Anonymous - Frank and I

I still had a cockstand, and would have liked to poke her; but to have done so at that moment would have been sheer cruelty. I am only cruel with the rod. My feelings towards her had undergone a revulsion; I was no longer angry with my sweetheart, but felt full of pity for her. She had paid dearly for her indiscretion! I put my arms round her, kissing and soothing her till the faintness had passed off; and after she had drunk the glass of wine I brought her, the colour began to return to her cheeks. Looking at me reproachfully, she said in a weak voice: “Oh, why did you flog me so dreadfully? I had no idea you could be so cruel.” Then, whimpering a little: “Oh! how sore my bottom is! The flesh is throbbing in a most painful way.”

“I will bathe it for you, and it will soon stop throbbing,” said I.

Taking her up in my arms, I carried her to the bedroom, and laid her face downwards on the bed, then again turning up her petticoats, I sponged her sorely disfigured, burning bottom with cold water, until the skin had got quite cool; then I applied some vaseline.

She appeared to be quite worn out, and inclined to sleep, so I covered her up, lowered the blinds, and left the room quietly.

I went down to the drawing-room, locked up the rod and straps in a cabinet, and put everything in order; and just as I had finished, the two servants came back. At five o’clock, the housemaid brought up the usual afternoon tea; and after I had refreshed myself with a cup, I took one up to Frances, whom I found fast asleep. I stood and looked at her for a moment, but she did not wake; so I left the cup of tea on a little table at the bedside.

Our dinner hour was half-past seven, so there was still two hours before me, but as I did not feel inclined to go out, I settled myself down in an easy-chair in the drawing room with a book, and managed to pass the time pleasantly till the maid came to tell me that dinner was on the table. I did not expect to see Frances, and was just going to send her up some soup and a glass of wine, when she came into the room. She was dressed in a pretty dinner frock, and her hair was neatly arranged; but her cheeks were rather pale, her eyes were not so bright as usual, and the lids were red; and when she sat down, she did so very carefully, making a little grimace when her bottom first touched the chair. “Oh, dear me!” she said dolefully. “It is awfully tender; and I have had to put on a clean chemise, the other one was spotted with blood.”

I gave her a glass of champagne, and talked gaily to her, telling her the she was again my sweetheart That seemed to cheer her up a little; she began to eat her dinner, and by the time the dessert was on the table, she had commenced to talk, and smile a little; not appearing to be the least sulky, or angry the me for having given her such a severe Bogging. But I knew her disposition thoroughly, and could pretty well guess how she reasoned. She would say to herself, the she had committed an offence deserving punishment; she had received the punishment, and I had forgiven the offence; so all was right.

After dinner, we went into the drawing-room to have our coffee and she lay on the sofa while I read to her for a time; then we had a little chat, and at half-past ten o’clock we went upstairs to our bedroom, Frances walking very stiffly.

When we were in bed, she lay on her side nestling close up to me, while I kissed her soft, warm lips, and played the her delicious bubbies.

Then, pulling up her nightdress above her waist, I laid my hand gently on her bottom, finding that it was still rough with weals, and so tender that the light touch of my fingers made her shrink. “Oh; don’t touch it!” she exclaimed. I removed my hand, but I rubbed my prick against her belly, saying: “Do you think you could bear to let me ‘do it’ to you?”

“I am afraid not,” she replied. “My bottom is too sore to bear the least pressure. And I don’t think we can manage ‘it’ lying on our sides, face to face.”

As my prick was almost bursting, I determined to have a poke somehow or other; but I was puzzled for a moment to know how I could “have” her without more or less pressing her bottom. Then I remembered the “wheelbarrow” position. It is an awkward way of poking a woman, and one that I do not care for; therefore I had never shown it to Frances, although I had “had” her in every other fancy position. However, I resolved to poke her in that way now. So I said: “I can do it to you in a way that will not put the least pressure on your bottom; you won’t have to lie on it, and I won’t touch it. But you will find the position rather uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I don’t care what position you put me in, so long as you don’t hurt my sore bottom!” she said without hesitation, and at the same time squeezing my prick with her soft hand.

“We shall have to get out of bed to do it,” I observed.

She at once jumped out of bed, saying, with a little laugh: “Come along then!” I followed her, and turned up the wick of the shaded lamp which we always kept burning throughout the night. The room was now well-lighted, and Frances looked very charming in her long white nightdress, her pretty little bare feet showing under the hem of the lace-trimmed garment, as she stood with a puzzled expression on her face, evidently wondering how I could possibly poke her without touching her bottom.

She was soon enlightened! Lifting her up in my arms, I turned her upside down, with her feet in the air, and with her hands resting on the floor at the full extent of her arms; her nightdress falling over her head, and leaving the whole of her body naked. Then I made her put her legs round my neck, while I held her round the waist with my hands clasped on her belly, so that I supported her weight, and took the strain off her arms. Thus her body was in a slanting position; and as her bottom was uppermost, her cunt was just on a level with my prick. Then, by slightly bending my knees, and at the same time curving my back, I easily forced the weapon into the sheath, and began to poke her by moving my loins backwards and forwards. She did the same, and we had a satisfactory though rather cramped poke; during which, her wealed, red-striped, sore bottom was never once touched, or rubbed against in any way.

When all was over, I put her on her feet, and she remarked, with a laugh: “Well, you managed it very nicely; but I must say it is a very uncomfortable position. It makes all the blood run into one’s head.”

Then we got into bed again, and soon fell asleep.

Next morning, before getting up, I made her lie on her face outside the bed, with her nightdress up to her shoulders, so that I might make a thorough inspection of the state of her bottom.

It was very much disfigured, and it looked very sore-as no doubt it was. Cicatrices had formed over the broken places on the skin, which was very red, and the weals still showed very plainly.

However, her flesh was healthy, and it soon healed; but it was some time before all the marks had disappeared; and her pretty bottom had recovered its lily-like whiteness.

We got out of bed and had a poke “wheelbarrow” fashion; then we dressed and went down to breakfast with good appetites.

A week afterwards, I took Frances to Boulogne where we remained a month; bathing together nearly every day; and my pretty sweetheart looked most charming in her bathing costume. In fact, she was so enticing in it, that I often poked her in the bathing-machine after she had come out of the water dripping and rosy, looking like some beautiful sea nymph.

On leaving Boulogne, we went back to London, and I lived at the villa; occasionally paying a visit to Oakhurst for a few days, just to see how things were getting on. When the grouse-shooting began, I went to Scotland, and stayed a fortnight with my friend in Argyllshire. I spent September at Oakhurst, partridge shooting; and in October, I took Francis abroad again.