, no thanks" she said shakily.
The man rose and siezed her in his arms. Startled, she thought he had attacked, but he was only hugging her - though very firmly, and she could feel that he had great strength. "Well I'm glad you're back" he was saying. "Maybe we should take it easy today, hmmm? Have a few hours downstairs and go out hunting later?" Suddenly he was planting a lengthy and enthusiastic kiss on her lips. She went rigid with shock.
He broke off. Sympathetically he asked "Not in the mood? What's the matter, was that wolf's blood last night not good enough? Tell your Hern all about it." He went back to cuddling her.
Then the sound of the buzzsaw started up outside. Hern looked puzzled. "Who's operating the saw, my dear?"
"Err... umm... a transient came by begging to work for food, so I let him take over" Mila stumbled.
Hern roared with laughter. "How kind you are my dear! So we'll have him in here for dinner later? Excellent!"
Mila pieced it together in her mind. 'Blood not good enough'. 'Have him for dinner'. She was in the arms of a vampire. And there was another one outside. She thought "Oh gods, I think I'm going to pee my pants. But I'd better not. Vampiresses probably don't do that."
"Some real human blood tonight" Hern exulted. "Come on, Hert, let's celebrate!" His hand went to Mila's left breast, kneading it as he began to passionately kiss her again.
"I can't freeze up again, he'll know something's wrong". She made herself relax as his hand entered her thin mage's clothing, and pinched and tweaked her nipples. Then she thought she'd better kiss him back. Encouraged, Hern became more passionate still. He pulled her down to a seat beside him and reached under her tunic, tugging down her pale brown panties. As his hand reached her labia, her instinct to close her legs kicked in for a second. But then she thought "No, he'll suspect" and made herself spread her thighs wide. Vampiric fingers began to stroke and penetrate her pussy. She began gasps and moans that were only half fake, all the time thinking "What have I gotten myself into?".
Just then, the door burst open, and the woman Mila had seen earlier looked at them angrily. "Do you think I can't hear you outside, Hern, even with the saw going? You know our hearing is better than that!"
Hern looked totally confused for a moment. Then the spell could no longer bend his mind away from the impossibility of seeing two identical wives. The fog lifted, and he suddenly saw that he had his fingers up the vagina of a Breton stranger. "Ummm.... Hello?" she said sheepishly.
"So that's what's going on" said Hern grimly. "A Calm spell. You didn't know they misfire on vampires, did you?"
Mila thought about escape. But even though his wife was standing right there, Hern had not moved his fingers. Mila was held very effectively in place, and was not going anywhere.
"All right, I understand now" said the vampiress. "It looks like we have Breton blood on the menu tonight. But I want to teach her a lesson first."
"This is my wife Hert" said Hern. "H-E-R-T, pronounced 'hurt'. And that's what we're going to do to you." Mila realised that not even when a dragon was breathing near her was she in as much trouble as she was now. She begged and pleaded as Hert opened a trapdoor to a basement, and Hern lifted her up, fingers still impaling her, and carried her towards it.
The dungeon-like cellar was terrifying. There were two coffins, chains on the wall, and blood patches everywhere. Hert had picked up Mila's backpack and was going through it, saying "A little thief, no doubt, with some pathetic magic to help you steal. Your bit of fun with my husband is going to cost you a lot of suffering. Hern! Get your hand out of her twat and get her clothes off!"
Mila had found her mage robes in a locked cell back at Helgen, in a torture chamber that looked similar to where she was now. Hern stripped them from her, tore away the remnants of her beige bra and panties, then put her wrists in one of the sets of chains high above her head. He left her with her breasts up against the cold wall, naked and trembling.
Rummaging in Mila's backpack, Hert said "Ah, here's something useful. Made from wolf's hide by the look." She took out the leather strips Mila had made at the tanning rack in Riverwood. She flicked one of them and it made a snapping sound. She strode over to Mila and began lashing it around her backside.
"Oooow! Please don't! I didn't mean anything. Oooow!" Mila burst into tears as her bottom was strapped mercilessly by this strong vampiress. She leapt about, as far as the chains would let her, but couldn't avoid the searing strokes that soon made her butt cherry red.
Hert handed the strap to Hern after a while, and said "You take over. And I don't want to see you going easy on her." Mila was panting and sobbing through this pause in her torment.
"My love, you don't think I would have touched her if I hadn't thought it was you? You don't believe I'm attracted to this little pipsqueak, do you?"
"Prove it!" demanded Hert. "Give her a good strapping."
Hern began laying the leather across Mila's bottom again, each spank landing with a loud thwack! Then he aimed lower, giving her a painful stripe across her upper thighs. Mila cried louder and begged them to believe she only used the spell to try and get away, she didn't know it would make Hern come on to her, and so forth.
"Maybe so" said Hert, and Hern stopped spanking. "We might let you live. There's not much blood in you anyway, you little pixie. But what you did humiliated my husband. If a male mage did it to ME I'd call it rape. So that's what you're going to experience before we let you go."
Hern looked at her quizzically. "My dear, you mean you want me to..."
Hert gave him a look that would freeze water. "NO! I've an idea for putting these leather strips to another use." There were many bones strewn about the dungeon, and she chose one that was phallic size with only a small knobbly part at the end. With the leather strips, a needle and strong thread she fashioned a sinister device and secured it around her own hips. Hert had a high Smithing ability.
The time it took to craft this item was a welcome relief for Mila. She stopped crying as the stinging in her bottom became less. Then Hern unchained her and laid her down on the lid of a closed coffin. When she saw Hert approaching, and what was strapped onto her, Mila struggled to get up. Hern held her down and said "You can either accept the rest of your punishment and then we'll let you go; or you can try to escape and we'll make a meal out of you."
Mila sobbed and pleaded, but relaxed and lay on the coffin. Hern ordered her up on all fours, and Hert took up position behind her. She fingered Mila's pussy to see if she was still wet from having Hern's hand stroking her. But she had not enjoyed being spanked with the strap, and any moisture she had had was gone. "What a pity for you" said Hert without much sympathy. She was going to punish this girl, not pleasure her, and had no intention of lubricating her 'bone'. Mila yelled as it entered her twat, and began sobbing again as the vampiress thrust it in and out.
Hern watched his wife's hips working back and forth, and the lustful cruelty in her face. He remembered why he thought she was the sexiest female alive or dead, and developed a raging erection. Hert noticed the bulge below his cuirass and his obvious discomfort. "I don't mind if you satisfy yourself at the other end" she said. "Besides, this little madam deserves to be penetrated in all three orifices."
A slap on the cheek and a command to 'open up' made Mila open her mouth wide. A cold column of flesh was inserted. To make sure she was judged as accepting her punishment, and released, she sucked on the cool penis and tongued it as best as she could. Now and then, Hern, eyes closed in ecstasy, would thrust further into her warm mouth and make her gag. But she had heard the remark about THREE orifices and knew there was worse to come.
"I bet you've never sucked room-temperature cock before" taunted Hert behind her, still reaming her enthusiastically. "You're lucky that vampires can't make life. You won't have to decide whether to swallow or spit. But it does mean Hern can use your mouth as long as he wants. And now let's try your little ass. Hern, you'd better pull out a moment, she might bite down."
When the bone was shoved into her narrower passageway, Mila didn't bite down but opened her mouth and screamed. "Ow, ow, ow!" She managed to cry out loud at the first three thrusts before Hern filled her mouth again. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she tried to concentrate on giving good service up front and ignoring the pain behind.
Finally, the vampires had had their fun, pulled out and left her lying sore and sobbing on the coffin lid. They threw her out of the hut naked, leaving her to combat the creatures of the wild with nothing but spells until she managed to steal some more clothes and equipment.
TWO YEARS LATER:
A powerful mage crept up on Half-moon Mill. She had learned a great deal at the Winterhold College and fighting with dragons and trolls. She was armed with Shouts (dragon powers) and with the highest level fire spells. She had incinerated vampires with one shot before. But Mila was going to burn these two slowly.
A door crashed in. "Remember me?"
END
Friday, 13 July 2012
Skyrim: Spanked (and more) by Ulfric
By KajiraGames (M/F spanking, sex)
[Second story based on characters, events and dialogue in the Skyrim RPG game, requested by someone on skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com]
Ilse lived in a perpetual state of 'glad to be alive'. After escaping death by chopping block and by dragon, she drove Ralof mad all the way to Riverwood - skipping ahead to pick the mountain flowers, chasing butterflies, and chattering non-stop. At the Three Sentinel stones she took an age to make up her mind which one to touch. When Ralof ran out of patience and continued his journey along the river, she called him a "grumpy old bear's-breath". Even when wolves attacked them and Ilse put an arrow through one of them, she kept teasing Ralof for his seriousness and telling him to 'lighten up'.
Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun was similarly irritated by her frivolous remarks and short attention span. He couldn't wait to dispatch Ilse to High Hrothgar. She chose instead to explore the Reach, where her skills of stealth and bow were not to be trifled with. She replaced her stormcloak cuirass with gear she took from a defeated Forsworn woman. The skimpy furs required all her Nordic cold-resistance to wear, but it looked good, which was all Ilse cared about.
Remembering Ralof's suggestion that she join the Stormcloaks, she allowed her travels to take her to Windhelm and the Palace of the Kings. As she entered the spacious stone hall, Ilse heard a booming bass voice echoing around its walls, saying "He's a true Nord. He'll come around."
As she passed the long banqueting table, Ilse recognized Ulfric Stormcloak. Familiar from the cart to Helgen were his brown hair, short beard, strong-looking hands, and his grim demeanour. Galmar Stone-Fist was urging him to attack Whiterun and kill Jarl Balgruuf. Ulfric replied "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement, don't you think?"
Ilse interrupted brazenly: "Yes, especially if you hang him in a cage. In front of that snotty guard captain, Irileth, would humiliate him best".
Ulfric frowned. "Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons. Do I know you?"
"Don't you remember me?" she pouted. "We took a scenic ride together on the road to Helgen. You didn't say much." Ilse grinned at him.
The taciturn Jarl merely raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes! Destined for the chopping block if I'm not mistaken."
"They did try to cut my hair the hard way. But here I am in one piece." Ilse tried to ingratiate herself. She really didn't give a skeever's tail for politics, but she said "I want to fight against that mean old Empire. So I came a long way to find you."
"A fair point" rumbled Ulfric, and continued in his clipped, brusque sentences. "Well you've come to the right place then. Speak with Galmar. I'm always looking for able fighters. Not everyone can say they made it out of Helgen. Seems we're all branded villains these days. So long as your criminal past stays in the past, and you fight for me with honour and integrity, we'll welcome you into our ranks."
Ilse didn't want to speak with Galmar. Ulfric's voice seemed to be creating vibrations in her stomach - and lower down. She watched his large hands soar the air, gesturing as he continued his argument with Galmar: "Torygg was merely a message to the other Jarls."
Once again, Ilse butted in. "And that widow of his is so skinny! I bet she used to get lost in a wrinkle in the sheets, and Torygg couldn't find her until morning."
"I said talk to Galmar!" Ulfric turned her around to face Galmar and gave her one swat with his right hand on the seat of her Forsworn 'bikini' bottoms. The impact of it sent an electric thrill right through her body. For the first time in her life Ilse was stunned into silence, not by pain, but in wonder - and a craving for more.
She only half-heard Galmar telling her to kill an ice-wraith to the far north. She nodded and began to walk, a little unsteadily, towards the outer doors. She heard Ulfric's voice raised in passionate fervor: "I fight for the men I've held in my arms!"
Ilse felt a great desire to be one of those 'men'.
It was a long trek to the Serpent Stone, and it took many arrows and a lot of dodging to take down the ice wraith. When Ilse returned to Windhelm, she found Ulfric once again engaged in serious debate with his lieutenant.
She willingly took the Oath, swearing loyalty to Ulfric. But she refused the armor she was offered. It was crude and bulky, and didn't show off her generous Nordic curves as her Forsworn clothing did. And that was a priority right now, in front of Ulfric.
"Many brave shield-maidens have worn that armor" said Ulfric reprovingly. "But I suppose you're a stealth warrior, aren't you." It wasn't really a question, and Ulfric resumed discussing a jagged crown with Galmar. "I'll send the unblooded here with you" he said, almost dismissively.
Ilse felt a little miffed. "Always business" she thought, "doesn't he ever relax? He's obviously as brave as a mountain lion, and cares about his people, but: Why... so... serious?" She became determined to make Ulfric smile.
When Ulfric raged against Queen Elisif handing over Skyrim to the Imperials, Ilse interjected "I hear she spends every evening sucking General Tullius's dick".
Ulfric didn't laugh. Aggravated, he asked "Why are you still here? You're supposed to be at Korvanjund, proving Galmar right, or proving him wrong."
"Why does Galmar wear that bear on his head?" asked Ilse innocently. "Isn't he hairy enough?"
Something seemed to snap in Ulfric. He grabbed her by the back of her neck, dragged her the few steps to the throne and sat down on it. Ilse squealed, and Galmar, who was not quite out the great doors, returned to see what was happening. Jorleif the steward, Wuunferth the mage and others in the hall also stepped closer as Ulfric pulled Ilse struggling (but not too hard) over his knees.
Ulfric removed the steel bracer from his right wrist, and then pulled Ilse's fur bottoms roughly down to her knees. Ilse felt him get a hold on her beige underwear, and begged "No!". Why did this have to be in front of other people? The idea of Ulfric taking her pants down, for one purpose or another, had helped keep her warm during the long journey north. But having her bottom bared in front of the whole court of Windhelm was more than she had bargained for.
Ilse's undies joined the brief Forsworn fur at her knees, and a massive stinging slap hit her bare cheeks and made her yell. Ulfric's hand covered a LOT of her bottom, and left a large red patch behind. Another smack followed quickly and produced an "Owww!" that echoed through the hall. Even servants began to appear from other chambers to watch the spectacle.
As the hard slaps continued, Ilse felt torn. This was hurting, more than she expected, but the stinging was creating the strangest secondary sensations: the feeling she was about to sneeze; a fear/thrill at how easily she had been up-ended onto his lap, and at being so completely controlled; and then desire! She felt her nipples harden against her fur halter. And the pleasure in her pussy seemed to meet the pain in her bottom and blend with it.
Ulfric's annoyance was also undergoing a change. After the first few punishing smacks, he began to notice the pleasant proportions of the reddening buttocks that were placed across his thighs so invitingly. Ilse's squeals and yelps became endearing - she was a brat, but a cute brat! And her squirming across his lap couldn't help but have a physical effect on him.
He decided to see if those effects could be magnified. He aimed at the centre of the undercurve of Ilse's cheeks, and spanked her there repeatedly, harder than before. He acheived his desired result, hearing her shriek and plead more loudly, and feeling her gentle squirms become a desperate writhing.
In increased pain and ecstasy, Ilse forgot all about the audience. She abandoned all dignity and released her tears. Ulfric gave her a few more spanks as she cried, then stopped and asked "Have you learnt to be respectful and to keep your place in my court?"
"Yes, my Lord" sniffled Ilse. She genuinely did feel a greater wish to obey Ulfric silently than to joke around with him right now. She felt like the spanked brat she truly was.
Ulfric lifted her to her feet. She stood there, fur bottoms and underwear still around her knees, as if waiting for permission to pull them up. All the courtiers and servants on the eastern side of the hall had a clear view of her pubic bush.
So did Ulfric. He was struck by a uniqueness about this young woman. He had only had dealings with two types of females: warriors who served him proudly, and whom he respected for their strength and prowess; and serving girls who feared him too much to speak out of turn. He had sometimes spanked the latter for careless service, and they had screamed and cried under his heavy hand. But there was something different in Ilse's movements and voice during her spanking. And she was no weakling - she had defeated an ice-wraith alone - and yet here she was, standing in a state of submissiveness that overrode her modesty.
In a deep but gentle tone, he told her to dress herself and report to Korvanjund. As she obeyed quickly and left the hall he stared after her, intrigued and aroused.
On their return from retreiving the jagged crown, Galmar gave Ulfric a good report of how useful and brave Ilse had been. Ulfric was holding an evening war-council meeting. He thanked her, relieved that she had proven worthy and had stayed safe.
Ilse had not forgotten her determination to make Ulfric smile. "We were attacked by draugr even skinnier than Elisif" she said. Ulfric was secretly amused, not so much at the weak joke, but by the cheerful insolence in how Ilse said it. But he had to stay serious in front of his senior officers, who were as dour as he normally was. "Not now, we have serious matters to discuss", he chided in his deep tones. "There's still the question of Whiterun to decide."
Ilse couldn't care less about Galmar and the other officers, or the table with its silly flags all over it. "Oh, you mean Balgruuf", she wittered on. "He thinks he's so tough, sitting under a dragon's skull. I bet if it fell down in front of him, he'd scream. And that Irileth! The way she coddles him, I wouldn't be surprised to find him sucking on her tit."
One or two of the officers chortled a little, despite themselves. Ulfric suppressed a smile and said evenly "My friends, this conference is in recess." Then like lightning, he grabbed Ilse's wrist. He began to drag her, not towards the throne, but towards the stone steps leading to his private chambers. Ilse gave a show of resistance, her feet skittering on the tile floor as she was pulled along.
In the Jarl's chamber, he sat on the bed and stood Ilse in front of him holding her elbows with both hands, at arm's length. "Despite what you may be thinking" he said, "I HAVE brought you here to punish you".
Ilse switched 'modes' in an instant, from brat to submissive. "Yes, my Lord" she cooed.
"You cannot disrupt councils of war. Now take off your clothing!" Ilse took his command literally. She threw off both halves of her fur 'bikini' and then the pale brown underwear beneath. She stood naked, head bowed and hands by her sides, in front of Ulfric. In unspoken command, Ulfric tapped his thigh, and she stepped to his right and stretched herself as far over his lap as she could manage. Her bare bottom was perfectly placed over his thighs.
With no real anger in him this time, Ulfric began Ilse's spanking more softly. She gasped and moaned. Then as she warmed up, he began harder smacks. Again her squirming lit a fire in him, but it was accompanied by a deeper pleasure - this was a resourceful young woman who had fought well for him, and here she was naked over his knee in full submission.
He began some slow but very hard spanks with his broad hand. "Oww! Sir! Please! Yeow, oww! My Lord!" Tears leaked from Ilse's eyes, but again she was experiencing a release that was as full of emotional and physical pleasure as anything else.
At last, Ulfric stopped spanking, effortlessly turned her over and sat her up, so she was sitting on his lap. Her arms reached for his neck right away and Ulfric hugged her close, some of her tears wiping off onto his shoulder. Then they were enwrapped in a long searching kiss.
His right hand came to her breasts, palming them and pinching her nipples hard enough to make her gasp. Ilse trembled and parted her thighs, inviting him lower. His sturdy fingers probed her, outside then in, producing short high-pitched moans that were heard through the chamber door.
"Disarm me" commanded Ulfric. Ilse slipped off his lap. He stood, and she removed his axe and unstrapped his armor. This was normally the duty of a squire, but Ulfric determined to transfer the boy to other duties and let it be done by this naked girl from now on. Ulfric was turned away from Ilse when she removed his last garment. She swallowed hard when she revealed his round and muscular buttocks.
It was evening, and without turning around, Ulfric told her to blow out the candle and get into the bed. She obeyed, and in the darkness Ulfric joined her under the covers. This was why Ilse was taken by surprise when the critical moment came. His entry didn't quite hurt her, but she felt stretched, filled to capacity. As his thrusts began, her clit and every inner surface was getting it's full share of attention. As she panted and gasped, his bass voice was saying "My Love!". Between deep breaths she answered. "Mmm. Ulfric! My Lord!"
Afterwards as they clung to each other, he said "I fight for those I hold in my arms". She responded "I will do anything you command, my Jarl, my King!"
And she meant it.
END
[Second story based on characters, events and dialogue in the Skyrim RPG game, requested by someone on skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com]
Ilse lived in a perpetual state of 'glad to be alive'. After escaping death by chopping block and by dragon, she drove Ralof mad all the way to Riverwood - skipping ahead to pick the mountain flowers, chasing butterflies, and chattering non-stop. At the Three Sentinel stones she took an age to make up her mind which one to touch. When Ralof ran out of patience and continued his journey along the river, she called him a "grumpy old bear's-breath". Even when wolves attacked them and Ilse put an arrow through one of them, she kept teasing Ralof for his seriousness and telling him to 'lighten up'.
Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun was similarly irritated by her frivolous remarks and short attention span. He couldn't wait to dispatch Ilse to High Hrothgar. She chose instead to explore the Reach, where her skills of stealth and bow were not to be trifled with. She replaced her stormcloak cuirass with gear she took from a defeated Forsworn woman. The skimpy furs required all her Nordic cold-resistance to wear, but it looked good, which was all Ilse cared about.
Remembering Ralof's suggestion that she join the Stormcloaks, she allowed her travels to take her to Windhelm and the Palace of the Kings. As she entered the spacious stone hall, Ilse heard a booming bass voice echoing around its walls, saying "He's a true Nord. He'll come around."
As she passed the long banqueting table, Ilse recognized Ulfric Stormcloak. Familiar from the cart to Helgen were his brown hair, short beard, strong-looking hands, and his grim demeanour. Galmar Stone-Fist was urging him to attack Whiterun and kill Jarl Balgruuf. Ulfric replied "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement, don't you think?"
Ilse interrupted brazenly: "Yes, especially if you hang him in a cage. In front of that snotty guard captain, Irileth, would humiliate him best".
Ulfric frowned. "Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons. Do I know you?"
"Don't you remember me?" she pouted. "We took a scenic ride together on the road to Helgen. You didn't say much." Ilse grinned at him.
The taciturn Jarl merely raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes! Destined for the chopping block if I'm not mistaken."
"They did try to cut my hair the hard way. But here I am in one piece." Ilse tried to ingratiate herself. She really didn't give a skeever's tail for politics, but she said "I want to fight against that mean old Empire. So I came a long way to find you."
"A fair point" rumbled Ulfric, and continued in his clipped, brusque sentences. "Well you've come to the right place then. Speak with Galmar. I'm always looking for able fighters. Not everyone can say they made it out of Helgen. Seems we're all branded villains these days. So long as your criminal past stays in the past, and you fight for me with honour and integrity, we'll welcome you into our ranks."
Ilse didn't want to speak with Galmar. Ulfric's voice seemed to be creating vibrations in her stomach - and lower down. She watched his large hands soar the air, gesturing as he continued his argument with Galmar: "Torygg was merely a message to the other Jarls."
Once again, Ilse butted in. "And that widow of his is so skinny! I bet she used to get lost in a wrinkle in the sheets, and Torygg couldn't find her until morning."
"I said talk to Galmar!" Ulfric turned her around to face Galmar and gave her one swat with his right hand on the seat of her Forsworn 'bikini' bottoms. The impact of it sent an electric thrill right through her body. For the first time in her life Ilse was stunned into silence, not by pain, but in wonder - and a craving for more.
She only half-heard Galmar telling her to kill an ice-wraith to the far north. She nodded and began to walk, a little unsteadily, towards the outer doors. She heard Ulfric's voice raised in passionate fervor: "I fight for the men I've held in my arms!"
Ilse felt a great desire to be one of those 'men'.
It was a long trek to the Serpent Stone, and it took many arrows and a lot of dodging to take down the ice wraith. When Ilse returned to Windhelm, she found Ulfric once again engaged in serious debate with his lieutenant.
She willingly took the Oath, swearing loyalty to Ulfric. But she refused the armor she was offered. It was crude and bulky, and didn't show off her generous Nordic curves as her Forsworn clothing did. And that was a priority right now, in front of Ulfric.
"Many brave shield-maidens have worn that armor" said Ulfric reprovingly. "But I suppose you're a stealth warrior, aren't you." It wasn't really a question, and Ulfric resumed discussing a jagged crown with Galmar. "I'll send the unblooded here with you" he said, almost dismissively.
Ilse felt a little miffed. "Always business" she thought, "doesn't he ever relax? He's obviously as brave as a mountain lion, and cares about his people, but: Why... so... serious?" She became determined to make Ulfric smile.
When Ulfric raged against Queen Elisif handing over Skyrim to the Imperials, Ilse interjected "I hear she spends every evening sucking General Tullius's dick".
Ulfric didn't laugh. Aggravated, he asked "Why are you still here? You're supposed to be at Korvanjund, proving Galmar right, or proving him wrong."
"Why does Galmar wear that bear on his head?" asked Ilse innocently. "Isn't he hairy enough?"
Something seemed to snap in Ulfric. He grabbed her by the back of her neck, dragged her the few steps to the throne and sat down on it. Ilse squealed, and Galmar, who was not quite out the great doors, returned to see what was happening. Jorleif the steward, Wuunferth the mage and others in the hall also stepped closer as Ulfric pulled Ilse struggling (but not too hard) over his knees.
Ulfric removed the steel bracer from his right wrist, and then pulled Ilse's fur bottoms roughly down to her knees. Ilse felt him get a hold on her beige underwear, and begged "No!". Why did this have to be in front of other people? The idea of Ulfric taking her pants down, for one purpose or another, had helped keep her warm during the long journey north. But having her bottom bared in front of the whole court of Windhelm was more than she had bargained for.
Ilse's undies joined the brief Forsworn fur at her knees, and a massive stinging slap hit her bare cheeks and made her yell. Ulfric's hand covered a LOT of her bottom, and left a large red patch behind. Another smack followed quickly and produced an "Owww!" that echoed through the hall. Even servants began to appear from other chambers to watch the spectacle.
As the hard slaps continued, Ilse felt torn. This was hurting, more than she expected, but the stinging was creating the strangest secondary sensations: the feeling she was about to sneeze; a fear/thrill at how easily she had been up-ended onto his lap, and at being so completely controlled; and then desire! She felt her nipples harden against her fur halter. And the pleasure in her pussy seemed to meet the pain in her bottom and blend with it.
Ulfric's annoyance was also undergoing a change. After the first few punishing smacks, he began to notice the pleasant proportions of the reddening buttocks that were placed across his thighs so invitingly. Ilse's squeals and yelps became endearing - she was a brat, but a cute brat! And her squirming across his lap couldn't help but have a physical effect on him.
He decided to see if those effects could be magnified. He aimed at the centre of the undercurve of Ilse's cheeks, and spanked her there repeatedly, harder than before. He acheived his desired result, hearing her shriek and plead more loudly, and feeling her gentle squirms become a desperate writhing.
In increased pain and ecstasy, Ilse forgot all about the audience. She abandoned all dignity and released her tears. Ulfric gave her a few more spanks as she cried, then stopped and asked "Have you learnt to be respectful and to keep your place in my court?"
"Yes, my Lord" sniffled Ilse. She genuinely did feel a greater wish to obey Ulfric silently than to joke around with him right now. She felt like the spanked brat she truly was.
Ulfric lifted her to her feet. She stood there, fur bottoms and underwear still around her knees, as if waiting for permission to pull them up. All the courtiers and servants on the eastern side of the hall had a clear view of her pubic bush.
So did Ulfric. He was struck by a uniqueness about this young woman. He had only had dealings with two types of females: warriors who served him proudly, and whom he respected for their strength and prowess; and serving girls who feared him too much to speak out of turn. He had sometimes spanked the latter for careless service, and they had screamed and cried under his heavy hand. But there was something different in Ilse's movements and voice during her spanking. And she was no weakling - she had defeated an ice-wraith alone - and yet here she was, standing in a state of submissiveness that overrode her modesty.
In a deep but gentle tone, he told her to dress herself and report to Korvanjund. As she obeyed quickly and left the hall he stared after her, intrigued and aroused.
On their return from retreiving the jagged crown, Galmar gave Ulfric a good report of how useful and brave Ilse had been. Ulfric was holding an evening war-council meeting. He thanked her, relieved that she had proven worthy and had stayed safe.
Ilse had not forgotten her determination to make Ulfric smile. "We were attacked by draugr even skinnier than Elisif" she said. Ulfric was secretly amused, not so much at the weak joke, but by the cheerful insolence in how Ilse said it. But he had to stay serious in front of his senior officers, who were as dour as he normally was. "Not now, we have serious matters to discuss", he chided in his deep tones. "There's still the question of Whiterun to decide."
Ilse couldn't care less about Galmar and the other officers, or the table with its silly flags all over it. "Oh, you mean Balgruuf", she wittered on. "He thinks he's so tough, sitting under a dragon's skull. I bet if it fell down in front of him, he'd scream. And that Irileth! The way she coddles him, I wouldn't be surprised to find him sucking on her tit."
One or two of the officers chortled a little, despite themselves. Ulfric suppressed a smile and said evenly "My friends, this conference is in recess." Then like lightning, he grabbed Ilse's wrist. He began to drag her, not towards the throne, but towards the stone steps leading to his private chambers. Ilse gave a show of resistance, her feet skittering on the tile floor as she was pulled along.
In the Jarl's chamber, he sat on the bed and stood Ilse in front of him holding her elbows with both hands, at arm's length. "Despite what you may be thinking" he said, "I HAVE brought you here to punish you".
Ilse switched 'modes' in an instant, from brat to submissive. "Yes, my Lord" she cooed.
"You cannot disrupt councils of war. Now take off your clothing!" Ilse took his command literally. She threw off both halves of her fur 'bikini' and then the pale brown underwear beneath. She stood naked, head bowed and hands by her sides, in front of Ulfric. In unspoken command, Ulfric tapped his thigh, and she stepped to his right and stretched herself as far over his lap as she could manage. Her bare bottom was perfectly placed over his thighs.
With no real anger in him this time, Ulfric began Ilse's spanking more softly. She gasped and moaned. Then as she warmed up, he began harder smacks. Again her squirming lit a fire in him, but it was accompanied by a deeper pleasure - this was a resourceful young woman who had fought well for him, and here she was naked over his knee in full submission.
He began some slow but very hard spanks with his broad hand. "Oww! Sir! Please! Yeow, oww! My Lord!" Tears leaked from Ilse's eyes, but again she was experiencing a release that was as full of emotional and physical pleasure as anything else.
At last, Ulfric stopped spanking, effortlessly turned her over and sat her up, so she was sitting on his lap. Her arms reached for his neck right away and Ulfric hugged her close, some of her tears wiping off onto his shoulder. Then they were enwrapped in a long searching kiss.
His right hand came to her breasts, palming them and pinching her nipples hard enough to make her gasp. Ilse trembled and parted her thighs, inviting him lower. His sturdy fingers probed her, outside then in, producing short high-pitched moans that were heard through the chamber door.
"Disarm me" commanded Ulfric. Ilse slipped off his lap. He stood, and she removed his axe and unstrapped his armor. This was normally the duty of a squire, but Ulfric determined to transfer the boy to other duties and let it be done by this naked girl from now on. Ulfric was turned away from Ilse when she removed his last garment. She swallowed hard when she revealed his round and muscular buttocks.
It was evening, and without turning around, Ulfric told her to blow out the candle and get into the bed. She obeyed, and in the darkness Ulfric joined her under the covers. This was why Ilse was taken by surprise when the critical moment came. His entry didn't quite hurt her, but she felt stretched, filled to capacity. As his thrusts began, her clit and every inner surface was getting it's full share of attention. As she panted and gasped, his bass voice was saying "My Love!". Between deep breaths she answered. "Mmm. Ulfric! My Lord!"
Afterwards as they clung to each other, he said "I fight for those I hold in my arms". She responded "I will do anything you command, my Jarl, my King!"
And she meant it.
END
Skyrim: Punished by Astrid
[Based on the Skyrim RPG game, Assassins Guild characters. First written for skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com, where people request stories with particular characters and kinks from the game. I filled four - one will be posted later because I did a series of illustrations for it. The first one asked for F/F caning & groping involving sexy assassin Astrid, with the first line supplied. Explanation of the epilogue - the first Guild HQ was burnt down and Astrid was killed.]
"You've paid your debt, but you still need to be punished!"
Dovahkiin looked wide-eyed at Astrid. She was in awe of her Dark Brotherhood leader. Ever since she had first seen this cool sexy woman sitting on a shelf up in the corner of the old cabin, she had felt a need to obey. And Dovahkiin's submissive side was not easily aroused. Anyone who tried to boss her around was likely to get a dagger or an arrow where they wanted it least.
But not Astrid! Even when she had angrily denounced Dovahkiin for breaking the Brotherhood rules, the young wood-elf had just wanted to fall at her feet. Only a need to look strong in front of the other assassins had prevented her. And now Astrid was talking about punishment - it never even crossed Dovahkiin's mind to object.
"Come this way" commanded Astrid, and grabbed the Bosmer's wrist. She led the way down the steps to the dining hall. Along the way, little Babette saw what was happening. Her vampiric teeth appeared in a grin, and she clapped her hands delightedly. "Ooh, a punishment" she giggled, and then shouted to the others "Hey everybody, it's bloodgrass time"! Dovahkiin wondered what that could mean.
All the members of the Brotherhood in residence at the time followed them into the dining room. Arnbjorn cleared half the table, moving the utensils to the other end. Festus, in his usual grouchy manner, said "About time! It's just what this insolent newcomer deserves."
Astrid pointed to the leggings of Dovahkiin's Brotherhood uniform. "Remove those", she commanded simply.
"By the Eight!" thought the Bosmer. "In front of everybody?" But disobeying Astrid was no more possible for her than levitating to the ceiling. As she disrobed, Arnbjorn laid a long, strange woven stick on the table.
Astrid pushed her forward and down, so she was bending over the end of the table. Then Dovahkiin gasped as her light brown underwear was grasped and suddenly pulled down to her ankles, then off. She would have killed anyone else - but it was Astrid's nimble fingers that had bared her behind to the assembly.
The half-naked elf's humiliation was doubled when there was a jingle of bells and Cicero the jester's voice was heard. "Yes, that's right, bare bottoms, mmmm! The Mother wants naughty sisters to be spanked, yes!"
Astrid picked up the strange stick and held it in front of Dovahkiin's eyes. "Like it, darling?" she crooned. "It's made of bloodgrass strands, woven together then hardened in resin. But it's still supple." She swished it through the air - the sound of a sword being drawn was far less frightening.
"Move your legs wider apart" ordered Astrid. Some of the brethren, including Babette, were standing right behind her. But as if under a Command spell, Dovahkiin parted her legs wide, providing a stark exhibition of female Bosmer anatomy.
For a moment the only sound was Lis the spider, rustling in the adjoining room. Then there was another swish, a whap, and a ferocious pain blazed across Dovahkiin's bared behind. Her mouth and eyes opened wide in shock. Festus grunted in approval.
Another swish, and the bloodgrass cane struck again, doubling the young wood-elf's pain. She yelled aloud. Nazir had taken a seat near her head, and now he placed his hand on hers in a comforting gesture. "Just take your punishment" he said gently, "it will all be over soon".
As the red lines accumulated on the wood-elf's skin, and the Sanctuary echoed with her cries, Cicero danced a jig. "Stripey, stripey! The Mother likes the pretty pattern, yes!"
But Dovahkiin's concentration was all on Astrid. As another firey line was scorched into her rear, she became conscious that the stinging and the heat were travelling down between her legs, and becoming a different sensation entirely. Her pelvic region became a simultaneous site of pain and extreme pleasure that she wouldn't have believed possible. She gave a long moan.
Astrid was not dull. She recognized the nature of the sound. "Oh, it's like that, is it?" Dovahkiin couldn't see if she was smiling, but there was some chuckling from amongst the other assassins. Just when the wood-elf thought that no sensation could possibly electrify her body further, she felt Astrid's fingers touch her wide-spread vulva. This would have been pure ecstasy, she thought, if it was happening in private! But in front of the others? Her face grew as red as her other end.
"If the bloodgrass cane isn't going to punish you much, you can atone by providing a humiliating show!" declared Astrid. A reflex made Dovahkiin start to close her thighs against Astrid's probing hand. "Don't you dare!" shouted Astrid, and switched back to the cane, bringing it down three times in rapid succession on her victim's bottom and upper thighs. The Bosmer screeched in renewed pain and parted her legs as far as they would go. Then the fingers returned, pushing further inside her, then probing for her clit. She tried to restrain her moans and the gentle squirming of her hips in front of all these people, but to no avail.
She heard a giggle from Babette, and begged "At least not in front of the child!"
"I'm 200 years old" chortled Babette. "Do you think I've never seen a pussy getting wet before?"
"I am NOT getting wet!" Dovahkiin protested. Astrid held up her hand before the assembly and stroked her thumb across her fingers. The action was clearly lubricated and slippery. "Telling lies" said Astrid. "That must be punished". She gave the wood-elf girl a cut of the cane across the underside of her buttocks that made her howl.
Then Astrid began a maddening cycle of bringing Dovahkiin near a climax with her fingers, but stopping just in time and switching to the bloodgrass cane. The Bosmer's mind started to trip out - she was going to a more way-out state of consciousness than any skooma or moon-sugar could achieve.
Finally, Nazir said "I think she's paid the price". Astrid finished with one very hard painful swipe of the cane, but then said "Punishment concluded. Well taken, newcomer!" and kept her fingers caressing the wood-elf's little bud until her body trembled on the table in satisfaction. There was a substantial wet patch on the edge of the table that would have to be wiped off before the next meal!
Dovahkiin stood and faced Astrid, her eyes wet with tears - of pain but also of gratitude. She desperately wanted her admired leader to hug her, but Astrid was standing with the bloodgrass instrument under her arm like a swagger stick. Dovahkiin searched for the right thing to say to her. It couldn't be too submissive - that would be too weak, and Astrid valued strength. Putting on a brave smile beneath her reddened eyes, she asked "Can we get back to work now?"
It was exactly the right call. Astrid tossed the cane onto the table and embraced her. "That's right, my dear, all is forgiven." Dovahkiin positively melted.
Epilogue:
Months later, Dovahkiin strode around the rejuvenated Dawnstar sanctuary. Her feelings were of determination in the face of tragic loss. The memory of the death of Astrid, and its manner, were agonizing. And there had been the dangerous moment when her husband Arnbjorn had been severely injured, and it would have been easy to... But she loved Astrid too much to hurt her in any way - until her final request.
As new leader of the Brotherhood, Dovahkiin had one way to fight her sorrow. She would follow in the footsteps of the woman she loved, making sure that the Sanctuary thrived and was safe. She would keep showing her love, through imitation.
Amongst a pile of unsorted gear, she spotted some resin-impregnated bloodgrass sticking out. She drew the cane from the pile and put it under her arm, in the same way Astrid used to. Babette saw her, and said "I guess you're in charge of that now".
"Yes" said Dovahkiin, and swished it through the air. "So if there's any breach of the restored Five Tenets..."
Babette gulped. "I'll be good" she squeaked.
END
"You've paid your debt, but you still need to be punished!"
Dovahkiin looked wide-eyed at Astrid. She was in awe of her Dark Brotherhood leader. Ever since she had first seen this cool sexy woman sitting on a shelf up in the corner of the old cabin, she had felt a need to obey. And Dovahkiin's submissive side was not easily aroused. Anyone who tried to boss her around was likely to get a dagger or an arrow where they wanted it least.
But not Astrid! Even when she had angrily denounced Dovahkiin for breaking the Brotherhood rules, the young wood-elf had just wanted to fall at her feet. Only a need to look strong in front of the other assassins had prevented her. And now Astrid was talking about punishment - it never even crossed Dovahkiin's mind to object.
"Come this way" commanded Astrid, and grabbed the Bosmer's wrist. She led the way down the steps to the dining hall. Along the way, little Babette saw what was happening. Her vampiric teeth appeared in a grin, and she clapped her hands delightedly. "Ooh, a punishment" she giggled, and then shouted to the others "Hey everybody, it's bloodgrass time"! Dovahkiin wondered what that could mean.
All the members of the Brotherhood in residence at the time followed them into the dining room. Arnbjorn cleared half the table, moving the utensils to the other end. Festus, in his usual grouchy manner, said "About time! It's just what this insolent newcomer deserves."
Astrid pointed to the leggings of Dovahkiin's Brotherhood uniform. "Remove those", she commanded simply.
"By the Eight!" thought the Bosmer. "In front of everybody?" But disobeying Astrid was no more possible for her than levitating to the ceiling. As she disrobed, Arnbjorn laid a long, strange woven stick on the table.
Astrid pushed her forward and down, so she was bending over the end of the table. Then Dovahkiin gasped as her light brown underwear was grasped and suddenly pulled down to her ankles, then off. She would have killed anyone else - but it was Astrid's nimble fingers that had bared her behind to the assembly.
The half-naked elf's humiliation was doubled when there was a jingle of bells and Cicero the jester's voice was heard. "Yes, that's right, bare bottoms, mmmm! The Mother wants naughty sisters to be spanked, yes!"
Astrid picked up the strange stick and held it in front of Dovahkiin's eyes. "Like it, darling?" she crooned. "It's made of bloodgrass strands, woven together then hardened in resin. But it's still supple." She swished it through the air - the sound of a sword being drawn was far less frightening.
"Move your legs wider apart" ordered Astrid. Some of the brethren, including Babette, were standing right behind her. But as if under a Command spell, Dovahkiin parted her legs wide, providing a stark exhibition of female Bosmer anatomy.
For a moment the only sound was Lis the spider, rustling in the adjoining room. Then there was another swish, a whap, and a ferocious pain blazed across Dovahkiin's bared behind. Her mouth and eyes opened wide in shock. Festus grunted in approval.
Another swish, and the bloodgrass cane struck again, doubling the young wood-elf's pain. She yelled aloud. Nazir had taken a seat near her head, and now he placed his hand on hers in a comforting gesture. "Just take your punishment" he said gently, "it will all be over soon".
As the red lines accumulated on the wood-elf's skin, and the Sanctuary echoed with her cries, Cicero danced a jig. "Stripey, stripey! The Mother likes the pretty pattern, yes!"
But Dovahkiin's concentration was all on Astrid. As another firey line was scorched into her rear, she became conscious that the stinging and the heat were travelling down between her legs, and becoming a different sensation entirely. Her pelvic region became a simultaneous site of pain and extreme pleasure that she wouldn't have believed possible. She gave a long moan.
Astrid was not dull. She recognized the nature of the sound. "Oh, it's like that, is it?" Dovahkiin couldn't see if she was smiling, but there was some chuckling from amongst the other assassins. Just when the wood-elf thought that no sensation could possibly electrify her body further, she felt Astrid's fingers touch her wide-spread vulva. This would have been pure ecstasy, she thought, if it was happening in private! But in front of the others? Her face grew as red as her other end.
"If the bloodgrass cane isn't going to punish you much, you can atone by providing a humiliating show!" declared Astrid. A reflex made Dovahkiin start to close her thighs against Astrid's probing hand. "Don't you dare!" shouted Astrid, and switched back to the cane, bringing it down three times in rapid succession on her victim's bottom and upper thighs. The Bosmer screeched in renewed pain and parted her legs as far as they would go. Then the fingers returned, pushing further inside her, then probing for her clit. She tried to restrain her moans and the gentle squirming of her hips in front of all these people, but to no avail.
She heard a giggle from Babette, and begged "At least not in front of the child!"
"I'm 200 years old" chortled Babette. "Do you think I've never seen a pussy getting wet before?"
"I am NOT getting wet!" Dovahkiin protested. Astrid held up her hand before the assembly and stroked her thumb across her fingers. The action was clearly lubricated and slippery. "Telling lies" said Astrid. "That must be punished". She gave the wood-elf girl a cut of the cane across the underside of her buttocks that made her howl.
Then Astrid began a maddening cycle of bringing Dovahkiin near a climax with her fingers, but stopping just in time and switching to the bloodgrass cane. The Bosmer's mind started to trip out - she was going to a more way-out state of consciousness than any skooma or moon-sugar could achieve.
Finally, Nazir said "I think she's paid the price". Astrid finished with one very hard painful swipe of the cane, but then said "Punishment concluded. Well taken, newcomer!" and kept her fingers caressing the wood-elf's little bud until her body trembled on the table in satisfaction. There was a substantial wet patch on the edge of the table that would have to be wiped off before the next meal!
Dovahkiin stood and faced Astrid, her eyes wet with tears - of pain but also of gratitude. She desperately wanted her admired leader to hug her, but Astrid was standing with the bloodgrass instrument under her arm like a swagger stick. Dovahkiin searched for the right thing to say to her. It couldn't be too submissive - that would be too weak, and Astrid valued strength. Putting on a brave smile beneath her reddened eyes, she asked "Can we get back to work now?"
It was exactly the right call. Astrid tossed the cane onto the table and embraced her. "That's right, my dear, all is forgiven." Dovahkiin positively melted.
Epilogue:
Months later, Dovahkiin strode around the rejuvenated Dawnstar sanctuary. Her feelings were of determination in the face of tragic loss. The memory of the death of Astrid, and its manner, were agonizing. And there had been the dangerous moment when her husband Arnbjorn had been severely injured, and it would have been easy to... But she loved Astrid too much to hurt her in any way - until her final request.
As new leader of the Brotherhood, Dovahkiin had one way to fight her sorrow. She would follow in the footsteps of the woman she loved, making sure that the Sanctuary thrived and was safe. She would keep showing her love, through imitation.
Amongst a pile of unsorted gear, she spotted some resin-impregnated bloodgrass sticking out. She drew the cane from the pile and put it under her arm, in the same way Astrid used to. Babette saw her, and said "I guess you're in charge of that now".
"Yes" said Dovahkiin, and swished it through the air. "So if there's any breach of the restored Five Tenets..."
Babette gulped. "I'll be good" she squeaked.
END
The Philosophy of 'Who Gets the Spanking?'
[Used the Avril character from 'Ladies Spanking Club' for this send-up of Ethics studies. Feel free to skip the 'Technical Blurb' sections if you just want the story.]
DILEMMA 1: When Avril was young, she once had the bad luck to be standing at the entrance to the girls' shower-block at her boarding school, at the worst possible time. To her left were the shower cubicles, where her friend Barbara was enjoying an illicit wank, stroking her clit with her eyes closed contentedly. To her right were the changing rooms where more of her friends - Connie, Dawn and Eve - were puffing away on smuggled cigarettes.
Just then Miss Fox, a much-feared teacher, entered the facility, walked past Avril and began to turn to the right. Avril's three friends were in imminent danger of a bare-bottom spanking with a gym shoe. This was the penalty for either smoking or self-abuse, and Miss Fox was known to lay it on hard until the unfortunate victim was yelling blue murder and promising not to repeat the offence. There was no time to warn anyone of her approach.
There was only one way Avril could save her three friends' rear ends - by diverting Miss Fox towards the shower stalls, and Barbara. Avril liked Barbara, and it was just not done to snitch on another girl. But if she said "Oh Miss Fox, there's a girl touching herself down there!", only one bare bottom would be reddened instead of three. What should she do?
THE ALTERNATIVES: Let's assume Avril is not like you and me, and wanted to see as FEW of her friends spanked as possible. If she spoke, she would have to hear Barbara's screech as she was caught with her panties down, and then her cries as the gymshoe whacked her bare cheeks again and again. After which, Avril would have to withstand Barbara's accusation that her blazing behind was all Avril's fault. Connie, Dawn and Eve might not even be grateful - they might only listen to the part where Avril snitched, a gross crime among her peers.
If she did nothing, well Miss Fox was heading towards her three friends anyway. At most, she could be accused of negligence in doing nothing to stop the triple spanking that would result. But it burned her conscience to imagine three girls bent over, bunched panties at various heights, while Miss Fox went down the line making them howl. Three red, sore bottoms when there could have only been one.
TECHNICAL BLURB: Utilitarians like Bentham and Mill would say Barbara has to sacrifice her bare behind, for 'the greatest good for the greatest number'. "Sorry Avril, you have to snitch" they would say, "to maximize overall happiness, i.e. achieve the highest number of unspanked bottoms." This consequentialist approach would be opposed by those whose view of moral choice is categorical, i.e. there are some things you don't do, whatever the consequences. "You just don't snitch, Avril", Kant would say. "That's a categorical imperative. So Corrine, Dawn and Eve must take their panties down".
OUTCOME: Avril diverted Miss Fox towards Barbara and listened with trembling lower lip as the poor girl suffered her fate. She tried to comfort her groaning friend afterwards, explaining the situation. "That's all very well" complained Barbara, "but it wasn't YOUR butt that was sacrificed. And Foxy warned me - if I'm caught again, I'll get a bare-bottom caning." The very idea caused all five girls to clutch their behinds defensively.
DILEMMA 2: The following week, unbelievably, the exact same situation occurred again. Except that this time, if Miss Fox was diverted toward the left, she would haul Barbara off to face the ultimate penalty - six thin welts across her bare cheeks.
THE ALTERNATIVES: Last time, Avril easily calculated what was the greater good. But did three slipperings add up to one caning in quantity of suffering? She tried to think of what SHE would rather have - a whacking with that gym shoe three times as long as normal? Surely that would reduce her to blubbering and tears by the end. Or would she rather touch her toes, panties down, and scream as the cane blazed across her tender cheeks six times? But hold on - nobody would have to endure a triple slippering - it would be taken by three different girls. Was a 'spanking shared' worth fewer tears?
TECHNICAL BLURB: To take a utilitarian view this time, Avril would have to engage in a cost-benefit analysis. Number of spankings multiplied by how much it hurts, and so on. Or she could abandon this approach and let the categorial imperative of not snitching be the deciding factor.
OUTCOME: Avril suddenly realised that she could call Miss Fox a nosey old bitch, to her face, and all four of her friends would be warned of the teacher's presence by Avril's own yelps of pain. She opened her mouth, but the sight of Miss Fox's gymshoe under her arm made Avril's voice freeze up in fear. No sound would come out. So Miss Fox continued into the changing rooms. Soon the facility was full of the yelps and pleadings of three bare-bottomed girls being whacked ferociously.
DILEMMA 3: The following term, Avril and her four friends were in their dorm when a pillow fight erupted. Such giggling, squealing combat was quite common, but this time two of the pillows split and feathers flew everywhere. Just then the dreaded footsteps of Mr Green (known for his painful use of the strap) could be heard coming down the hall. No time to clear up the mess, unless he was diverted. Avril remembered her aborted plan to invite a spanking for the sake of the others. If Mr Green stopped to wallop a bare behind out in the corridor, the feathers could be cleared away. Avril suggested the plan to the others, but just said 'somebody' should be the sacrificial lamb.
THE ALTERNATIVES: There were no immediate volunteers. Should they draw lots? Barbara suggested that Avril should take a strapping for the team, considering what happened last term. But Avril pointed out that Connie apparently had the most resilient posterior, since she yelled and cried the least whenever group spankings were dished out. "Let's vote on it" suggested Eve. There wasn't much time...
TECHNICAL BLURB: If one of the girls had volunteered to run out and barge into Mr Green (effectively taking her panties down and saying 'spank me, you bastard'), this would have constituted consent, thus preserving individual rights. If they had all agreed to draw lots, it would have been a social contract, also a form of consent. Picking Avril because of past unacceptable conduct represents the state's right to punish those who hurt others, e.g. by getting another girl spanked. When Connie was nominated as having the toughest bottom, a taxation system is proposed: take from those who can most afford it for the sake of the others. Finally, a vote would be majority rule, but what about the rights of minorities and individuals? Libertarians say democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for dinner.
OUTCOME: Avril voted for Connie. Everybody else voted for Avril. She could have refused to be conscripted, but realised that if Mr Green entered the room as it was, she would get spanked anyway, along with the others. Shutting the door behind her she ran as fast as she could down the corridor (forbidden), out of bed without her dressing gown (forbidden) and crashed into Mr Green (suicidal at the best of times). Avril was soon bent over with her pyjama bottoms around her ankles. The others swept the feathers under the bed, while through the door the expected sounds came: "Ow! Ow! I'm sorry, Sir! Yeow! Please!"
DILEMMA 4: Dawn was the cleverest of Avril's friends, and it was she who concocted the substance that the girls called 'Hardass'. It was composed of onion pulp, sunburn lotion and a few other things. It's effect was to make the skin a little harder and a little numb. When they were called to a teacher's office, or spankings were otherwise imminent, they would take each other's panties down and smear it on their bottoms liberally. The slipper, the strap or the cane still hurt, but not as much. A lot of tears were saved by this much-valued potion, though a few teachers complained about the girls' new habit of 'eating raw onion'.
One weekend, the girls hopped the school fence to go into town, but were caught returning. "Get your school uniforms back on, and be at the Headmaster's office in fifteen minutes" said the groundskeeper who caught them. On returning to the dorm, the girls were horrified to see what a tiny amount of 'Hardass' was left in the last jar. At most, it would cover the buttocks of two of the five girls. But whose? Since the punishment for their crime was six with the cane, bottom bare, none of the girls was feeling generous.
THE ALTERNATIVES: Dawn said that since she invented the potion, she should get top priority. Avril said she had taken the strap to save them all a while ago, so she deserved it most. Eve claimed (to the other girls skepticism) that she had the smallest bottom, so there would be more left over for a second girl. Barbara suggested they share it equally and just cover the undercurve of their behinds, where the cane would hurt most. Other strokes would have to be endured full force, but by everyone - not just an unlucky majority. Connie's idea was to hide until they could make some more - they would get double the strokes, but all of them would get enough Hardass. Some of the girls thought that would end up hurting more. But Connie (who was the biggest and strongest girl) got tired of the argument, grabbed the jar, and pulled down her own panties. A fight broke out.
TECHNICAL BLURB: Dawn is a libertarian who thinks people are entitled to keep the products of their labour. Avril favours redistribution on the basis of a meritocracy. Eve values efficiency and productivity above all other considerations. Barbara, of course, is a socialist. Connie starts as a venture capitalist, but turns militarist (NeoConnie).
OUTCOME: While the others were grappling with Connie, Dawn snatched the jar and then yanked her own underwear to her knees while shouting something about owning the patent. The others diverted their attention to preventing her, and so it went on. At last, the Headmaster, cane in hand, arrived at the dorm to see why they hadn't reported to him. This caused such a startle that the jar flew up in the air then shattered on the floor. The Headmaster was confronted with the sight of a trashed dorm and a struggling heap of girls, several with their panties down. The shrieking and sobbing could be heard right across the campus as they all took twelve cane-strokes, on bottoms not protected by any clothing or any soothing substance.
I hope this has been enlightening.
KajiraGames - the spanking philosopher.
DILEMMA 1: When Avril was young, she once had the bad luck to be standing at the entrance to the girls' shower-block at her boarding school, at the worst possible time. To her left were the shower cubicles, where her friend Barbara was enjoying an illicit wank, stroking her clit with her eyes closed contentedly. To her right were the changing rooms where more of her friends - Connie, Dawn and Eve - were puffing away on smuggled cigarettes.
Just then Miss Fox, a much-feared teacher, entered the facility, walked past Avril and began to turn to the right. Avril's three friends were in imminent danger of a bare-bottom spanking with a gym shoe. This was the penalty for either smoking or self-abuse, and Miss Fox was known to lay it on hard until the unfortunate victim was yelling blue murder and promising not to repeat the offence. There was no time to warn anyone of her approach.
There was only one way Avril could save her three friends' rear ends - by diverting Miss Fox towards the shower stalls, and Barbara. Avril liked Barbara, and it was just not done to snitch on another girl. But if she said "Oh Miss Fox, there's a girl touching herself down there!", only one bare bottom would be reddened instead of three. What should she do?
THE ALTERNATIVES: Let's assume Avril is not like you and me, and wanted to see as FEW of her friends spanked as possible. If she spoke, she would have to hear Barbara's screech as she was caught with her panties down, and then her cries as the gymshoe whacked her bare cheeks again and again. After which, Avril would have to withstand Barbara's accusation that her blazing behind was all Avril's fault. Connie, Dawn and Eve might not even be grateful - they might only listen to the part where Avril snitched, a gross crime among her peers.
If she did nothing, well Miss Fox was heading towards her three friends anyway. At most, she could be accused of negligence in doing nothing to stop the triple spanking that would result. But it burned her conscience to imagine three girls bent over, bunched panties at various heights, while Miss Fox went down the line making them howl. Three red, sore bottoms when there could have only been one.
TECHNICAL BLURB: Utilitarians like Bentham and Mill would say Barbara has to sacrifice her bare behind, for 'the greatest good for the greatest number'. "Sorry Avril, you have to snitch" they would say, "to maximize overall happiness, i.e. achieve the highest number of unspanked bottoms." This consequentialist approach would be opposed by those whose view of moral choice is categorical, i.e. there are some things you don't do, whatever the consequences. "You just don't snitch, Avril", Kant would say. "That's a categorical imperative. So Corrine, Dawn and Eve must take their panties down".
OUTCOME: Avril diverted Miss Fox towards Barbara and listened with trembling lower lip as the poor girl suffered her fate. She tried to comfort her groaning friend afterwards, explaining the situation. "That's all very well" complained Barbara, "but it wasn't YOUR butt that was sacrificed. And Foxy warned me - if I'm caught again, I'll get a bare-bottom caning." The very idea caused all five girls to clutch their behinds defensively.
DILEMMA 2: The following week, unbelievably, the exact same situation occurred again. Except that this time, if Miss Fox was diverted toward the left, she would haul Barbara off to face the ultimate penalty - six thin welts across her bare cheeks.
THE ALTERNATIVES: Last time, Avril easily calculated what was the greater good. But did three slipperings add up to one caning in quantity of suffering? She tried to think of what SHE would rather have - a whacking with that gym shoe three times as long as normal? Surely that would reduce her to blubbering and tears by the end. Or would she rather touch her toes, panties down, and scream as the cane blazed across her tender cheeks six times? But hold on - nobody would have to endure a triple slippering - it would be taken by three different girls. Was a 'spanking shared' worth fewer tears?
TECHNICAL BLURB: To take a utilitarian view this time, Avril would have to engage in a cost-benefit analysis. Number of spankings multiplied by how much it hurts, and so on. Or she could abandon this approach and let the categorial imperative of not snitching be the deciding factor.
OUTCOME: Avril suddenly realised that she could call Miss Fox a nosey old bitch, to her face, and all four of her friends would be warned of the teacher's presence by Avril's own yelps of pain. She opened her mouth, but the sight of Miss Fox's gymshoe under her arm made Avril's voice freeze up in fear. No sound would come out. So Miss Fox continued into the changing rooms. Soon the facility was full of the yelps and pleadings of three bare-bottomed girls being whacked ferociously.
DILEMMA 3: The following term, Avril and her four friends were in their dorm when a pillow fight erupted. Such giggling, squealing combat was quite common, but this time two of the pillows split and feathers flew everywhere. Just then the dreaded footsteps of Mr Green (known for his painful use of the strap) could be heard coming down the hall. No time to clear up the mess, unless he was diverted. Avril remembered her aborted plan to invite a spanking for the sake of the others. If Mr Green stopped to wallop a bare behind out in the corridor, the feathers could be cleared away. Avril suggested the plan to the others, but just said 'somebody' should be the sacrificial lamb.
THE ALTERNATIVES: There were no immediate volunteers. Should they draw lots? Barbara suggested that Avril should take a strapping for the team, considering what happened last term. But Avril pointed out that Connie apparently had the most resilient posterior, since she yelled and cried the least whenever group spankings were dished out. "Let's vote on it" suggested Eve. There wasn't much time...
TECHNICAL BLURB: If one of the girls had volunteered to run out and barge into Mr Green (effectively taking her panties down and saying 'spank me, you bastard'), this would have constituted consent, thus preserving individual rights. If they had all agreed to draw lots, it would have been a social contract, also a form of consent. Picking Avril because of past unacceptable conduct represents the state's right to punish those who hurt others, e.g. by getting another girl spanked. When Connie was nominated as having the toughest bottom, a taxation system is proposed: take from those who can most afford it for the sake of the others. Finally, a vote would be majority rule, but what about the rights of minorities and individuals? Libertarians say democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for dinner.
OUTCOME: Avril voted for Connie. Everybody else voted for Avril. She could have refused to be conscripted, but realised that if Mr Green entered the room as it was, she would get spanked anyway, along with the others. Shutting the door behind her she ran as fast as she could down the corridor (forbidden), out of bed without her dressing gown (forbidden) and crashed into Mr Green (suicidal at the best of times). Avril was soon bent over with her pyjama bottoms around her ankles. The others swept the feathers under the bed, while through the door the expected sounds came: "Ow! Ow! I'm sorry, Sir! Yeow! Please!"
DILEMMA 4: Dawn was the cleverest of Avril's friends, and it was she who concocted the substance that the girls called 'Hardass'. It was composed of onion pulp, sunburn lotion and a few other things. It's effect was to make the skin a little harder and a little numb. When they were called to a teacher's office, or spankings were otherwise imminent, they would take each other's panties down and smear it on their bottoms liberally. The slipper, the strap or the cane still hurt, but not as much. A lot of tears were saved by this much-valued potion, though a few teachers complained about the girls' new habit of 'eating raw onion'.
One weekend, the girls hopped the school fence to go into town, but were caught returning. "Get your school uniforms back on, and be at the Headmaster's office in fifteen minutes" said the groundskeeper who caught them. On returning to the dorm, the girls were horrified to see what a tiny amount of 'Hardass' was left in the last jar. At most, it would cover the buttocks of two of the five girls. But whose? Since the punishment for their crime was six with the cane, bottom bare, none of the girls was feeling generous.
THE ALTERNATIVES: Dawn said that since she invented the potion, she should get top priority. Avril said she had taken the strap to save them all a while ago, so she deserved it most. Eve claimed (to the other girls skepticism) that she had the smallest bottom, so there would be more left over for a second girl. Barbara suggested they share it equally and just cover the undercurve of their behinds, where the cane would hurt most. Other strokes would have to be endured full force, but by everyone - not just an unlucky majority. Connie's idea was to hide until they could make some more - they would get double the strokes, but all of them would get enough Hardass. Some of the girls thought that would end up hurting more. But Connie (who was the biggest and strongest girl) got tired of the argument, grabbed the jar, and pulled down her own panties. A fight broke out.
TECHNICAL BLURB: Dawn is a libertarian who thinks people are entitled to keep the products of their labour. Avril favours redistribution on the basis of a meritocracy. Eve values efficiency and productivity above all other considerations. Barbara, of course, is a socialist. Connie starts as a venture capitalist, but turns militarist (NeoConnie).
OUTCOME: While the others were grappling with Connie, Dawn snatched the jar and then yanked her own underwear to her knees while shouting something about owning the patent. The others diverted their attention to preventing her, and so it went on. At last, the Headmaster, cane in hand, arrived at the dorm to see why they hadn't reported to him. This caused such a startle that the jar flew up in the air then shattered on the floor. The Headmaster was confronted with the sight of a trashed dorm and a struggling heap of girls, several with their panties down. The shrieking and sobbing could be heard right across the campus as they all took twelve cane-strokes, on bottoms not protected by any clothing or any soothing substance.
I hope this has been enlightening.
KajiraGames - the spanking philosopher.
The Importance of Being Cecily
Victoriana by KajiraGames (MF/F, nc switch, birch).
[Today's entries are unillustrated texts, starting with this Oscar Wilde parody. Back to illustrations tomorrow.]
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
3rd May, 1885.
To Algernon Moncreiff Esq.,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
Dear Algy,
How are you, my dear fellow? I trust your pretended visits to your sick friend Bunbury have afforded you plenty of opportunities to get out of town and seek out young ladies, as always.
Sadly, I may have to put an end to my similar scheme. My 'wicked brother Ernest', whom I use to take the blame for all my escapades in town, has become inconvenient. My young ward Cecily has taken rather too much of an interest in him. It is becoming a bore.
By the way, with your reputation for 'Bunburying', I shall take great care that you never meet Cecily. She is excessively pretty and only just eighteen.
Cheerio,
Jack Worthing.
---------------
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
7th May, 1885.
To Miss Cecily Cardew,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.
My dear little Cecily,
May I introduce myself? I am your cousin by adoption, Mr Ernest Worthing. No doubt my brother, as your guardian, has warned you against me as your 'wicked' cousin Ernest. I have to admit I've been a little naughty - in fact, I've been quite bad in my own small way.
However, I feel it a little unfair that your Uncle Jack has never allowed me to meet you. I am sure you would be a good influence on me. Perhaps you might try reforming me! Of course, any correspondence between us would have to be kept secret. Jack would not approve.
Yours sincerely,
Ernest Worthing.
---------------
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
12th May, 1885.
To Mr Ernest Worthing,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
Dear cousin Ernest,
You are under some strange mistake, right from the salutation of your letter. I am not little! In fact, I am more than usually tall for my age. But I _am_ your Cecily. Ever since Uncle Jack told me about you, I have been intrigued by what a 'bad boy' you are, and have dreamed of meeting you.
I'm afraid I must tell you, in the strictest confidence, how your letter has caused me no small inconvenience. I was re-reading it instead of studying my German lessons when my private tutor, Miss Prism, entered the room suddenly. Fortunately, I was able to hide your letter. But Miss Prism saw my inattention to my work and said that this was positively the last straw. She has often scolded me about not paying attention to my lessons (which I hate), and said she would speak immediately to my guardian.
Uncle Jack has also told me that he would have to punish me if my laziness continued. To my dismay, he arrived in the study holding a switch cut from the garden, and Miss Prism by his side. After the most shaming lecture, in which he expressed his disappointment in me, he ordered me to remove my dress and my corsets. I begged him not to hurt me, but Miss Prism began 'assisting' me to remove my clothing.
I was then made to bend over the side of a voluminous armchair, and Miss Prism raised my remaining petticoats. Meanwhile, Uncle Jack swished the supple switch, making a frightening sound. My sit-upon (if I may be so impolite as to mention it) was now bare, and Miss Prism held my arms.
Back when I was at boarding school, it was a matter of pride for us girls to take a spanking or a slippering without 'blubbing'. But I cannot describe the awful sting of that switch when it contacted my bare skin the first time. I struggled to rise or protect my hind-quarters, but Miss Prism is very strong. With a swishing sound, another horrible stripe was added, and I howled and begged forgiveness.
I was given twelve strokes, and at the end I was dropping tears on the armchair and promising over and over that I would pay due attention to my lessons. Uncle Jack said that if I did not behave, he would order Moulton the gardener to make a proper birch, and give me TWO dozen with it.
When I was allowed to rise, I was so intent on clutching my poor stinging behind, I didn't notice that my petticoats had snagged on the arm of the chair, preventing them from falling into place. Therefore when I turned around, I exposed my most secret parts in front of Uncle Jack, and Miss Prism chided me for my immodesty. I was terribly embarrassed!
Thoughts of you, my dearest Ernest, are now my only comfort. Emboldened by my guardian's willingness to punish me, Miss Prism has increased my workload and her vigilance. Horrid geography! Horrid political economy! Horrid, horrid German!
Please write again and advise me in this, my misery.
Yours affectionately,
Cecily.
-----------------
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
13th May, 1885.
To Algernon Moncreiff Esq.,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
Dear Algy,
I have had to delay my plan to fake the death of my 'brother Ernest'. It would be a little too distressing at the moment, after certain consternations concerning my ward. Sadly, I was forced to use a switch to discipline her yesterday. Her inattention to her lessons was reaching such a point, that I became afraid she would turn into one of those frivolous young girls who are such easy targets for bounders and cads.
Nobody knows better than you, dear boy, how easy it is to deceive an uneducated young lady. That is why, despite our friendship, I reiterate that you are not invited to visit here.
See you next time I get to town,
Jack.
-------------------
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
18th May, 1885.
To Miss Cecily Cardew,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.
My dearest Cecily,
I was most distressed to hear of that terrible whipping your guardian and tutor gave you. I am gratified that you confide in me, and if any such thing should happen again, do not hesitate to write to me describing the full particulars. You have a sympathetic ear in me.
If I may offer some practical advice, it is your Uncle Jack's birthday soon. I am sure he would appreciate, more than anything else, a box of good cigars. Such a present would show that your affection and respect for him are not diminished, and help heal any rift between you.
Be sure not to spoil the surprise! Hide the cigars well until your guardian's birthday. A good place would be in a dresser drawer under your most intimate garments, as Jack and even Miss Prism would find it unseemly to rummage around there.
Your dearest friend,
Ernest.
-------------------
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
18th May, 1885.
To John Worthing Esq.,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.
Dear Jack,
Isn't it sad when a nice young lady needs to be punished, for her own good? I sympathize with your need to give your ward a swishing.
But you are right to be vigilant. I have heard of a disturbing trend among high society girls, namely, experimenting with smoking. This can ruin her reputation as a well brought-up lady and must be detected and stopped at all costs. Apparently, these errant girls hide cigarettes or cigars amongst their under-things, believing nobody would be so indelicate as to look there.
Cheerio,
Algernon.
--------------------
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
25th May, 1885.
To Mr Ernest Worthing,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
My sweetest Ernest,
Disaster has struck, and I write with tears upon my cheeks. I also write standing up, as the soreness in my (pardon me) other cheeks is fierce beyond belief.
I purchased some cigars for Uncle Jack and hid them as you suggested. But the next day, he and Miss Prism entered my room, and Uncle Jack instructed her to search my drawers. She found the cigars, of course, and I had no choice but to reveal that they were a gift for him. To my shock, he did not believe me, saying that a friend had warned him of smoking being rife among young ladies.
He then called for Moulton, and I guessed what this meant! All my pleading was in vain as he was sent to the garden and returned some time later with a bunch of birch twigs tied together. I almost fainted just at the sight of it!
Once again, I was disrobed below the waist and held over that awful armchair. I am not ashamed to say I wept upon the first stroke. It was far more painful than before, like being whipped with many switches - I suppose because that's what it was!
My guardian chastised me from waist to mid-thigh with that horrible instrument. I shrieked like a banshee when strokes fell on my tender upper thighs. But I was not allowed up until I had been given the full promised twenty-four.
So, my dear correspondent, I have given you the full description you requested. No doubt you are gratified by this. But now I must come to the part that is not so fortunate for you.
As I was crying and desperately rubbing, Miss Prism set to straightening up my underwear drawer. In the process she discovered the other contraband I had placed there, namely your two letters. She showed them to Uncle Jack, and his face became a mask of fury as he saw the return address on them and their content, especially of the last letter.
Suddenly he hugged me close, and begged my forgiveness. Miss Prism too, after reading the letters in full, cuddled me and kept saying "My poor child"! I am to receive a new dress, hat and shoes of my choice, and Uncle Jack has promised never to whip me again - even if I'm not very attentive to my lessons, which I fear is inevitable.
So I now know who you are, MR MONCREIFF, and I must tell you that Uncle Jack intends to circulate your letters. You will not be able to go 'Bunburying' again, once your true nature is revealed to society. My uncle also intends to show them to your aunt, Lady Bracknell, of whom I believe you are in mortal terror.
However, there is a way you can avoid this fate. Uncle Jack has revoked his 'dis-invitation' of you to the Manor House. If you come here within a week and submit to the same punishment I received, at Miss Prism's hands, the letters will be conveniently lost. As the injured party, I will be allowed to watch your punishment, however humiliating that will be for you.
So what do you say, Algy? Permanent disgrace, or poetic justice? You had better hurry - Miss Prism is swishing the birch most impatiently.
Yours in great satisfaction,
Cecily.
That's 'Miss Cardew' to you!
THE END
[Today's entries are unillustrated texts, starting with this Oscar Wilde parody. Back to illustrations tomorrow.]
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
3rd May, 1885.
To Algernon Moncreiff Esq.,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
Dear Algy,
How are you, my dear fellow? I trust your pretended visits to your sick friend Bunbury have afforded you plenty of opportunities to get out of town and seek out young ladies, as always.
Sadly, I may have to put an end to my similar scheme. My 'wicked brother Ernest', whom I use to take the blame for all my escapades in town, has become inconvenient. My young ward Cecily has taken rather too much of an interest in him. It is becoming a bore.
By the way, with your reputation for 'Bunburying', I shall take great care that you never meet Cecily. She is excessively pretty and only just eighteen.
Cheerio,
Jack Worthing.
---------------
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
7th May, 1885.
To Miss Cecily Cardew,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.
My dear little Cecily,
May I introduce myself? I am your cousin by adoption, Mr Ernest Worthing. No doubt my brother, as your guardian, has warned you against me as your 'wicked' cousin Ernest. I have to admit I've been a little naughty - in fact, I've been quite bad in my own small way.
However, I feel it a little unfair that your Uncle Jack has never allowed me to meet you. I am sure you would be a good influence on me. Perhaps you might try reforming me! Of course, any correspondence between us would have to be kept secret. Jack would not approve.
Yours sincerely,
Ernest Worthing.
---------------
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
12th May, 1885.
To Mr Ernest Worthing,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
Dear cousin Ernest,
You are under some strange mistake, right from the salutation of your letter. I am not little! In fact, I am more than usually tall for my age. But I _am_ your Cecily. Ever since Uncle Jack told me about you, I have been intrigued by what a 'bad boy' you are, and have dreamed of meeting you.
I'm afraid I must tell you, in the strictest confidence, how your letter has caused me no small inconvenience. I was re-reading it instead of studying my German lessons when my private tutor, Miss Prism, entered the room suddenly. Fortunately, I was able to hide your letter. But Miss Prism saw my inattention to my work and said that this was positively the last straw. She has often scolded me about not paying attention to my lessons (which I hate), and said she would speak immediately to my guardian.
Uncle Jack has also told me that he would have to punish me if my laziness continued. To my dismay, he arrived in the study holding a switch cut from the garden, and Miss Prism by his side. After the most shaming lecture, in which he expressed his disappointment in me, he ordered me to remove my dress and my corsets. I begged him not to hurt me, but Miss Prism began 'assisting' me to remove my clothing.
I was then made to bend over the side of a voluminous armchair, and Miss Prism raised my remaining petticoats. Meanwhile, Uncle Jack swished the supple switch, making a frightening sound. My sit-upon (if I may be so impolite as to mention it) was now bare, and Miss Prism held my arms.
Back when I was at boarding school, it was a matter of pride for us girls to take a spanking or a slippering without 'blubbing'. But I cannot describe the awful sting of that switch when it contacted my bare skin the first time. I struggled to rise or protect my hind-quarters, but Miss Prism is very strong. With a swishing sound, another horrible stripe was added, and I howled and begged forgiveness.
I was given twelve strokes, and at the end I was dropping tears on the armchair and promising over and over that I would pay due attention to my lessons. Uncle Jack said that if I did not behave, he would order Moulton the gardener to make a proper birch, and give me TWO dozen with it.
When I was allowed to rise, I was so intent on clutching my poor stinging behind, I didn't notice that my petticoats had snagged on the arm of the chair, preventing them from falling into place. Therefore when I turned around, I exposed my most secret parts in front of Uncle Jack, and Miss Prism chided me for my immodesty. I was terribly embarrassed!
Thoughts of you, my dearest Ernest, are now my only comfort. Emboldened by my guardian's willingness to punish me, Miss Prism has increased my workload and her vigilance. Horrid geography! Horrid political economy! Horrid, horrid German!
Please write again and advise me in this, my misery.
Yours affectionately,
Cecily.
-----------------
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
13th May, 1885.
To Algernon Moncreiff Esq.,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
Dear Algy,
I have had to delay my plan to fake the death of my 'brother Ernest'. It would be a little too distressing at the moment, after certain consternations concerning my ward. Sadly, I was forced to use a switch to discipline her yesterday. Her inattention to her lessons was reaching such a point, that I became afraid she would turn into one of those frivolous young girls who are such easy targets for bounders and cads.
Nobody knows better than you, dear boy, how easy it is to deceive an uneducated young lady. That is why, despite our friendship, I reiterate that you are not invited to visit here.
See you next time I get to town,
Jack.
-------------------
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
18th May, 1885.
To Miss Cecily Cardew,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.
My dearest Cecily,
I was most distressed to hear of that terrible whipping your guardian and tutor gave you. I am gratified that you confide in me, and if any such thing should happen again, do not hesitate to write to me describing the full particulars. You have a sympathetic ear in me.
If I may offer some practical advice, it is your Uncle Jack's birthday soon. I am sure he would appreciate, more than anything else, a box of good cigars. Such a present would show that your affection and respect for him are not diminished, and help heal any rift between you.
Be sure not to spoil the surprise! Hide the cigars well until your guardian's birthday. A good place would be in a dresser drawer under your most intimate garments, as Jack and even Miss Prism would find it unseemly to rummage around there.
Your dearest friend,
Ernest.
-------------------
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town,
18th May, 1885.
To John Worthing Esq.,
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire.
Dear Jack,
Isn't it sad when a nice young lady needs to be punished, for her own good? I sympathize with your need to give your ward a swishing.
But you are right to be vigilant. I have heard of a disturbing trend among high society girls, namely, experimenting with smoking. This can ruin her reputation as a well brought-up lady and must be detected and stopped at all costs. Apparently, these errant girls hide cigarettes or cigars amongst their under-things, believing nobody would be so indelicate as to look there.
Cheerio,
Algernon.
--------------------
The Manor House,
Wilton,
Hertfordshire,
25th May, 1885.
To Mr Ernest Worthing,
5 Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.
My sweetest Ernest,
Disaster has struck, and I write with tears upon my cheeks. I also write standing up, as the soreness in my (pardon me) other cheeks is fierce beyond belief.
I purchased some cigars for Uncle Jack and hid them as you suggested. But the next day, he and Miss Prism entered my room, and Uncle Jack instructed her to search my drawers. She found the cigars, of course, and I had no choice but to reveal that they were a gift for him. To my shock, he did not believe me, saying that a friend had warned him of smoking being rife among young ladies.
He then called for Moulton, and I guessed what this meant! All my pleading was in vain as he was sent to the garden and returned some time later with a bunch of birch twigs tied together. I almost fainted just at the sight of it!
Once again, I was disrobed below the waist and held over that awful armchair. I am not ashamed to say I wept upon the first stroke. It was far more painful than before, like being whipped with many switches - I suppose because that's what it was!
My guardian chastised me from waist to mid-thigh with that horrible instrument. I shrieked like a banshee when strokes fell on my tender upper thighs. But I was not allowed up until I had been given the full promised twenty-four.
So, my dear correspondent, I have given you the full description you requested. No doubt you are gratified by this. But now I must come to the part that is not so fortunate for you.
As I was crying and desperately rubbing, Miss Prism set to straightening up my underwear drawer. In the process she discovered the other contraband I had placed there, namely your two letters. She showed them to Uncle Jack, and his face became a mask of fury as he saw the return address on them and their content, especially of the last letter.
Suddenly he hugged me close, and begged my forgiveness. Miss Prism too, after reading the letters in full, cuddled me and kept saying "My poor child"! I am to receive a new dress, hat and shoes of my choice, and Uncle Jack has promised never to whip me again - even if I'm not very attentive to my lessons, which I fear is inevitable.
So I now know who you are, MR MONCREIFF, and I must tell you that Uncle Jack intends to circulate your letters. You will not be able to go 'Bunburying' again, once your true nature is revealed to society. My uncle also intends to show them to your aunt, Lady Bracknell, of whom I believe you are in mortal terror.
However, there is a way you can avoid this fate. Uncle Jack has revoked his 'dis-invitation' of you to the Manor House. If you come here within a week and submit to the same punishment I received, at Miss Prism's hands, the letters will be conveniently lost. As the injured party, I will be allowed to watch your punishment, however humiliating that will be for you.
So what do you say, Algy? Permanent disgrace, or poetic justice? You had better hurry - Miss Prism is swishing the birch most impatiently.
Yours in great satisfaction,
Cecily.
That's 'Miss Cardew' to you!
THE END
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)