Anonymous - Aphrodizzia

“Now the thermometre, Claudia,” I panted, “we must ensure that you have not overheated yourself.” I took a dollop of vaseline from the jar, touched it to Claudia's arsehole, and applied the knob.

I was so maddened that I obliged her to open almost at once- though with a sharp cry of alarm from the girl. Under various pretexts of taking her temperature, I buggered Claudia for ten minutes more, relishing the tightness of her adolescent arsehole round my shaft. The exercise evoked that rear view of her kneeling on all fours by the pier and presenting the smooth seat of her green bathing briefs.

Claudia's cropped hair twisted vainly to and fro as she tried to see exactly what this strange thermometre was. At last I released my spurting jet deep in her backside, causing her to cry out again with alarm at this sensation. How the devil would I explain the “accident” to her? I withdrew my prick and managed a forced laugh. “You little minx, Claudia!” I panted, “Why, you overheated the poor thermometre so much that some of the mercury spurted out through the little escape hole! How fortunate it was in your backside and not in your throat.”* Did she believe me, Dolly? I did not care then and, to be frank with you, I do not much care now. I have long thought that the only safety for me is to do as our friend Lord Frederick has done. When he left England and bought a plantation upon which “slaves” might still be held, I was half inclined to follow his example. When the “slaves” are girls of every prettiness, I cannot find a word to say against the system. Perhaps the authorities are more easy-going in Germany but here I often feel that my little enjoyments will one day put prison bars between me and the rest of the world-and I an officer and a gentleman! However, I am wandering from my subject. I now closed the drawer of the desk in order to strap Claudia's lithe young legs together. I took the long bamboo and swished it once or twice through the air for effect. Then I measured it across the firm young cheeks of Claudia's bare bottom. Oh, I assure you, Dolly, now I was the sternest of moralists with my prick at ease. And I was greatly enjoying it. “Keep your bottom quite still, Claudia. Don't tense the cheeks, you little bitch. You were keen enough to show your backside on the beach in those little green bathing pants weren't you, Claudia? Oh, yes you were. Fifty cuts of the bamboo across that nubile young backside, Claudia. I'm sure the teachers in the Dusseldorf classroom would envy me now.” I brought the bamboo down with an expert lash across the bare cheeks of the young nymph's bottom.

Claudia gasped at the agony of the naked smart. A splendid red stripe began to glow. I thrashed low down, where her softer buttocks and firmer thighs meet in a faint crease. Claudia cried out and I aimed with malicious excitement across that same stripe again-and again. My attentions raised a crimson weal across this place and drove her half frantic. Yet to increase the effect of the caning, I wanted the German nymph to feel that the bamboo had drawn blood in its first few strokes-and to fill her with horror at what lay ahead. She had asked for the cane and she would get it. I aimed again across the dangerously raised welt and this time a precious droplet rose and ran down the back of Claudia's firm young thigh. Our lithe adolescent nymph may have begged for a caning rather than the disgrace of being reported to her parents. Yet the bamboo had now branded the pale spread ovals of Claudia's fifteen-year-old bottom-cheeks with several vivid weals. As the cane drew a red droplet or two on the soft undercurve of her young arse, Claudia screamed loudly enough to be heard all the way to the Rhineland. Desperately she strained against the broad black straps which pinioned her legs and ankles, and which tethered her wrists. Let there be no hypocrisy between us, Dolly.

There was a wicked excitement in having made Claudia scream after seven or eight strokes of the bamboo across her bare backside-when there were still more than forty strokes to come. All the same, it was injudicious to allow her cries to be heard so easily. In the traditional way, when the panties are taken down they form a useful wadding but the bathing briefs were too stiff. Then I remembered Sian, the young servant with the red tresses and fair skin. Sian had had her cunt-jig and arse-exercise in this room once or twice during the past week. There in the basket lay a discarded pair of Sian's panties. Duly dampened and folded they were soon muffling Claudia's shrillness-much to the young nymph's dismay. “I'm going to make you begin all over again, Claudia,” I said gently. “We don't permit such interruptions while you're being caned. The first stroke again. If you fart, Claudia, or try any other diversions, it will merely add extra strokes to the discipline. Bend tighter. Get properly arse-upwards over the desk, Claudia, you young minx! Remember that when the cane thrashes you across the backs of your thighs, the stroke does not count.” For the next ten minutes, Claudia was frantic. Her adolescent buttocks jumped and quivered under the smacks of bamboo.

The stripes grew to weals and the strokes that crossed them made her toes curl with the anguish. Eight times I aimed across her thighs, from the backs of her knees almost to her bum-cheeks. The mop of her tousled light brown hair twisted to and fro as she tried to writhe in her straps. I promise you, Dolly, that for the next week or two Claudia's bottom-cheeks and the backs of her thighs will be too brown and yellow with bruises to make it possible for her to be returned home-even if that was my intention. Once or twice she managed to twist on to her hip, almost lying on her side. I caned her even then, on the exposed flank of her hips. Claudia knew that such strokes did not count but you may judge of her state, Dolly, by the fact that she would even incur such extra punishment to give her young bottom a moment's respite. She now has several red stripes across the flank, two or three upon the front of her thighs, and one aslant her firm young belly. On each occasion I turned the sobbing culprit over again and made her present her smarting arse for the next stroke. I confess, Dolly, that I went somewhat beyond the allocation of strokes.

I know it-and Claudia knows it. But no tales will be told. The state of Claudia's bottom this week is seen only by her bedroom mirror and the toilet-seat upon which she sits each day. Yet is it not monstrous, Dolly, that these inanimate objects should be privileged to enjoy the charms which our fifteen-year-old nymph hides self-consciously from such admirers as I? To be sure I have continued her punishment-lesson by making her work in my study each evening in the brief swimsuit in which she committed her offence. But that is not the same thing at all! I envisage a delightful and remote seraglio-well guarded from censorious eyes-and with no means by which the girls could stray. There one might keep a few dozen young ladies like Claudia to serve one's pleasures. Is it not severely logical? I might do to Claudia the very things which have just proved so enjoyable-and yet without any of the pretence at “justice” or “retribution” which English morality forces upon me. Claudia masturbates two or three times a week. At fifteen, it would be strange if she did not. But if she is going to do it anyway, why should she not be made to do it on a well-placed demonstration table for the delight of her admirers? As for the bedroom-mirror and the toilet-seat, why should they not share the contemplation of her with men who enjoy such things? The idea of necessary solitude will be at an end when she is made to understand that her master has sole right over her body and its performances. You see, Dolly, Lord Frederick has accomplished this on what he calls his “plantation.” We are rich as he. Could not something be arranged? His lordship will be passing through Berlin next month on his return from the Crown Prince's battues in Pomerania. Speak to him, I implore you, of such notions. And what of our two girls, Katharine and Claudia? You will be pleased to hear that the fat young cheeks of Katharine's arse were thrashed by the duenna-strap until our voluptuous Rhineland blonde could scarcely walk. And Claudia? Ah, Claudia! After I had finished caning her and reluctantly undid the straps, Claudia's first act was to press my hand to her lips and cover it with ardent kisses.