Edward Cartwright: The Family Man

Replacing his pecker in his pants and turning on his most dignified expression, Harry walked to the door and stepped into the hall.

As he walked past the door of his daughter's room, he heard the muffled sobs coming from her room. Without knocking, he hurried in and found her lying nude on the bed, her blazing posterior offering mute evidence of how thoroughly Elizabeth had fustigated her buttocks with the birch and later slapped them with her hand.

“There, there, now my dear,” he stroked the silken hills of her buttocks as he comforted her. “You understand how important discipline is. You should be thankful for a tutor like Elizabeth to mould your character for you.”

“Yea daddy,” she sobbed. “I understand… sob… but my poor bum hurts so.”

“Of course it does, my dear,” he said as he continued to stroke the tingling cheeks.

Harry felt desire building between his loins again and felt the same fear that haunted him more often than ever lately. One day, he warned himself, I'm going to view her punishment, stroke her silken bum after, and I won't be able to stop myself.

In his mind, he saw himself holding his stiff tool in his hand and driving it into the lovely, virginal body of his daughter.

Breathing deeply, he hurried out of the room and left her to console herself as best she could.

Edward Cartwright

The Family Man

What manner of man was Harry Brougham who could derive such sexual excitement from watching the painful punishment of his daughter?

Ask any of the solicitors or barristers in the Lincoln's Inn section of London and they would assure you that in this year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and fifty-nine, there was no more honorable or praiseworthy practitioner of the law in all of London or, for that matter, in the entire realm.

At the age of forty-three, Harry Brougham had attained a respect at the bar that others still hopped to achieve at sixty or more. Ask the name of the three leading barristers in London and anyone with a knowledge of the law would be sure to include Brougham.

But beyond his stature as a man of the law, there was so much more. His peers would, from time to time, put aside the dignified robes of law and descend on the brothels of London for an evening of debauchery, but Harry never joined them.

With the expression of a man of the world, he would assure them that he quite understood their needs and wished them well, but he just couldn't join them in their well earned revelry.

“With two children of so impressionable an age,” he would explain, “I just can't take a minute more than necessary away from my family.”

From time to time, they would make jokes about the stiffness and unbending character of the man, but more often, they spoke with admiration of the great Harry Brougham who could forsake all the gaiety of life in devotion to his children.

Harry had always been more than just a barrister or, for that matter, just a mortal man.

His wife considered him a paragon of virtue. From time to time, in their matrimonial bed, when desire hit her deep inside her crotch so that she wanted to scream for violent sex, he would remind her that the sexual act was intended for the procreation of children and not for enjoyment at all.

Still, he was gentle and never scolded as he advised her to pray for strength and guidance and forgiveness for wanting such immoral things and for feeling enjoyment at such unnatural urges.

At the time of her death, six years before, she was pleased that their two children would be left in the hands of such a man. Truly, she knew, he would lead them along all the right paths so that they would never be exposed to sinful influences.

Within months of the untimely passing of his wife, Harry decided that the tutor who cared for the education of the children was no longer capable of the task. What they needed now rather than a derelict devotee of Latin and Greek, was the strong guidance of a woman who could, more than just educating them, provide the influence of a good woman.

More than just good though, she would have to be a strict woman. Harry had never known the influence of such a woman. His own mother had been a mouse of a woman who would never have dreamed of beating a child.

He had heard of others though who beat their children frequently. As a growing boy, others had told him of the beatings they had received and, more than once, had lowered their clothes to show him the marks of the cane or birch on their bottoms.

It was in this way that Harry learned the joys of masturbation. Once, after a boy had showed him his freshly caned behind, he had asked to see Harry's. In the privacy of the bushes where they played, they went on to explore others areas.

The boy told him about masturbation and Harry was amazed that such a thing could be. His friend reached to take Harry's bird in his hand and the effect was astounding. At once, it leaped to life and became very hard.

Before long, each was jerking the tool of the other until their streams of sperm flowed. Out of that experience, Harry learned to connect the fact of beatings with sexual excitement.

The boys met every day after that and each day would play with each other's cock until the cream spurted. One week later, Harry's friend met him at the usual time. A blaze of excitement was shining in his eyes and Harry was quick to see that something special had happened to bring such a light into his friend's eyes.

“Guess what,” his friend greeted him. “My sister Mildred is going to get a beating this afternoon.”

Harry knew the boy's sister was more than fourteen years old and a nicely curved beauty. Just the thought of so big a girl having her big bum bared and spanked sent ripples of excitement coursing through his body.

“Would you like to see her get it?” his friend asked.

Harry's mouth had become so dry with sexual excitement that he could barely speak, but somehow, he managed to show that he very much would like to.

For almost an hour the boys talked about spank-inks of both boys and girls. His friend, who had seen the female anatomy began to add to Harry's education as he told of the soft differences between boys and girls.

And then it was time to get into position if they were to witness the spanking of the big girl. They went into the house through a back door and saw no sign of anyone around. Walking softly, his friend led the way up a rear stairway and paused as they came into a hall on the second floor.

Walking even more quietly then, they hurried along the hall. Harry waited as his friend pushed a door open and signalled him to come ahead.

They were in a bedroom that obviously belonged to adults. Harry saw women's underclothes on a chair. They looked silky and he was sure he could detect the smell of woman from them. It was all so exciting that his bird grew stiff.

It seemed to be hours, but they had been waiting just ten minutes when they heard the sound of a door closing in the house.

“She's home now,” his friend whispered. “Mother will take her right up here and spank her on the bare bum. You have to stay quiet though or we'll really get it.”

Not many minutes later, they heard voices approaching the room. The woman's voice was firm and scolding, the other, lighter and pleading with tears sounding clearly in it.

“Nonsense, Mildred. A girl is never too old to have her bum bared and spanked and that's all there is to it,” the woman said as she dragged the reluctant girl into the room.

From their hiding place in the big closet, the boys commanded a magnificent view of the entire room. Harry saw only a small portion of it, though. It consisted of a chair that had been drawn close to the big bed. The woman, still scolding the girl, was sitting on it and had drawn the hem of her gown up so that her lovely woman legs were showing even above her knees.