Catherine's Letters

  Lots were once again drawn and two more ladies were called to the platform. Now it appeared to be the turn of a golden-haired girl called Victoria to receive punishment, which would be handed out by a redhead named Ethel.

  Miss Parker produced the sheet upon which Victoria had written her confession, and spent a few moments reading it. ‘So, Victoria,’ she announced, ‘you have once again overspent on the housekeeping allowance given to you by your husband, and you feel nothing short of a stern dose of the cat o’ nine tails will help you mend your ways?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Parker,’ Victoria affirmed in a clear and confident voice. She was a tall, slim, and elegant girl, and I wondered how she would look under the lash. To my immortal shame, Connie, I also wondered how she would appear unclothed!

  ‘And so you shall be whipped,’ Miss Parker told her. Then she added, ‘And also birched. No Victoria, do not protest, this is the third occasion you have confessed to this sin. It is clear to all of us that you are in need of more persuasion if you are to be cured of this fault. Present yourself for punishment.’

  Victoria duly bent over the frame, her long arms and legs easily accommodated by its height. Miss Parker and her assistants strapped her into place, as Ethel, a much shorter and rounder girl, picked up a cat o’ nine tails of most evil appearance. Once Victoria was lashed down, Ethel lifted her skirts and pulled down her drawers with what could be said to be undue haste. Victoria’s naked, alabaster-white bottom and thighs were now presented to us in the most uncompromising fashion.

  Standing back to measure her stroke, Ethel then swung the tails of the whip about her head, making a swishing noise which I believe was intended to alarm Victoria. It appeared to work, for the blonde’s lean legs began to tremble. Ethel brought the thongs down across her peach of a bottom. There was a scraping sound, as Victoria let out a gasp, before calling “first stroke”. There was a tiny shake in her voice, but she was evidently not yet in tears, unlike Dominique, whom I could still see dabbing at her eyes with a fine lace handkerchief.

  Indeed, Victoria continued to take her flogging most stoically, even as Ethel laid on stroke after stroke. She had counted off the 20th when it stopped and her lovely tormentor put down the cat. I believed that to be the end of the punishment, but it was only to provide her with a change of target. With a nod from Miss Parker, Ethel rolled Victoria’s stockings down to her boots, thus contrasting the whiteness of her unmarked flesh with the redness of her bottom. But it was not to stay this way for long: taking up the cat once more, Ethel whipped the tender area of Victoria’s thighs and calves, an operation which caused their owner far more distress than the flogging of her buttocks.

  But still she counted them off, and had reached 40 before Ethel called a halt for a second time. Now the cat was replaced on the tray, but only so that the pretty redhead could select one of the birches. After some careful consideration she pulled one, dripping, from the bucket and shook the remaining drops from its twigs. ‘A full 20 strokes for her,’ Miss Parker announced from her seat, ‘and spread them well so that you build up the heat in her bottom and thighs.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Parker,’ Ethel replied, before returning her attention to Victoria. She raised the rod and held it steady, before flicking it down onto the centre of her bottom. Victoria let out a moan before counting off “first stroke”. The second was delivered only a few moments later, then the third and the fourth, and so on, giving Victoria barely enough time to count them. It seemed to be causing her less distress than the cat, and I wondered why the birch was such a feared instrument of correction. Then I looked more closely at the myriad of little scratches on Victoria’s beautiful skin and realised how much the agony must be mounting within her. Indeed, by the time she reached “tenth stroke”, there was a strained quality to her voice; by 15, she was in tears; and by the time, with great relief, she reached 20, she was sobbing heartily as Dominique had done throughout her punishment.

  Ethel replaced the birch, now somewhat frayed, in the bucket, and returned Victoria’s clothing to a state of decency. Miss Parker and her assistants released the poor girl, who rose gingerly and immediately pulled from her sleeve a delicate lace handkerchief, with which she wiped her eyes. Miss Parker congratulated her on her fortitude. Then, to my utter surprise, Ethel and Victoria embraced, kissing one another on the cheeks like old friends, rather than as one woman who had just given the other a severe dose of discipline.

  They returned to their seats. I felt Miss Prior squeeze my hand once again. As Miss Parker drew two more names, I was suddenly gripped by a horrid and terrifying thought. Was my name in there? Would I be expected to climb onto that stage, bend over the whipping frame, and allow myself to be tied down? Would my own bottom be bared for whatever horrible sentence Miss Parker chose to pass upon me? The very idea filled me with dread, making the blood run like ice in my veins!

  But I was to be spared that ignominy. As two more women were called to the stage Miss Prior rose and pulled me gently to my feet. I was surprised, and not a little disappointed as, my fears notwithstanding, I wished to view the rest of the performance, but Miss Prior seemed most insistent that I had seen enough.

  I was led from the room, causing a few heads to turn, briefly, from the exciting tableau about to be enacted upon the stage. I expected to be taken back downstairs to be transported home. Imagine my shock, then, to find myself being taken up to the third storey of the building. As with all town houses, this floor accommodated the bedrooms; four of them, and all quite large. Miss Prior pulled me along the landing to the furthest one, the only one with a closed door. She opened it without knocking, and drew me inside, shutting the door behind us.

  I stared at the sight which met my eyes. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a large bed, a chair, and a nightstand upon which stood an oil lamp, providing the room’s only illumination. What it illuminated was the fair serving maid who had caught my eye downstairs, except that now she no longer wore her maid’s uniform. Stripped to her chemise and drawers, she stood on the far side of the bed, her expression a mystery to me on account of her facing the wall with her hands upon her pretty head.

  ‘This is Betty,’ Miss Prior said, in answer to my unasked question. ‘I believe you have briefly seen her performing her duties downstairs. She has been sent up here because she has been wicked. Miss Parker caught her in a compromising situation with the dairy boy, did she not, Betty?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ the small figure mumbled.

  ‘She shall, of course, be punished in the traditional way,’ Miss Prior went on. Given the girl’s state of undress I had no doubt what this meant, and a thrill ran through my being when I realised I was to be an intimate witness to her flogging. But my heart sank at my governess’s next words. ‘However, Miss Parker and I both feel that Betty would also benefit greatly from seeing how a lady of noble and superior birth endures a similar punishment.’

  Miss Prior intended to whip me too! And in front of a common serving girl, no less! ‘But miss,’ I wailed, ‘I am innocent! I have done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Corporal punishment, whether or not it is merited, is never wasted. It will be an edifying experience for you, Catherine, from which you may learn how to discipline domestic staff. Now, remove your outer clothes until you are in the same state as Betty, then you may join her at the wall.’

  If only Miss Prior knew that I had already begun my training in the discipline of servants! But I could say nothing, and simply began to remove my dress, a difficult operation when one has no maid to help.

  Some minutes later, I took my place against the wall, linking my fingers and putting my hands on my head in the same fashion as Betty. She turned her head and gave me a weak smile, something I very much appreciated. Despite the gulf in our social backgrounds, we were now companions in our coming ordeal.

  Miss Prior left us in that humiliating position for some time, and I began to feel the blood rushing to my head. At the same time I could hear her pulling back the bedclothes
and removing something which had been stored there, obviously the implement of our correction. I wondered what it could be – whip, strap or maybe even a birch!

  I was not to be kept guessing for much longer. Miss Prior eventually told us to turn about, which we did, our hands still on our heads. ‘You shall both be spanked before I give you this,’ she said, holding up a long, slim cane, ‘and I shall begin with you, Catherine, so that Betty can learn how to deport herself when it is her turn. Come here.’

  With a sinking heart and trembling legs I walked toward Miss Prior, who placed the cane on top of the coverlet. Taking me by the hand, she bent me gently but firmly across the bed, so that my feet remained flat upon the floor while my bubbies were crushed against the sheets. I felt her hands part the slit in my drawers, fully exposing my posteriors. Stretching out my arms in front of me, I gripped the coverlet for all I was worth and held my breath, anticipating the first blow.

  Miss Prior’s hand soon landed with its usual briskness, the sound of the slap on my poor naked bottom ringing around the room. I gasped, but steeled myself for the next blow, keenly aware of the role I was being asked to play. Should Betty see me being nought but a cry-baby under a simple spanking then she might not be persuaded to take the punishment she actually deserved.

  I did my utmost to take my spanking well, although my Governess seemed determined to test me to my very limits, laying on with her hard palm with far more strength than she ever seemed to in the schoolroom. I did, however, manage to endure it, with little more than stifled sobs. Eventually, it was over, and I was told to stand once again, my hands upon my head. Betty was then ordered over the bed and her bottom rudely exposed in the same manner mine had been. I watched, fascinated, as Miss Prior began to spank her without ceremony or warning.

  Miss Prior smacked poor Betty’s bottom equally as hard as mine had most recently been dealt with, but the naughty maid bore it well. I began to suspect she was no stranger to such discipline, but, given the scenes I had witnessed downstairs, it would be no surprise to learn that Betty frequently found herself bare-bottomed over Miss Parker’s lap. Indeed, I wondered if she was guilty of any crime at all. Could what I had been told be pure fiction, a pretext for Miss Prior to give us both an undeserved punishment? And if so, what were her motives?

  As I pondered these questions I watched Betty’s bottom grow pink, then red, then crimson, but still she did not ask for mercy, indeed she barely called out at all. With a final flurry of spanks which seemed particularly severe, Miss Prior finished the job, before issuing the curt order, ‘On your feet, you wicked girl.’

  Betty quickly obeyed, taking up her place beside me once again. I stole a glance at her face. Although there were the tracks of tears on her cheeks and her eyes were red, there also seemed to be a sparkle which had not been there before.

  Miss Prior now faced us. ‘For the second part of your punishment, simple pain will not be sufficient. I require your total obedience and humiliation. Remove the rest of your clothes.’ I was stunned Connie, as you will imagine. The very idea of having to strip naked in front of a common street wench was appalling! I began to realise the extent of the suffering I had inflicted upon poor Molly when I punished her in my room.

  I hesitated, even as Betty’s trembling fingers began to unbutton her chemise. My tardiness was much to the displeasure of Miss Prior, who barked at me to do as I was told. If I have learnt nothing else, Connie, it is that this woman is not to be disobeyed. As Betty threw off her chemise, exposing a small but lovely pair of breasts, and then began to unlace her drawers, I too started to remove my underwear.

  Soon we had both discarded our chemises, drawers, shoes and stockings, and stood quite naked in front of Miss Prior. Betty had returned her hands to her head and so I did likewise, as much as I would have loved to use them to conceal my spot and my bubbies. I did, however, take the opportunity to study Betty’s body as closely as I could without staring. She was a lovely girl, the tiny triangle of hair at her altar of Venus the same fair shade as that on her head. Her stomach was flat, her legs slim, and the white, unblemished complexion of her skin showed her to be a stranger to outdoor work, a rare commodity among working-class girls.

  There we stood, Connie, side by side, the serving girl and the lady, now with all the trappings of our respective classes stripped away. Any stranger entering the room –not that any would, I hoped! – would be unable to say which was which, such is the degrading effect of nudity upon a girl about to be punished. But the social gulf between us was destined to be closed even further by Miss Prior’s next act.

  ‘Up on the bed, both of you.’ I stared at Miss Prior in disbelief, as I believe Betty also did. ‘Come along, we don’t have all night,’ she clucked, as she repeated the order. It seemed she wanted us to kneel side by side, with our bottoms presented to her. After another moment’s hesitation Betty moved to obey, and I had no choice but to follow her example. Soon we were crouched on all fours, my right hip touching her left. I felt her hand creep onto mine, and responded by entwining my fingers with hers. It was a comfort to us both in our coming ordeal.

  Miss Prior made minor adjustments to our positions, dipping our backs a little further to push our bottoms out even more. I was acutely aware of how embarrassing the situation was for us, and what we would both be exposing to her. When she was happy with our presentation, she took up the cane and readied herself.

  The cane tapped my bottom first, and was then lifted. There followed that terrible whistle which indicated it was about to land. I yelled as it did, a stinging cut across my already sore bottom, and I squeezed Betty’s hand tightly. I was most heartened when she squeezed back. A second later I heard the whistle again, and braced myself for my second stroke, but it did not come.

  Instead, I felt Betty’s body jump forward, and she let out a cry of pain. My relief at not being the recipient was short-lived, though, when the cane scorched a line across my cheeks. Then it was Betty’s turn again, and she let out a howl as Miss Prior caned her without mercy.

  On it went, Connie, until Betty and I had taken at least a dozen strokes, and maybe more, first one then the other. We grew used to the rhythm, first our own pain, then the other’s, a momentary escape lasting only a few seconds, but enough to allow us to prepare for the next stroke. We never grew used to the pain, though, as Miss Prior caned us most thoroughly. I cannot speak for Betty’s experience, of course, but there is no doubt it was the most severe thrashing Miss Prior has ever given me and, I hope most earnestly, ever will.

  When it was over, Betty and I were both sobbing. Miss Prior left us and we composed ourselves as we remained in our crouching stance. Betty was the first to move, and I felt her smooth skin slide across mine as she straightened the upper half of her body. I followed until we were both kneeling upright on the bed. We faced each other and embraced, sisters in suffering, despite the wide gulf in our status. Then, Connie, the most remarkable thing occurred.

  We cuddled for a minute or two, our arms about one another’s necks and our naked bosoms pushing against each other. I must confess to finding the situation quite stimulating, and even feeling a slight stiffening of my nipples. Perhaps that is why I did not resist when Betty moved her mouth up to mine and kissed me on the lips. Nor did I protest when she deepened the kiss. I felt her tongue push past my lips and into my mouth, something I found most strange but also intensely stimulating. I reciprocated with my own tongue, pushing it back against hers, and soon the two little organs were intertwined.

  In the meantime her hands had moved from my shoulders and were gently stroking my back, a slight tickling which I found very enjoyable. I winced, though, when she palmed my whipped bottom. She lightened the touch and I was soon sighing with pleasure as she soothed my pain away.

  I must confess to a touch of disappointment when she broke off the kiss. I believed she was about to push me away when she lifted her hands and placed them back on my shoulders, but far from it. What she actually did was to push m
e down so that I came to lie on my back. She leant over me, and I saw her breasts dangle sweetly, just before I kissed her once again, and just as affectionately as before, on the mouth. Betty began to work her way down my face, kissing my chin, then onto my throat and the upper slopes of my breasts. My heart was all a-flutter as she took the nipple of my right bubby in her full, red lips. She sucked as eagerly as any new-born babe ever will, and I felt the thick bud harden even further in her mouth. With a lingering suck, she allowed it to slip from her lips, before bestowing exactly the same treatment upon its neighbour.

  My head was by now spinning, and the blood coursing through my veins. Each of my nipples was treated to another exotic kiss, before Betty planted one in the valley between my breasts, exquisitely tickling the sensitive skin. Her lips continued the trail down my belly, and both her hands once more cupped the tender half-moons of my buttocks. As her chin tickled the little hairs which guard my spot I divined her intentions. Oh Connie, I know I should have resisted such a scandalous assault, but I found I had no earthly wish to. Rather, it seemed perfectly natural to raise my hips and part my thighs a little further to allow the pretty maid better access.

  I soon felt the by-now familiar tension increasing in my loins. Betty’s tongue was small, quick and clever, and she seemed to know exactly what to do to increase my pleasure. I was bitterly upset when she ceased her work, but it turned out to be merely a change of position on her part. Turning about to face my toes, she threw her left leg over my head and squatted backwards. I was thus presented, to my utter astonishment, with a view of her cunny, just inches from my nose.