Story from Phoenix 44.
A girl’s teddy bear normally keeps a strict code of silence. But Miss Jennifer was so naughty the story has to be told.
It is pitch-dark in the bedroom and the hands of the Micky Mouse clock point to five-past-midnight. Miss Jennifer lies in the big bed; she wears no pyjamas and she is crying. She lies on her tummy because her bottom is throbbing with bruised heat. She has been bitterly caned and big silver tears roll down her soft cheeks and soak into my fur. I’m a very wet teddy bear.
All the toys in the nursery saw the caning. The tin soldier stood very stiff all the time it was happening. The abacus counted the strokes, and the musical-box thought of Handel’s Water Music. Most of the toys felt sorry for Miss Jennifer who screamed and wept as Father caned. But I know what caused it all, and I think she deserved it.
About three months ago Miss Jennifer took me to bed. ‘Oh Teddy,’ she said, nuzzling up to me, ‘Today I met the man that Mummy and Daddy want me to marry. And Teddy,’ (a tiny tear came into her eye and she pouted her lips) ‘I’m afraid I don’t like him.’ She said a lot more which I won’t bore you with, but I didn’t like the sound of it. I said to myself: it doesn’t matter if you like this boy or not Miss Jennifer. If the old Duke wants you to marry him… you’ll marry him.
A few weeks later Miss Jennifer came home at five o’clock in the morning. She’d been to a big, society ball. ‘Oh Teddy,’ she said. ‘That horrid man took me to the Ball tonight and afterwards kissed and kissed me. He wanted to go further but I didn’t let him because I still don’t like him.’
That sounds like trouble I thought. The Duke and Duchess favour this young whipper-snapper, but Miss Jennifer still says ‘No’.
And so matters went on for about a couple of months. Then one night the Duchess came into the bedroom for a serious, heart-to-heart with Miss Jennifer. The Duchess said the young man came from a very good family. It appears he has a title. He was also good looking, rich and sensible; a most suitable groom-to-be. Miss Jennifer must learn to like him. The Duchess didn’t mince matters and finally Miss Jennifer dissolved in tears. Later, in bed, she asked me what to do.
I kept my mouth shut. It’s more than a bruin’s job is worth to say anything. But I thought to myself: you’d better change your mind Miss Jennifer, or that cane behind the bedroom door will be in action. The Duke and Duchess are not to be disobeyed. Although Miss Jennifer is over the age of consent she would still be subject to the Duke’s strict discipline.
To cut a long story short, about eight o’clock tonight Miss Jennifer came into the bedroom looking very shocked. ‘Oh Teddy,’ she said weepily, ‘Daddy had sent me upstairs; and you know what that means.’ Of course I knew what it meant and so did all the other toys. One of the younger dolls started sucking her thumb, the twin book-ends looked at each other and slowly shook their heads.
Miss Jennifer perched on the side of the bed and kicked her shoes off petulantly. She has dainty ankles and pretty feet. She raised one side of her skirt, unclipped a suspender and rolled one silky stocking down her shapely leg.
Mary-Anne, the big china doll noticed Miss Jennifer was gnawing her lip anxiously; obviously she was thinking of what was to come. She unclipped the other suspender and, with a heavy sigh, her other stocking came off. Miss Jennifer then sat with her skirt high over her thighs and her small hands gripped her knees which had begun to tremble slightly. Because the Duke was very angry and she felt very frightened.
If Mary-Anne the china-doll had had the least sip of water at this point she would have disgraced herself terribly, because Miss Jennifer looked so soft and loveable, so diminutive and helpless that the doll longed to tell her how sorry she was about Miss Jennifer’s plight.
Miss Jennifer gave another sad sigh, and swallowed with some difficulty and her hands went to the waist-belt of her skirt. Then she stood up and unclipped the buckle. The dark material fell gently to the ground and Miss Jennifer stepped free of it. Now all the toys could see her lovely long legs, dimpled knees and smooth, slender thighs. Jack-in-the-Box looked straight at Miss Jennifer’s soft, white, skimpy knickers which hardly covered a quarter of her precious bottom, and Jack-in-the-Box was no longer in the box.
Then Miss Jennifer stretched behind her to undo her bra, and as the hooks loosened she eased a delectable breast out of each bra-cup, then hung the lacy garment over the back of a chair. Gollywog’s hair stood high on end because the bra seemed to have confined Miss Jennifer’s breasts very slightly and as it came off they fell back into their natural shape, which is oval and not very big, but very soft and creamy.
I’m a lucky teddy bear because of all the toys, I’m the one who is hugged to Miss Jennifer’s breasts as she whispers secrets to me in the dark. Sometimes — like right this minute — her breasts heave and tremble as she squeezes me against them because of the nasty, burning, pulsing pain in her punished bottom. At times like this my head gets very wet because Miss Jennifer uses my big fluffy ears to wipe her streaming eyes. As she dabs me to her, she moans softly and gives little whimpers through parted lips.
‘Oh Teddy. Oh Teddy — darling — if only you knew how my bottom hurts just now. So do my thighs; I daren’t move my legs because of the cane. Did you see how hard Daddy caned me? I just know the pain is going to go on all night. Even if I do manage to fall asleep, I’ll wake up again, because I ache so much, and that part of me twitches and I can’t do anything about it. I try to stop it but it’s the result of Daddy hitting really badly.’
‘Oh Teddy… do you think the pain will ever go away?’
Now I know the pain will go away — eventually — because it always does. Miss Jennifer’s bottom will get back to normal and those deep red marks will disappear. But it’s no good saying anything because the old Duke has laid-in some master-strokes — inwards and upwards, undercutting the buttocks where they swell out. I had to admire his style. But it’s no good telling Miss Jennifer not to cry, so I say nothing.
Anyway, let me get back to describing what happened earlier. You’ll remember I was saying how Miss Jennifer was undressing.
Miss Jennifer stood by the bed in nothing but those wispy knickers and if Humpty Dumpty hadn’t been just a poster on the wall, he would have fallen and smashed into a hundred pieces.
The fact is, I’ve known Miss Jennifer since she was born. I was put in the nursery even before she arrived. I’ve seen her grow up. She was a pretty child and she developed into one of the most desirable girls, certainly in our district, and maybe even in the County. I’ve loved her for 21 years: I even celebrated her 21st birthday in bed with her — I’m not saying how!
Anyway, I knew what was going on in Miss Jennifer’s mind. She was thinking she wouldn’t take her knickers off. She simply wouldn’t. She positively refused to because at 21 she was far too old to be caned; she had her rights and Daddy shouldn’t bend her over when she was totally naked. It wasn’t fair; she hated it; it made her feel so small. Worst of all it brought back memories of her teenage years when Daddy was dreadfully strict. In those days she never seemed to be away from the cane.
But then the big stuffed-owl on the mantelpiece caught her eye, who is always so knowing and wise. Then she thought about how furious Daddy was and if she didn’t do exactly as she was told, when he came upstairs he’d probably double the number of strokes he was going to give her. So Miss Jennifer decided discretion was the better part; slowly, painfully and miserably she began to take her knickers off.
Her thighs parted just a little bit because the knicker-fabric had slipped tightly into somewhere. It does that quite often and I don’t think Miss Jennifer really minds. She sucked in her tummy, gave her hips a fabulous little wiggle (it’s so sexy when she does that) and down came the knickers. I could see Miss Jennifer resented her nakedness and defencelessness and placed a delicate hand in front of her. I can’t speak for Jack-in-the-Box, but none of the other toys looked at that place because we all felt sorry for her.
Miss Jennifer didn’t have a stitch on. The only sound in the Nursery was the tick of the Micky Mouse clock and that seemed to be as loud as Big Ben. The toys held their breath: Miss Jennifer looked so lovely, slender, demure and afraid and they wished they knew how to help her.
I’ve watched the scene a thousand times, especially when Miss Jennifer was a teenager and I know there’s absolutely nothing any of us can do. Miss Jennifer is going to be caned. She’s going to yell and screech and wiggle about hopelessly. I can see the cane behind the nursery door. It hangs on a hook so easy for Daddy to reach when he comes — red-faced and angry — into the room. Nobody in the whole world would dare to move that cane; Daddy has said it must never be touched except by him. But he makes sure it hangs where Miss Jennifer can see it as she lies in bed.
Then there was a long wait during which Miss Jennifer became more tense and afraid because she couldn’t help imagining what was going to happen.
Pained and miserable you might feel Miss Jennifer, this old bruin said to himself, but not half so pained and miserable as you’ll feel when the old Duke has done with you. His Grace made Miss Jennifer wait for about three-quarters-of-an-hour contemplating her nakedness and wondering if any girl alive could feel more wretched.
Then there were the inevitable footsteps on the stairs. Miss Jennifer went all tense and whimpered softly. The door opened, a hand reached out and that terrible, thin venomous cane came down from the peg and zipped and whistled through the bedroom air. The old Duke certainly had a head-of-steam on; I’d not seen him swing that arm so broadly for years. He swung round on Miss Jennifer, who crouched back down onto the bed in a hopeless attempt to getaway, and instead of pulling her up (as I thought he would) he pushed her downwards flat on her back.
Then he grabbed both her ankles in one huge hand, and hoisted them upwards, and pushed her legs right back over her head until one dainty little foot rested beside each ear. She was bent over double and her back was pressing into the mattress; needless to say her bottom-cheeks were totally exposed. Not a nice position to be caned in — but then what position is?
I could only guess the old Duke was tired of arguing with Miss Jennifer over whether or not she was willing to accept that boy. And sure enough, that was the trouble, because — as he lifted the cane in the air — the old Duke said: ‘If you won’t accept my choice of husband for you the easy way, then — by God — you’ll marry him the hard way.’
With those words, it began: Wallop! Wallop! Wallop! Down came the cane on that bare, white-skinned, adorable bottom and Miss Jennifer screamed as if she’d been touched with a red-hot iron and shouted: ‘No Daddy! No Daddy! Pleeeeese… noooooh!’
Miss Jennifer began to struggle, she tried to kick her legs free of the old Duke’s grip but he pushed down on her hard, bending her back again into position so her bottom was fully and rudely presented. It was a good job it was only her father who could see her like that.
I’ve seen Miss Jennifer caned at almost every age since the old Duke began to discipline her, but I can’t think when I’ve seen her bottom jive so desperately as it did then. It swung to the right, the left, and back to the right again. It bounced upwards, bobbed downwards, writhed, wriggled and jiggled in a dozen different angles, in a wild struggle to get away from the cane. The more it jiggled about the harder the old Duke pressed down; the force of the pushing made Miss Jennifer’s cleft part slightly but the slash of the cane made her cheeks squeeze as tight as the spring in the wind-up song-bird, against the searing pain.
The toys were horrified. They thought it was the harshest whipping, the cruellest show, the most pitiful bouncing back-and-forth fight to escape they could remember. Wallop! Wallop! Wallop! That trusty old stick — which I’ve seen in action so often — continued its work, but never so fiercely as the Duke used it then. Even Lion, bravest of all the toys, drew his tongue over his lips.
Six terrible strokes Miss Jennifer got and the old Duke hurled the cane onto the duvet and stormed out of the room. Miss Jennifer rolled onto her tummy and curled into a tight ball. She squeezed and clenched and unclenched her cheeks, gasping, gulping, struggling hopelessly against the agonising pain.
Then — like she always does — she grabbed hold of me and I knew I was in for a soaking because she was howling and weeping and her tears would soon be all over me. Which is just how it turned out.
Right now Miss Jennifer is in a state half-way between sleeping and wakefulness. She’s still flat on her tummy but instead of not daring to move, her body is slowly beginning to press itself into the mattress. She’s putting most of the pressure on her lower parts which are starting to move in a gentle, rhythmic, sensuous way.She snuggles her soft lips into my face and the last thing she whispers is: ‘Teddy Darling… will you please come on honeymoon with me.’ Then there are heavier breaths and bouncier movements and little squeaks of satisfaction before Miss Jennifer at last falls into fitful sleep.