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Sunday, 13 January 2019

A Victorian Present 2: Susan and the Old Rocking Horse

Story from Janus 138 by S.T. Rogers. Second part of a Victorian trilogy.
The attic was full of the detritus of a bygone age. Emily’s eyes swept over the peripheral flotsam and jetsam in the chamber; dust-covered books, old board games, porcelain dolls, toy soldiers, trinkets and bric-a-brac were strewn everywhere. It occurred to her that all of these items combined would fetch a pretty penny at auction.

Although only two o’ clock in the afternoon, the attic seemed quite dim; the two large windows in the ceiling being largely neglected and filmed with dust. As her eyes scanned the corners of the room, Emily caught sight of her reflection in the looking-glass. She was dressed in the uniform of a Victorian chambermaid. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she was living in the 1990’s; still, Master Grimes insisted that his servants dress in that fashion and she was by now quite used to the idea; enjoyed it even.

However much her eyes wandered, they always came back to the centre of the room. This was quite understandable because of what was happening there.

Susan, Emily’s friend and fellow maid, was sitting astride the exquisite rocking horse which occupied that space. The grey dappled mare was almost life-size. Susan’s feet rested in the stirrups and she held the reins tightly; her bare bottom pushed high in the air as the riding crop descended……

After witnessing the thrashing of Mrs Dickens, Emily’s mind was in turmoil. She had intended to go straight to Susan’s room and discuss the matter with her friend and fellow maid. But she was so full of confused erotic impulses that she decided to go straight to her own chamber and try to calm down.

As she lay in her bed in the darkness, she realised that there was no logical answer to any of the questions forming in her mind. She had never been spanked as a child; she’d been blessed with the archetypal ‘modern parents’ who believed it was wrong to physically discipline children. In fact she had never witnessed anyone receiving corporal punishment in all her nineteen years — until tonight. So why had the sight of it affected her so? Perhaps it was the knowledge that both the participants knew exactly what they were doing and gained immense satisfaction from their actions; a kind of erotic role-play.

A delicious game.

The bottom line (Emma giggled at her pun) was that the sight of Mrs Dickens having her bare backside tanned by the young master had turned her on. She had actually been jealous; wishing it was her own pert bottom receiving his strict attentions.

And he was so handsome………

The next morning at breakfast Emily exchanged glances over the table. Emily would peek at Mrs Dickens who was behaving, as ever, like the indomitable matriarch and then at Susan, and she was barely able to suppress a giggle each time.

‘Do you find something amusing, young lady?’ said Mrs Dickens. ‘Perhaps you would like to share it with us.’

‘Oh no, Mrs Dickens,’ Emily replied hastily, ‘I was just thinking what a lovely breakfast this is.’

Mrs Dickens eyed her suspiciously as she lowered her eyes and gazed at her plate. Turning to Susan, the housekeeper said, ‘The master has requested that you attend to the dust in the attic this afternoon, Susan. As you are senior maid, I am sure I have no need to detail the duties involved, you are no stranger to them.’

Susan nodded assent and continued with her breakfast. Emily wondered at the implication in the housekeeper’s voice. She glanced at Mr Balfour for some sort of clue but the reticent butler merely chewed his toast and stared vacantly at some point in the space ahead of him.

After breakfast the two maids were assigned to clean the master’s bedroom and Emily at last had her chance to question the older girl about the events of the previous night. Susan listened patiently as the younger maid gushed out her story.

‘And what is your opinion of what you witnessed?’ Susan asked when Emily had finished.

‘I found it very… unusual.’

Susan smiled. ‘You mean you found it… exciting.’

Emily hesitated and then giggled. ‘Yes I did.’

Susan took Emily’s hand and they sat on the bed. ‘You are becoming aware of what is required of you, as a maid, in this household. The master has his ways and Mrs Dickens and I are well used to them. What happens is mutually rewarding. The master is merely providing what we want… what we women require, deep down. Do you understand?’

‘I think I do…’ said Emily.

‘When I am to clean the attic this afternoon you will come with me. Then your understanding will be complete.’

Emily tried to question Susan further but the older maid told her to be patient; she would find out soon enough.

At ten minutes before two, Emily heard a knock at the door and answered it excitedly. She blinked in amazement at Susan, who was standing there looking, for all the world, like a horse-rider in a dressage competition. Black jacket and boots contrasted delightfully with white shirt, cravat and skin-tight riding breeches. Her dark hair was swept up and held under a cocked black riding cap. She held a riding-crop in her gloved right hand.

‘Susan,’ Emily gasped, ‘what are you doing…’ Susan simply smiled radiantly and then led Emily up the stairs to the attic.

‘I don’t understand,’ Emily was saying, ‘I thought you were supposed to dust the attic. Why are you dressed like this?’

‘It is part of the game, Emily,’ replied Susan, ‘the master used to punish me in the conventional manner; in maid’s attire. I grew tired of it and suggested this outfit.’

‘So the riding uniform is all your idea?’

‘Of course,’ smiled Susan. ‘You’re so naive, Emily, you have so much to learn. Did you really think I was being asked to clean the attic this afternoon?’

They reached the top of the stairs and Susan paused in the narrow passageway. ‘Emily,’ she said, ‘the master knows of your recent appointment and your presence in the house. He does not know that you witnessed the thrashing of Mrs Dickens last night and he does not know you will be present in the attic. When he comes into the attic in a few minutes, it is best that you busy yourself and say nothing. He will see you and realise that I have brought you; and he will act accordingly.’

Susan pushed open the attic door which creaked noisily on its hinges. Almost as soon as they had closed the door behind them, the sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears.

‘Quick,’ said Susan, ‘the master is coming up the stairs. Go and stand over there, Emily.’

Emily obeyed and Susan moved over to the old rocking-horse in the middle of the room. She put one booted foot in the stirrup and quickly mounted the creature. Turning to Emily she whispered hoarsely. ‘Remember what I’ve told you.’ Then, working her thighs and buttocks she set the rocking-horse in motion.

The door opened and Master Grimes entered. Emily turned and pretend to be busy clearing up junk on the floor.

‘Well,’ said the master, ‘what have we here?’

He was standing with hands on hips staring at Susan when Emily looked at him. ‘Haven’t I told you not to ride that beast,’ he said to Susan. It was more like a statement than a question.

Susan stopped rocking. Apparently flustered, she attempted to dismount.

‘Stay where you are girl,’ he commanded. Susan obeyed. Turning his head he became aware of Emily’s presence. In the brief moment before she lowered her eyes beneath his gaze, Emily detected uncertainty in his eyes; like an actor momentarily forgetting his lines. But when she dared to look up again, she saw that he was back in character.

‘Ah, the new maid,’ he said. ‘it is good that you are present, my dear. You will have an excellent opportunity to see how I deal with recalcitrant young ladies.’

Taking a wooden box from the floor, Master Grimes placed it next to the rocking-horse and began to roll up his sleeves. Susan began to whimper softly as he stood on the box and surveyed her.

‘You know the penalty for disobedience?’ he asked.

‘Y-yes sir…’ stuttered Susan.

‘Give me the whip.’ Susan took the riding crop which was hanging by the strap from her wrist and placed it in his hand as ordered.

‘Now adopt a proper riding position. I ordered you not to mount this beast and I come into the attic and find you doing exactly that. Well you’ll get a hotter ride than you bargained for, my lass.’

Susan straightened her legs in the stirrups and lowered her head in the classic jockey position. Master Grimes lifted the tail of her jacket with the end of the horsewhip so that the full expanse of her exquisite backside was visible; its pertness emphasised by the skin-tight riding breeches which enhanced the roundness of its contours.

Without warning, the master delivered six stinging blows to Susan’s rear in rapid succession.

Aaaaaaaaaowwwwwww!’ Susan cried. Her white-gloved hands, which had been gripping the reins, flew back instinctively to protect her punished posterior.

‘Did I tell you to put your hands there?’ the master asked.

‘N-n-no.’ Her voice rose in pitch as she uttered the word but she kept her hands on her bottom. This meant she had to use her shoulder against the horse’s neck to remain in position. Emily marvelled at Susan’s skill in doing this and at the position she was able to maintain; her head low and her bottom impossibly high in the air. She must have had a lot of practice.

‘Take your hands away, girl,’ the master ordered, his voice calm and authoritative.

Slowly and hesitantly Susan complied; placing her hands back on the reins. The young master produced a pen-knife from his pocket and, reaching forward, cut a long straight line from the top of her riding breeches down to the crotch under the cleft of her buttocks. This meant that the skin-tight material split, pulled apart and formed a perfect ‘O’ shape.

Susan’s bottom was now exposed; perfectly framed in the oval of the straining white cloth. Emily thought how ingenious this was. It meant Susan could be punished on the bare without having to dismount and remove her breeches. Master Grimes seemed unhappy with his work. He reached out again and adjusted the cloth so that even more of the maid’s voluptuous bottom was exposed; still framed in the perfect ‘O’ shape. Resting the whip across Susan’s waist, Master Grimes removed his waistcoat and rubbed his hands briskly.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s get down to business!’

Susan’s feet rested in the stirrups and she held the reins tightly; her bare bottom pushed high in the air as the riding crop descended on the bare for the first time.

Emily watched. She felt a warm glow inside, feeling more and more that she belonged here. Outside the world was gripped by the stresses and strains of the 1990’s; but here, reality seemed far away. It was like living a dream; a fantasy.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaooow!’ cried Susan.

The crop gave a crisp thwack! each time it descended on the quivering orbs of her buttocks.

Several more times the crop descended and Susan’s cries followed each one.

Obviously, Master Grimes did not believe in sparing the rod. Emily lost count of the strokes as Susan’s bottom became red with criss-crossing stripes. All of this was being done for her pleasure and she sighed ecstatically when the master ceased belabouring her glowing rear and rested his arm.

‘Now then,’ he said, ‘since you think you’re such an accomplished rider, young lady, I’d like to see you work up a fine gallop.’

Whimpering quietly, Susan began to work the rocking-horse into motion. ‘Come on, girl, faster!’ urged the master as she gained momentum. Emily thought she looked like a prize jockey in the Grand National and put her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. The huge rockers trundled back and forth on the wooden floor relentlessly until the master was satisfied with the speed and motion generated by his senior maid.

Then, each time the horse tipped forward, he began to apply the crop to Susan’s straining buttocks.

‘Oh, master, please stop…’ she moaned.

‘I’ll stop when it pleases me to stop,’ he replied tersely.

He was now making use of the twin leather flaps at the business end of the whip rather than the pliant staff which had previously created a striped pattern. The result was a dappled effect of reddening rectangles over horizontal stripes. Wickedly, Emily thought of Susan’s thrashed backside as a canvas, with Master Grimes the artist, and the ‘O’ shaped cut in her breeches as the frame.

‘Enough!’ he called eventually and Susan stopped her rocking action. As the movement abated, he reached out and caressed the chastened girl’s glowing nates, admiring, as he did so, the extent of his handiwork.

‘Excellent!’ he declared. ‘Now you may dismount.’

Sorely, poor Susan got off the horse and stood before him.

She dabbed at her eyes with one white-gloved hand and rubbed her bottom with the other. Master Grimes raised her face with his hand. ‘Keep your chin up, my dear,’ he said.

Turning to Emily he ordered her to bring a wooden stool. Nervously, she located one in the corner of the attic and brought it to him. Sitting thereon, he pulled Susan over his knee and unceremoniously yanked her mutilated breeches down to the bend of her knees, fully exposing her bare bottom and the backs of her thighs. The unfortunate maid began to struggle as he administered a thorough and sound spanking, on top of her already glowing buttocks; ignoring her kicking legs and unconvincing pleas for mercy. Emily looked on; beginning to understand the consummate pleasure that Susan, and Mrs Dickens, derived from such rigorous chastisement.

Master Grimes finally allowed Susan to get to her feet. ‘Do you see what happens to young ladies who disobey my strict orders?’ he asked Emily.

‘Yes sir… indeed I do,’ she replied meekly.

‘Good, now go to your room and consider what you have witnessed this afternoon. Consider what will happen if you choose to disobey me.’

Despite her pain, Susan gave Emily an encouraging smile as she turned and walked to the door. As she opened it, she turned briefly and saw that Master Grimes and Susan were locked in an embrace; her arms around him as he soothed her bottom.

Closing the door behind her, she again asked herself; when will it be my turn?

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