Anonymous - First training

Clarissa blushed to her eyebrows. “Oh, I have not been!” she answered, shocked. My stepmother dotted, making a tut-tutting sound, and turning to Harold asked, “Have you not been lax with her?” As she spoke so she raised the arm that was just behind Clarissa, swept her hand up the backs of her thighs and gently tested the firm globe of her bottom so that the young woman jerked.

“I have-er-tried,” stammered her guardian.

“You have removed her drawers?”

The question came so smoothly that it seemed a long interval passed before Clarissa uttered a shocked “Oh!” and went more pink than ever.

“Do be quiet, please,” my stepmother urged her gently and then quite deliberately circled her hand about the girl’s bottom, feeling no doubt its warmth and silkiness.

“There… there were objections,” he stammered.

“From you? From you, Clarissa?” was uttered by my stepmother in astonishment. “Have you not let him put you over? Do you fear the cane? Would you prefer the birch or strap? Have you been mishandled? Is that the truth of it?”

“Madam I never…” began Harold but was quieted by a steely glance and the words, “She will answer for herself.” All the while her palm circled as if reverently and appeared to calm Clarissa a little though I would have sworn she wished to move.

“It is r… r… rude,” she stuttered and tried to gaze everywhere but at her guardian.

“Rude?” my stepmother echoed in amazement. “All young ladies-or at least those of comely forms and merit-must be put up to it and before your age. Come dear, let me see your drawers.”

“Oh, I beg you no. Not in front of him.”

A perfect flurry ensued. I sat as still as a stick insect which pretends to be a twig. Clarissa made a wild dash around the desk, my aunt crying “Hold her!” which her guardian did. Head down and back bent, she struggled fiercely, but his strength being much the greater and with a fierce flush of his excitement in his face he had her bent full over on the desk the while that my stepmother, getting up, gripped the nape on Clarissa’s neck in steely grasp.

“Leave her. I have her,” she snapped at him, whereupon he took several paces back, his complexion unpleasantly florid and a certain bulge making itself to be seen already in his trousers. Then, clicking her thumb and finger at me as though I were but a servant (such was her manner to be at times), she commanded me crisply, “Uncover her.”

Have I need to detail Clarissa’s plaintive cries? She sobbed, expostulated, all but swore indeed as, crouching down, I took her gown and underskirt and raised them with a flourish to her hips. At that she screamed wildly, but by clamping her free hand over her mouth and keeping her head pressed down, my stepmother suppressed her cries and, bending slightly back, observed the beauty I already saw. Or I should use perhaps the plural. Clarissa’s white drawers were quite thin and so moulded themselves to the outswelling of her halfmoons, delineating each and crumpling tightly into her groove. The pink ribbons of her drawers hung loose and prettily as oftimes is the case. Withal her ruffled garters, too, were pink-a colour much affected by young ladies, for it shows off well the white silk of their stockings. Her thighs swelled up, all richly creamed. Not a mole or other flaw showed upon her milksmooth skin, the whole bulge of her derriere being most enchanting.

“Oh my God, I shall die from this!” moaned she.

“Stuff and nonsense! Why should he not see your bottom and put it to a tingling of occasion? Have you not been tupped by some young gallant, eh?”

“I know not what you mean, I know not!”

“Nary a hand, Madam, so far as I know.”

Unwisely the guardian had interjected. He had not been invited to speak. My stepmother’s eyes flashed.

“Can you be sure? Very well, you shall have a glimpse of it and then you will retire, sir, if you please, and join my son and daughter in the drawing room again.”

“NO!” came a muffled shriek from Clarissa. Her hips waggled madly, which could have done nothing but urge on the gentleman’s fairly stiff condition. My stepmother held her tight, however, and my fingers were already busy. Perhaps my eagerness to see her well-cleft orb was little less than his.

“AH-RAH-HAAAR! NO!” sobbed Clarissa in despair but it was already far too late. Deftly I peeled them down and smoothed them to her knees. The fig of her quim peeped out, much nursed by curls. Her bum-for it is just occasionally a sweet word to be used-was pure perfection, larger by an inch or two than one expected and the gleaming pallor of its cheeks giving way to a faint gingerly hue where the hemispheres inrolled. I longed to palpitate them with my fingertips which I felt tingling for the task.

“I shall die!” came from Clarissa again, though the words were only just to be distinguished.

She was, of course, ignored. “You may go,” my stepmother observed coldly to her guardian whose eyes were hot with wonder and with lust. He turned stiffly away, as well he might in his condition. At the door his gaze faltered and returned to the ardent moon of his desiring and which I do not doubt he had waited long years to have revealed to him. His fingers groped for the handle, for he seemed blind to all but the sight of his ward’s naked bottom. My stepmother shook her head impatiently at him and a dull cast came upon his features as he exited.

“Beneath the cushion on the armchair seat you will find a paddle, Clara. Take it out,” I was told.

Until then I had thought of paddles as merely instruments for propelling a boat along. What I soon found myself clasping was something not unlike a tennis bat and with the round part made of heavy leather.

“Now, my pet, attend to her bottom well with it,” my stepmother said and I stepped back half a pace behind Clarissa, my palms not a little moist with excitement, to better judge my distance. A certain awkwardness obtained in my first using of the implement but upon meeting the girl’s refulgent, bulging cheeks it made a most resounding splatt!

There is an element of glee, I do confess, in warming up a young lady’s bottom, particularly when she is fey or shy. Men are so rarely dab hands in this sort of exercise, for their enthusiasm for a different kind of sport soon overtakes them. The exercise brings up the cock and swells the balls and ere she knows it and before her bottom is brought to proper condition, the female is plugged or corked or reamed.

I am using here of course terms that I learned later. My stepmother told me that there was a wondrous gleam in my eyes as I stung dear Clarissa’s bottom, perhaps enjoying doing so the more for knowing that her ardent cheeks had not been so treated before. Upon receiving the first, her head shot up but quickly was pushed down again. Firmness in such initiations is all.

Sper-latt! I smacked a second time, the roundness of the paddle covering almost two-thirds of her bottom and bringing a rare shade of pink to the cheeks.

“The left cheek, then the right, then full across her orb, and then beneath,” I was instructed.

How privileged I was to be so taught and with such an elegantly-formed pupil as Clarissa! Her face turned violently from side to side, my stepmother permitting the movement but ever keeping her palm clamped over the girl’s mouth. My strokes beneath, coming up under her bulge, were not so effectual for I had not yet learned the particular and subtle wrist movements that since are second nature to me. A certain cushioning of air prevents the paddle by its very nature from belabouring too hard and yet it has a perfect sting and at the same time affords s deep sensation of heat.

Tears rolled from Clarissa’s eyes over my stepmother’s fingers as she strove by wild undulations of her hips and bottom to evade the strokes. As so often in such moments, a chance swinging of her hips would often bring her nearest bumcheek in perfect contact with the leather and so she was stung the more.