textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/thursday.txt

On Thursdays, the servants were punished.  My father, Captain Grayson,
always held the small ceremony in the ante-chamber to the great-room,
which was large enough to accomodate all without crowding (if necessary)
yet cozy enough to maintain a family feeling.  Only Mr. Darklin, and Mrs.
Beresford, the Cook, were exempt.  Exempt, at least , from public
punishment by my father.  On the rare occasion that correction was
required for her, she was switched, I am given to understand, by Mr.
Darklin, my father's butler.  I never witnessed such an event, so I cannot
directly attest to it. I do not believe Mr. Darklin was punished for
anything, ever.  I am, of course, Peter Kimm Grayson, eldest son and
inheritor. And it was in that capacity that I was, in my eighteenth year,
required to join my father for the Thursday sessions, so that I might both
learn the correct methods of discipline for the servants, and also that
they would come to accept my presence and later, my authority.

Father had, of course, briefed me over the course of several weeks,
preparatory to my first observation of a Thursday session, as to what I
might expect.  All of the house and under-house servants, and the liveried
servants as well, were subject to an elaborate system of demerits, of
which Mr. Darklin kept record in a small book covered in green felting. 
On Thursdays, just at the close of breakfast, Mr. Darklin came in and
handed the book to my father, who made a small ceremony out of fishing for
his half-glasses, putting them on, and studying the small book at arms
length.  As if he did not already know, Mr. Darklin would then be informed
which servants were to be assembled in the ante-chamber at 10AM precisely.

Father manipulated the curious hierarchy of servants maserfully, starting
with the least among them,  Lyn the scullery maid, for example, so that
the ranking servants might watch the lesser, while the lesser were only
able to listen to the punishments of their betters.  The lesser were more
easily disposed of anyway, being disinclined to sophisticated
disobedience.  They were more likely to be accused of small evils such as
tardiness and disarray in dress, and thus could be disposed of with a few
canestrokes or a quick paddling.  On the first Thursday I observed, Lyn
was led sobbing to my father's side and swiftly sentenced to three
canestrokes on her knickers for slopping water all over Mrs. Beresford's
needlework and for spilling the soup.  My father brooked no delays in
these punishments...Lyn was swiftly horsed by Canton the stableboy, and
Mrs. Beresford flipped the girl's skirts up high.  Father stood and
brought the Malacca cane down three times across the tightly stretched
seat of her knickers, and she howled and kicked a shoe off in the process.
 Canton himself then bent over the back of a chair, gathering the tails of
his coat out of the way, and took  three for tardiness and poorly polished
tack.  Both were sent to stand along the far wall of the room, facing the
elaborately flocked wallpaper.

Next, the lovely Caitlin stepped into place before my father. She was the
under-house parlour maid, and second only to Freyda, my mother's personal
maid, and Mrs. Beresford, in rank.  She was rarely punished, and I blushed
furiously to see that she was in disgrace on this of all days. Father had
used Caitlin as an example of the type of girl servant who usually became
over-excited by punishment of this type, and who needed special handling. 
He summoned her to him with a languid wave of his wrist, and he gave me a
glance that bade me pay close attention.

"Now then Caitlin," he said, not unkindly, "I am sorry to sere you here
today, my girl, and a bit surprised.  I had thought that the caning you
received at my hand last March would have sufficed to keep your behaviour
exemplary."  "Yes, Sor,  oim sorry, Sor," she whispered in her charming
accent, her great dark eyes cast down miserably, her fingers trembling as
they laced and unlaced behind her back.  "Mr. Darklin has noted several
demerits for you here, Cait," said my father, referring to the small book,
"and I cannot let them go unpunished, you understand?"  "Yes, Sor." 
"You'll have six with the strap, my girl, and you've lost the privilege of
knickers according to Mr. Darklin's count, so they will be on the bare." 
Her head snapped up and her eyes widened.  "Oh no, Sor, please, I dinna do
anything so wrong as that I should be whipped bare by you, Sor, please..."
she entreated, taking two steps backward.  "Mr. Darklin begs to disagree,
Caitlin, and so, frankly do I.  And I believe you know what preparation
must be made for such a punishment?"  The girl went rigid before my eyes,
and father looked my way again, to be sure I had seen the change in her. 
I had.

My father nodded to Mrs. Beresford, who shepherded the disasppointed Lyn
and Canton out of the room, closing the door behind them and the
implacable Mr.Darklin. "Come to me, Caitlin," my father said, low and
firm.  When she did not move, he nodded to Mrs. Beresford, who took the
girl by the shoulders and led her to the side of the chair in which my
father sat.  "We know what kind of girl you are, don't we, Cait?" he
murmured, leaning close to her ear so that I could barely hear him.  "And
we cannot allow you to enjoy any part of your punishment.  Punishment is
just that, not pleasure. And girls like you must be milked of their
pleasure before the strap begins to kiss their bottoms, isn't that right?"
 Caitlin did not answer, but her breathing had quickened, and I was
impressed anew with my father's ability to gauge these things.  He stared
at her as he tugged his jacket sleeve up beyond his wristbone, then laid
his forearm along his thigh, extending his hand out in front of his knee,
palm up.  "Remove her skirts, Mrs Beresford," he commanded.  Caitlin gave
little resistance, staring back at him as Mrs. Beresford bustled about,
unfastening the uniform skirt and drawing it off along with the three
petticoats she customarily wore.  Mrs. Beresford withdrew to the back of
the room.  Caitlin stood at my father's right side, staring at his hand. 
In the silence, I could hear the drops of sweat from my head splatter on
my stiff shirtcuff as they fell.  "Open your knickers, Caitlin, and ride
my fingers."  The command was firm and deep.  I nearly fainted, my face
was blazing with color and my heart was pounding.  Caitlin's beautiful
rosebud mouth opened and closed, opened and closed.  No sound came out. 
My father nodded to her.  His fingers curled an invitation.  

She moved to him stiffly, her fingers buried in the fine white cotton
knickers, searching for the slit that would open herself to him.  Her
breathing was deep and fast, the front of her blouse heaving with the
pressure of her young breasts.  She turned away from him then, and threw
one leg over his arm as if she were mounting a pony.  Her knickers parted,
I saw the creamy mounds of her bottom exposed, her luscious thighs, and
the full, dark nest between them, before she settled lightly onto my
father's outstretched palm.  "There now, my girl," he whispered to her
back, "ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross...ride!  You naughty wench!" 
She cried out once as he began to wiggle his fingers, and her hips ground
lewdly against his hand.  "You'll not be whipped until you spend for me,
my girl, so ride well, and fast, yes, that's it, yes, yes..." he exhorted
her as her hips moved faster, round in a circle and back and forth, her
head tipped back and her cries filling the room.  My cock strained against
my trousers despite my best intentions, and I rubbed it furtively, afraid
my father would look around and see me.  She began to shudder mightily and
cry out, and my father steadied her with his free hand, while I, at the
sight of her release, spent mightily myself within my trousers.  "Good
girl, there's a good girl!" he praised her, stroking her back until she
stopped shivering.  After a moment she was able to stand, and I saw the
glisten of her on my father's hand before he wiped it away with his fine
handkerchief.

"Now then," he said, his voice rasping, "to the business at hand. Peter,
hand me the strap!"  Startled to hear my name, I jumped up and nearly
knocked over the small table on which had been placed the well-oiled
leather.  I handed it to my father, who nodded in acknowledgement, and
tossed me a wry smile that owed, I suspect, to my rather disheveled
appearance.  He turned back to Caitlin, who now looked utterly miserable. 
"Yes!" he said acknowledging same, "I suspect you're rather more
frightened of your strapping now that you will be able to feel it, my
girl!  Bend over my knee, you naughty bit!"  He tapped his knee and she
bent forward.  He drew her down and positioned her full bottom high over
his right knee.  He parted her knickers once again, peeling them down to
each side of her bottom, fully exposing the luscious, fleshy mounds I had
only glimpsed before.  I was breathless again.  My father raised the strap
and brought it down full force across her bottom, which compressed and
jiggled marvellously under the assault.  "OOOOOWWWWWWW GODDD, SOR!!!" she
howled, and wiggled furiously.  My father smiled.  "Indeed, young woman,
this is what punishment feels like!"  And he strapped her again, and
again, each time in a slightly different plane across those incredible
mounds, each time eliciting a shriek and a plea for an end.

When the six were delivered, my father let her lie there for a bit,
sobbing and yelping, though he did not touch her scarlet bottom.  After a
long moment, Mrs. Beresford, looking a bit flushed herself, scurried over
and helpd Caitlin up and away to the corner, where she re-arranged her
knickers and replaced her petticoats and skirt.  Thus re-comfitted,
Caitlin made a pretty curtsey to my father,  thanked him most sincerely
for his punishment, and promised to be better behaved in the future.  As
she left, ushered out by the solicitous Mrs. Beresford, my father turned
to me.  "I hope you were paying attention, Peter...that one needs careful
handling.  And she, or one like her, will be yours to handle one of these
days."  He turned away smiling as I left, as quickly as seemed decent, for
my rooms.