Anonymous - Frank and I

“You behave in many ways like a child. You require discipline. Now prepare yourself for punishment; and lie down, at once.”

The big tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and she heaved a deep sigh; but, without another word, she put her hands under her clothes and unfastened her drawers; then gathering all her dainty skirts up above her waist, she extended herself at full length upon the sofa. Holding her down with my left arm across her loins, I began to spank her smartly; the tears streamed down her cheeks, and she whimpered, moaned, and wriggled with pain under the stinging slaps, which, as they fell on her firm rebounding flesh, sounded like pistol shots. But she bore her punishment with fortitude, never once screaming, nor did she attempt to get away; and when I stopped spanking her, after laying on a couple of dozen smacks, her beautiful bottom was fiery red.

I let her rise, and she pulled up her drawers, fastened the strings round her waist, and wiped her eyes with a filmy, lace-trimmed handkerchief. Then, after a moment she came to me, and held up her little, red mouth, saying: “I am sorry I offended you. But I promise to be more careful in future. Kiss me.”

I kissed the dear girl’s fragrant mouth; then we went to bed, and in a few moments she was again wriggling her bottom; but this time it was with pleasure; not with pain.

After this little incident, we remained a fortnight longer in Nice.

Whether it was the spanking I had given Frances, with the promise of others if she misbehaved; or whether it was her own good sense that made her more careful, I do not know; but anyway I never had the least fault to find with her during the remainder of our stay. She was as full of fun as ever she had been, and she laughed and joked with her admirers, but she kept them all more at a distance; and she snubbed Brooke so unmistakably, that he left the hotel entirely. And I must say, I was glad when he went; for he was a handsome young fellow, with a persuasive tongue, and therefore a dangerous man to have always about one’s sweetheart.

On leaving Nice, we went direct to Paris, putting up at one of the hotels b the Rue de Rivoli, And after Frances had added some charming toilettes to her already large stock of dresses, we gave ourselves up to the delights of the gay city. First of all, she thoroughly “did” the Louvre, which took several days, and I got heartily sick of tramping through the apparently endless galleries of pictures and statuary; for my sweetheart always made me accompany her; saying that she could not enjoy herself unless I was with her. Then we visited the Tuileries, and the gardens at Versailles; drove frequently in the Bois de Boulogne, and made excursions to all the other places of interest.

Finally, when we had “done” all the ordinary sights, Frances, who had by this time learnt a thing or two, insisted upon my showing her Paris by night I could speak French, and I “knew my way about”; so I took her to all sorts of queer places, including the “Moulin Rouge,” where she saw the celebrated quadrille danced, which amused her very much. She was also greatly taken with the petticoats and drawers, and the shoes and stockings worn by the principal dancers b the “high kicking” part of the entertainment. And the very next day she went off, and bought a complete rig-out of the dainty garments; saying to me, as she laughingly showed the things: “I intend to practise high kicking. It will amuse you.”

After that, nearly every morning, she used to dress herself in the flounced petticoats, and the much beribboned, wide, gauzy looking drawers with deep lace frills, and put on the long silk stockings, and high-heeled pointed shoes. Then, while I sat lazily in a chair, she would do her best to imitate the dancers at the “Moulin Rouge.”

I enjoyed watching the pretty, graceful, well-made girl, whirling round and round, and kicking up her shapely legs in the midst of a cloud of filmy drapery; the slit of her drawers slightly open, so that I had ravishing glimpses of her golden-haired cunt, and her lovely white bottom. It was a very “fetching” sight, and it invariably gave me a cockstand, so the performance always ended the same way. I used to seize the flushed, panting girl, pull off her dainty drawers, and then poke her in some fancy position.

Among the places to which I took her, was a certain establishment where there were about a dozen girls; and at this place we saw naked tableaux of various sorts; but they were no better than the one I had seen at Mrs. Leslie’s. There were no tableaux of whipping; for in France the “delights of the rod” do not seem to be appreciated so much as they are in England.

One of the tableaux, which showed the various means by which females could mutually gratify their passions, was a perfect revelation to Frances, who had not the faintest idea that women ever amused themselves in such extraordinary ways. The girl was still quite ignorant of many things connected with the “Art of Love”; as I had never mentioned to her anything about “Tribadism,” “Dildoes,” or any of the occult mysteries of sexual passions. She knew that men poked women in various positions, — I had shown her them all-but there her knowledge had ended.

When we got back to the hotel that night, and were talking over all we had seen; she said she did not believe that girls ever did such things to each other, in reality. I laughed, and said: “Oh yes, they do. And more often than people think.” Then I asked: “Did none of the big girls ever try to tickle you between the legs when you were at school?”

“Yes; once a big girl took me on her lap, put her hand up my petticoats and let down my drawers; then she kissed me, and at the same time put her finger up ‘it,’ hurting me very much and also frightening me. I did not understand what it all meant, but I ran crying to Airs. Blake and told her what the girl had done to me. She was very angry, and I know she birched the girl, for I saw her, a short time after, come out of Mrs. Blake’s room, crying and rubbing her bottom. And she called me a nasty little tell-tale.”

I laughed, saying: “Well, Frances; if you would not let the big girl play with your little ‘pussy’; you may be sure there were other girls not so particular. That sort of thing goes on in all girls’ schools.”

Then she asked me if there were any other queer sights to be seen at the house where we had been that night.

I replied that if she liked she could see a man and a woman actually engaged in the “lists of love.” She laughed heartily at the idea of the thing, and said she would very much like to see such a sight. So I promised to take her to the establishment the following night; and then we went to bed.

At ten o’clock next night, we drove to the establishment, and I told “Madame” what I wanted to see. She smiled, and at once took us up to a small, but comfortably furnished room, dimly lighted by a shaded lamp. One side of the room was panelled with curved woodwork, in which, low down, and cunningly concealed, were several peepholes and through them could be seen the adjoining apartment, which was handsomely furnished and brilliantly lighted; so that the smallest details of the scene that followed were clearly seen by Frances and me.

Drawing two easy-chairs up to the panel, Madame told us to take our seats; then she left us, and we sat down and waited with our eyes glued to the peepholes.

In a short time we saw a man and a woman come into the room; the man was a tall stalwart fellow about thirty years of age, dressed in evening clothes, but he did not look like a gentleman; the woman, a big, strapping, rather coarse, though not bad-looking wench, who had nothing on but her chemise, shoes and stockings. She was about twenty-five.